Chapter 13 - Shadows in the GalleryThe private art gallery in SoHo was closed to the public, rented out for an exclusive, highly secure gathering of international investors and shadow financiers who preferred their networking sessions conducted under the cover of avant-garde sculptures and dim ambient lighting.
Lucian stood near a massive, chaotic canvas splattered with crimson and black oil paint, holding a glass of amber scotch. Beside him, a man with silver hair and an impeccably tailored Italian tuxedo—Viktor Rostov, a Russian oligarch whose wealth was measured in natural gas pipelines and silenced dissidents—watched Selena approach across the polished concrete floor.
"So this is the storm that's been keeping the European markets awake at night," Rostov rumbled, his voice like grinding tectonic plates as he sized Selena up with a cold, analytical squint. "I thought Moretti worked alone."
"Solitude is inefficient," Lucian said smoothly, his eyes never leaving Selena as she glided toward them, her charcoal suit replaced tonight by a backless emerald silk gown that commanded every eye in the room. "Efficiency requires a partner who can see the trap before the board even realizes they're walking into it."
Rostov let out a low, gravelly chuckle. "Careful, Lucian. In my experience, women who calculate that fast usually end up owning the casino."
"That was the objective from the start, Mr. Rostov," Selena replied coolly, stopping beside Lucian and accepting a fresh glass of sparkling water from a passing waiter. She met the oligarch’s formidable gaze without a flicker of intimidation. "Though I prefer to manage the entire board, not just the house."
Rostov laughed—a genuine, booming sound that echoed off the high gallery ceilings. He raised his glass to her. "A dangerous creature. I respect that. Which is why I assume you didn't drag me out here tonight just to look at abstract expressionism."
"I didn't," Selena said, her expression hardening into absolute professional focus. "I brought you here to discuss your pipeline contracts in the Balkans. Specifically, the three billion in transit fees you're currently funneling through a defunct subsidiary in Cyprus to avoid EU sanctions."
May you like
Rostov’s smile vanished instantly. The air around him dropped ten degrees, the casual charm evaporating to reveal the hardened criminal underneath. His eyes flicked to Lucian, then back to Selena. "You tread on thin ice, little secretary."
"I don't tread on ice, Mr. Rostov," Selena said softly, leaning in just enough to make her voice a lethal whisper. "I own the lake. And right now, the temperature is dropping."
