A shiver ran up my spine.
I believed that Misha’s affiliation with the Bratva only dealt with family, but this had been brought up again for the third time today. Surely, more would begin to make the connection and have something to say.
I didn’t think Misha was dangerous, but I didn’t have much proof that he was safe.
I’m moving too fast with him. What if it’s more than just his family? What if he’s just as powerful and connected as his cousin? And. . .his father?
Classical musical from La Bayadère filled the theater. It was nothing like the orchestra that would perform tonight, but it did the job.
Think about this later. Right now. . .become Nikiya.
But as I slipped into the role, Misha remained on my mind. Instead of envisioning the hero of La Bayadère, I replaced Solor’s face with his.
Please don’t be dangerous. I don’t know what I would do. . .
I almost missed a turn.
If Akiva noticed, he didn’t stop us to fix the mistake.
Focus. Focus.
But still my dilemma remained on my mind during practice. If Misha was deeply involved with the Bratva, then I would have to leave him alone.
Just like I’d told O long ago.
It wouldn’t be smart to mess with such a dangerous man, especially a member of the Bratva.
Please let everyone be wrong.
Chapter 10
Misha
We had three hours until Ava’s performance.
I booked three Imperial suites at the Belmont. One for Ava’s grandmother to freshen up. Another for Maxwell who was now homeless due to Valentina’s antics. And one of my own.
My men had set up my equipment in my suite. Four huge screens lined the walls. Each showed a different view of Jacqueline’s room. She needed to be watched, and I had to do it personally.
There could be no more mistakes.
Three of my men stood around me, waiting for my command.
I sat at the suite’s desk, leaned back in the chair, and watched Ava’s grandmother sit on the bed. She took off the brown stocking cap. Four long braids fell from her head and touched her shoulders.
She looked around the room. “Jesus, what do you have planned for me?”
Does she at least like the room?
The Belmont hotel catered to Russia’s high society for more than a century. Enchanting and full of splendor, it stood around all the city’s most celebrated landmarks—the Winter Palace, the Mariinsky Theatre, and St. Isaac’s Cathedral. It was even a short drive to the Peter and Paul Fortress.
When we arrived, Maxwell and Mrs. Jones had taken in the hotel’s décor with shocked expressions. Dazzling marble. Gilded stucco ceilings. Breathtaking stained glass. It was apparent that they were blown away.
The Imperial suite provided plush fabrics, lofty ceilings, and elegant furnishings. It boasted sparkling chandeliers and the similar marble flooring from the lobby.
The one that Jacqueline sat in was the largest suite in the hotel and by far the grandest in St. Petersburg. The room had several expensive paintings of Russian Tsars and emperors. There also was a personal dining room that could seat eight guests. But the elegance didn’t stop there. Down the hall, a lounge bar stood. Across from that was a private fitness center, library, and study. And then there was the living room with a grand piano.
She must like it. It has to impress her.
Earlier, I’d watched Jacqueline walk through the suite with her mouth widened in shock. Each time she opened a door and peeked in, she shook her head and whispered something about Jesus.
Once she entered the bathroom and spotted the gold tub in the center of the room and the sauna in the back, she hurried to the bed and sat down.
Pain throbbed at my temples.
“Lord.” Jacqueline gazed around the massive bedroom. “What has Ava gotten herself involved with?”
Perhaps, I’d gone too far.
Sighing, I gestured to one of my men. “Have them send in the food. Mrs. Jones should be hungry.”
He nodded and hurried off.
The Belmont’s restaurant L’Europe, offered the city’s finest modern cuisine. To eat at the hotel was to embark on a glamourous gastronomic adventure. For those romantic St. Petersburg husbands that couldn’t afford to stay there, they surely saved up their money for a year and took their wives to eat at the restaurant for an anniversary. It was the only place that boasted a massive caviar bar.
I’d ordered most of the menu—caviar served on top of delicate blinis, borscht, beef stroganoff, solyanka soup, and potato okroshka. After what Jacqueline had gone through, she needed to be spoiled. It was time to dazzle her with the local delicacies of the world-famous L’Europe.
On the screen, a knock sounded at her door.
Jacqueline jumped.
The knock came again.
Slowly, she rose, went over to the door, and opened it.
With smiling faces, five stewards pushed silver carts in. The simmering dishes sat on top. The sixth steward entered with a glass of champagne and a bottle chilling inside of a silver bucket.