Shattered Crown

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

KIRA

“Does that man ever give you a moment to yourself?” Liza shoots Roman a
disdainful look from across the living room. Not that Roman’s noticed. He’s
busy pacing, alternating between talking and typing on his phone. It's been
like this all morning.

“Ignore him. He’s too busy with whatever is going on to care about
what we’re doing.” I shift, reaching for the pot of tea and pouring us each a
cup.

It’s not like he doesn’t give us space, but I understand her annoyance—
having him shadow me everywhere is irritating. On the bright side, at least
it's not Pavel. That would be a nightmare I wouldn't wish on anyone.

We’ve decided meeting at her family’s estate is the safest bet. No Nadya
hovering nearby and less chance of listening devices planted on the
property, or at least here in the living room only the women use to entertain.

We’re seated around a small table, fashion magazines spread out in front of
us.

When Roman thinks we’re thumbing through the latest styles, he’s
happy to ignore us. Which is the point. But when I turn back to get a better
look at him, his eyes are glued to us as if we’re actually doing something of
interest.

No, correction. Not glued to me. Glued to Liza. He’s returning her dark
scowl. I suppose the feeling is mutual.
“How do we get rid of him?” She glowers his way, the midday light
casting soft shadows across her face.
I laugh. “We don’t. Ignore him. He’s staring to be a dick.” I stick my
tongue out at Roman, and he returns a one-finger salute, then goes back to
typing furiously on his phone.

Since Roman was assigned as my guard, we’ve settled into a kind of
sibling-like relationship. I tease him, he rolls his eyes and acts like I’m not
hilarious, but overall it’s an easy vibe between us, which is more than I can
say about the others in the household.

Since the Society photo shoot, I have seen little of Maxim. He falls into
bed in the early hours or the morning and is always gone by the time I
wake. The only sign he’s slept in the same room as me is his scent still
clinging to his pillow. A scent somewhere between musk, leather, and man.

Not that I’ve spent too long analyzing it. Not that I bury my face in his
pillow and inhale deeply. Who would do that?
Back when I lived in New York, I used to jolt awake, heart pounding,
drenched in guilt over Masha’s death. But lately, that hasn’t happened. The
nightmares come, but they also fade away before they wake me up. Which
makes no sense because I literally sleep in her killer’s bed.

Maybe peace comes knowing I’ll get my revenge soon. Not that I’ve
made much headway. Snooping around the house is near impossible with
guards and cameras everywhere, and Maxim’s inner circle is tight-lipped.
Tonight will be my first real opportunity to dig.

We have dinner at Mayor Rashnikov’s home, along with other
prominent guests. Earlier today, Liza gave me a lay of the land—a who’s
who of Russian politics, business, and culture. Much has changed since I left nearly five years ago. But it’s the mayor that I will be focused on. Liza
agreed he knows everyone’s secrets—blackmail is his stock in trade—and
he has a weakness for women. Which is super icky, but it also makes him a
perfect source. I just need to get him alone.

When I glance up from the magazine I was casually flipping through,
Roman is in front of me, a phone pressed to his ear.

“Hold on,” he says into the receiver. To me, he says, “I have to go out
and deal with something. Will you be okay here for a bit?” His eyes ping
between Liza and me.