Fixed in Blood (26 page)

Allie took one last look at herself before heading to the ballroom. The mirror was massive, probably reclaimed from some bankrupt English nobleman forced to sell off family treasures to pay taxes. Struggling to hold on to an ancient estate. Staving off for one more year the inevitability of turning over the keys to his ancestor’s heritage to some coked-out rock star, dot-com billionaire, or Russian capitalist thug.

It’s a whole new world,
she thought. She brushed a strand of sandy blond hair behind her diamond-studded ear.

Her gown was exquisite. The young designer she’d discovered in a small London boutique initially balked at the idea of producing a couture-quality garment in two days. But when Allie told him what she was willing to pay and that she was looking for elegant simplicity, he took up the challenge, closed his shop to customers, and produced a dress worthy of any Cannes red carpet.

I didn’t even have to drop Vadim’s name. His money was persuasive enough.

Layers of silk, each ply as thin as a butterfly’s wing and tinted a different shade of champagne, draped across one shoulder, the overall effect matching her skin tone so perfectly it gave the initial illusion of nudity. A thin belt studded with crystals accented her slim waist and introduced a sweeping swirl of the same fabric. Tiny crystals were hand sewn across the bodice, widely and irregularly spaced. Just enough to capture the candle glow and create gentle prisms highlighting her slightest move.

No one would imagine this to be the dress of a doomed woman.

She’d stepped from her dressing room a half hour ago, allowing Vadim Tokarev first view of his fiancée before she headed down to serve as hostess to the engagement party she’d arranged. He’d told her to spare no expense. It was to be their goodbye to London before heading back to Moscow. He had promised her a life of luxury in a country house he wanted her to restore to glory. Everyone would know of his love for his new American wife.

And then he would kill her.

Tokarev had stood speechless, taking in her beauty. He smiled, nodded, and motioned her to him. He kissed her bare shoulder before he turned her, her back tickled by his heavy breath. Allie heard the click of a box’s hinge, then felt his cold fingers stumbling to lay something around her throat. He turned her back around, appraised his gift, and nodded his approval.

“Go to look.” His smile was a proud ten-year-old’s. “I did good.”

Allie had feigned an excited surprise and went to a mirror. Her gasp was genuine. He had, indeed, done good. Instead of the heavy gold and garish thumb-sized gems he’d previously given her, here was a necklace of incomparable beauty. Flawless marquise-cut diamonds formed the petals of small flowers in a platinum garland encircling the base of her neck. The stones complemented the crystals in her gown, creating a sparkling shimmer every time she breathed.

If this is to be your last gift to me, you’re going out with a bang.
The recesses of her memory brought forth of a tale she’d read about Anne Boleyn, who’d insisted on wearing the imperial jewels in her Tower of London cell. Her husband might plan to behead her, but she wanted his kingdom to always remember he was executing a queen.

She’d kissed him. Told him she was unworthy of such a great man’s generosity. She’d fussed with the lapels of his tuxedo and cooed how handsome he was.

Your kingdom will know you’re executing a queen.

Their eyes had locked. She looked for a sign of regret, but saw none. She’d kissed him one last time, told him the valet would be up soon with his shoes, and left their suite. The short elevator ride to the ballroom had been an exercise in breath control.

And now she stood, one last look in the mirror before going onstage. Memories flooded her. Her mother, standing behind her at the barre, showing her how to bend her back in a perfect bow. Her father and brother, joking about how tall she looked in the high heels carrying her off to the homecoming dance with that pimply-faced quarterback. And then Patrick. So handsome. Standing on a beach with the sun setting fire to the Caribbean sky behind him. Tangled in sheets and smiling after he’d made love to her. Whispering his eternal adoration in as they danced away another night in Paris.

And here I am. Alone.
She reached a hand to her new necklace and looked deep into her own blue eyes. It was time.
This is my destiny. All roads led me here.
She forced a smile to her face and entered the ballroom for the execution masked as engagement party.
Let them remember I am a queen.

Vadim Tokarev’s upper echelon had been summoned to witness his engagement to the American who had captured his heart. Allie walked in beneath an arbor of lilacs and white roses. She admired the florist’s ability to disguise the metal detectors Vadim had insisted upon. This was to be a celebration. No weapons allowed. “Bring only your women,” she’d heard him bellow into the phone with each man he’d called. “And a sparkly gift for my Allichka.” Her Russian had gotten good enough she no longer needed a translator. He promised an evening of festivity, but she wondered if he was disarming anyone who might have the misguided impulse to reach for a gun to defend her when the evening’s true entertainment began.

Eighteen men turned their heads when she walked in. Designer tuxedos could never mask the crass criminals they were. Eighteen women, each with unnatural hair color and wearing a dress at least one size too small, squealed in unison and rushed toward her in a stampede of platform heels. Thirty-six breasts threatened to burst from satin prisons. Three hundred sixty gel-capped fingers reached out to hold her left hand as enough oohs and aahs to raise a decibel meter floated above her engagement ring.

Allie played her part. She was gracious as she moved about the room, accepting compliments and gratitude for the party. Looking each roaming waiter offering champagne or canapés in the eye. Thanking them in Russian before turning to the guest standing next to her to ask if they were enjoying the party.

You will be Jackie O,
she remembered Tokarev saying.

“Where is Boss?” one broad-shouldered thug asked. Another lifted his wine flute with heavy hands more accustomed to holding a glass filled with vodka. “We toast him happy.”

Allie raised her hands to quiet the crowd. “Please.” She spoke in Russian. “Use your mother tongue. I want everyone to be comfortable.” She knew her words rang with an American accent, but her vocabulary and grammar were correct. She had those long days with Staz to thank for that. He’d followed through on his promise to teach her the language that might allow her to capture Tokarev’s heart.

Now she needed him to follow through on the last promise he’d made her.

“Vadim will join us shortly.” She pointed toward the gift table, laden with small boxes wrapped in shiny papers. “I am eager for him to see your generosity. But for now I wish to be alone with you. I want to express my own thanks for how each of you has made me feel welcome.”

The women crossed their hands over their bosoms in synchronized empathy. Several blew her kisses. Their men stood tall and silent. A few nodded. No one smiled.

It is the woman’s place to have feelings,
Vadim taught her.
It is a man’s place to be strong.

Allie pointed to the long table stretching down the center of the room. She’d asked the decorator to design a room fit for a Romanoff. Heavy gold chargers marked each place setting. A tapestry runner, highlighted in red and gold, ran down the center of a cream-colored cloth. Seven silver candelabra, each with nine candles, were spaced along its length. Gold flatware on cream damask napkins and shimmering crystal goblets surrounded china emblazoned with a gold double-headed eagle. On each plate was a bowl with a scoop of caviar nested on ice.

“Sit, my new family. Enjoy yourselves while we wait for my love.”

Thirty-six people sat, eighteen to a side. Boy-girl, boy-girl. Allie waited until all were settled before she stepped to the head of the table. Two places were set. She stood behind the one to the left and lifted a glass of champagne.

“To new beginnings,” she toasted in Russian. “Of the heart, of the head, and of the wallet.”

The women sighed at her reference to love. The men chuckled at her reference to success. All raised their glasses and drank.

Allie signaled the head waiter and flutes were replaced with glasses of vodka. Grateful murmurs mixed with a few boisterous shouts of appreciation at the change of libation.

“Let us all be happy,” Allie continued from where she stood. “And find common ground as newfound friends. We will enjoy wealth as we never knew, in a way we never knew.” She hoisted her own glass and threw back a shot of the clear liquor. “To a new way.”

The entire table echoed her words and tossed back their own vodka.

“We are family now.” The crowd displayed their manners by focusing on her. She was not only their hostess, but the betrothed of their leader. “It is no secret we are an enterprise born in blood, grown powerful in blood, and maintained in blood.” Allie paused. She stood and let them stare at the woman who dared to speak so boldly at a social occasion. “The waves of change come quickly. As the old days of the central party died to give birth to a new spirit of opportunity, so must the old ways of operating die to give birth to even greater riches.”

She saw the men start to exchange glances. She imagined they wondered what to make of this woman, this American, talking to them about change.

“We gather tonight to celebrate new unions. New ways.” The men were fidgeting now. Several craned their necks to look behind her, searching for Vadim Tokarev to give them a clue as to how to respond to this audacious woman he had brought to them. “Tonight we begin the next chapter in our business. More efficient. More effective. Less dangerous to our purses. Less dangerous to our necks.”

“Where is Tokarev?” the man Allie knew as Popol called out. “If there is to be change, let us hear it from him.”

The women seated around the table moved their chairs. Some pulled themselves closer to their men, others pushed themselves away. These were women who sensed the kindling being stacked in the room and knew how hot the flame would be if a match was struck.

“A leader doesn’t discuss.” Allie squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “A leader announces.”

Another man, this one at the far end of the long table, stood. He held his napkin in one hand and rested the other on his woman’s shoulder. His tone was silken defiance. “Then let it be our leader who announces, miss. Your tongue embraces our language. I am impressed. I look forward to the day when your heart embraces our customs.” He held her with an unflinching glare. “It is not a woman’s place to speak this way.”

A cord of fear tightened around Allie’s throat. It excited her. She hoped her racing heart didn’t rustle the delicate material of her gown. She swallowed away the metallic taste in her mouth and inhaled.

“What is your name, sir?”

“I am Fyodor Ratchnikov.” The man puffed out his chest. “Loyal to Tokarev before all others.”

Allie nodded. “Then let your ears be the first to hear, Ratchnikov.” She took another deep breath. “Your leader stands before you.”

On that cue nine waiters pulled semiautomatic pistols from their jackets. Six doormen stepped clear of their posts and approached the table with automatic rifles aimed at the guests. The fifteen armed men formed a threatening wall around the table. The women screamed, covering their bowed heads with their hands. Tokarev’s eighteen men remained seated, staring at their captors like a pack of angry dogs tethered to a steel chain, eager to lunge for an exposed throat should just one link prove weak.

Allie waited until the frightened women settled into whimpering sobs.

“I understand it is difficult to hear a woman’s voice lead you. But as you once heard your dear mother’s voice, showing you the way and shielding you from harm, so will my voice be as loving. As your own mothers did, I will give my life to keep you safe. To help you prosper.” She cast her gaze down one side of the table and up the other, pausing to look at each man directly, holding his angry stare without wavering. “In the great history of the motherland, your ancestors heard a woman’s voice. As Catherine led a nation to glories unexperienced in all the world, so will I lead you to riches you cannot imagine.” The eighteen women now watched her, their fear replaced by curiosity. “And then I will make your richer.”

Several men ventured glances to their colleagues. Fyodor Ratchnikov called out from where he stood at the far end of the table. “You are neither our mother nor our czarina, miss.”

Allie gave a small smile. “From this moment forward I am both. Like a mother, I will love. Like a czarina, I will protect. In exchange for your loyalty, I will make you rich beyond the dreams of your faithful soul.” She cast her gaze wider. “And like a mother, I demand your respect. Like a czarina, I will accept nothing less than total devotion. Give me those little things I ask and the world will be yours. Deny me your respect, your loyalty, your love—even for a moment—and my response will be as swift as a mother’s slap and as lethal as a czarina’s assassin.”

Allie clapped her hands and the lilac-and-rose-festooned double doors at the back of the ballroom opened. Staz walked in first, his giant stature demanding everyone’s attention. Behind him two men pulled a wheeled sled on which a tall and narrow cage sat. The roars and gasps of the guests were quieted by the synchronized cocking of fifteen automatic weapons.

Vadim Tokarev, leader of Russia’s largest criminal organization, the man sought by every law enforcement agency in the northern hemisphere, stood inside the metal cage. His hands were cuffed to the bars in front of him. His legs were fastened together with heavy chains. A wide band of silver duct tape covered his mouth and wrapped around his jaw. His eyes bulged in a mixture of fury and fear. He jerked his body as much as his constraints allowed, and his angry bellows were reduced to barely audible grunts behind his gag.

“Behold my beloved,” Allie announced. “The man who captured first my body, then my heart. The one whom I adore above all others.” She stepped away from the table’s head and walked behind the wall of heavily armed men. The heels of her shoes against the glossy parquet marked a slow tempo as she crossed to stand next to Staz, less than three feet from the cage holding her hostage fiancé.