Chapter 3
I stood outside the nondescript doors of the Kalinikov Club. The only indication that something unusual lay inside were the black-on-white signs on either side warning that all cell phones had to be in the off position before entering the room. Offenders would be prosecuted.
The men within took their privacy seriously.
I glanced at my phone as I pressed the power button. It was nearly 10pm. Exactly the right time. I drew in long, deep breaths. Everything mattered. Every step mattered. Every turn of the head. Every curl of the shoulder. My entire life had led up to this moment. It needed to go flawlessly.
For Olga. For the thousands of girls and women like her.
I took one last look at myself in the reflection of the curtained-off window. The dress was silk, crimson, with a flowing motion which both emphasized and hid my curves. Not too obvious. That was the secret. Tantalize and intrigue.
My blonde hair was brushed out until it shone and flowed like a golden river. It would draw men into running their fingers through it.
Add in the six-inch matching heels, the cascading diamond jewelry, and the smoky makeup, and I was ready.
I had been trained for this since I was six years old.
I walked up to the doors.
I pushed them open.
I stood in the classic model’s one-foot-forward pose in the entryway, letting the pulsing music wash over me along with the thick aroma of smoke and the hearty conversation of a night out. I calmly surveyed the scene, starting methodically on the right.
I evaluated each man in turn.
It was two seconds before the first heads turned, and then more joined in, and the conversation became appreciative mutters and comments. The men here were used to being the wolves. The pursuers. To have a woman so blatantly evaluating the herd intrigued them. Thrilled them. For now they wanted to be the one chosen. The one singled out as the prime stallion in a field of mustangs.
My gaze considered, evaluated, moved …
A bulky man in a gray suit straightened up in his chair. Another flexed his arm. I considered … let my eyes keep moving …
Alex.
He was sitting at a curved booth near the center of the room. Mark was at his side. Both men had dressed to the nines. Alex was stunningly handsome in a well-tailored black silk shirt and black pants. On his wrist shone a Rolex Oyster Perpetua.
My lips curled up in a smile.
There was a garishly made up redhead purring at his side, dressed in a hot pink sheath which might have been painted on. I barely gave her any notice.
His gaze was on me, eyes wide, as if he almost didn’t believe it was me.
My smile widened further.
I let my perusal of the room continue. I slid right past Mark, then looked up toward the back of the room.
It took all my years of training, all my hours of preparation, to hold the serenity on my face.
Mikhaylo.
Mikhaylo sat at a raised booth along with the Colonel and two other men.
I gave Mikhaylo a quiet nod, as if acknowledging the club owner and giving him his due respect. And then I continued my slow sweep of the room.
Nobody else came even close to comparing with Alex.
My smile reached my eyes. He had done well.
I brought my gaze back to him and stepped down into the room. I could feel a hundred eyes on me, their attention flicking enviously between my slinky approach and Alex’s widening eyes as it became clear I had chosen him. He drew to his feet and made a dismissing motion to the two girls.
They scampered away, not even considering making a stand.
I put out a hand to him. “Sofia.”
He gently wrapped his fingers around my hand and brought it to his lips. “Taras. Please, have a seat.”
A waitress, blonde and blue eyed, hurried over. “Welcome to the Kalinikov Club! What would you like to order?”
I ran a finger along Alex’s arm. “Let’s start with the Krug 1995.”
Her eyes went wide, and she glanced at Alex.
He nodded.
She scurried off.
He turned his attention to me, his eyes drawn in to mine. “That accent. From Rivne?”
I let a delighted smile raise my lips. “You are very good! It’s actually a small town just south of there. Kopany.”
“I know Kopany well. I had a relative who lived there. Beautiful gardens.”
My gaze shone. “Indeed there are. And the fields of grain? It was like the flag come to life. The blue skies above, reaching as far as the horizon. The rich yellow beneath, symbolizing the great fertility of our soil.”
The waitress returned with two Riedel flute glasses, and the bartender brought the Champagne in a silver ice bucket. He placed the bucket at the center of our table and then carefully removed the cork’s outer wire cage. That done, he wriggled the cork until it eased off with a soft sigh.
He glanced at Alex. “Sir, shall I pour?”
Alex reached forward. “I will handle things from here, thanks.” He poured my glass first, then his own. He set the bottle back into the ice.
I raised my glass to his, turning the wine glass’s bowl slightly off-angle. “To new beginnings.”
He mirrored my move, and the clinking of bowl to bowl sent a beautiful chime out into the room.
I took down a taste.
Glowing contentment filled me.
Delicious. Absolutely delicious.
Alex was watching my eyes, and I could see his breath leave him. It was a moment before he took his own drink. Before he put his glass onto the table.
I laid my fingers along his watch on his wrist, giving a soft stroke to the skin. “You seem to be successful at what you do.”
He held in a groan. His voice was hoarse. “I find it’s a combination of research and perseverance. You have to know what to do and then have the balls to see it through.”
I gave an amused smile. “That you do, in so much of life.” I slid my fingers along his arm. “And you have them? The balls? To do what needs to be done?”
His gaze on me was heavy now, and I could see the desire rising in him. “Absolutely.”
I took my fingers from him and brought up my glass. I drank down another savoring taste of my Champagne. “So, what do you miss most about Ukraine?”
He answered without hesitation. “The music. There’s just something about our Ukrainian musicians. Maybe it’s because of all we have suffered, under the heel of the Russians. The decades of starvation. The near-eradication of our own culture. Our musicians held on to our heritage. They protected it, for us all.”
I thought of the night we danced together. How his arms had held me. How his eyes had looked into my very soul.
His breath left him.
I slid my fingers down to his –
I blinked.
I had a job to do.
I stood and looked toward the bar, bringing myself back into focus. It seemed as if half of the room were watching us now.
There. Hanging on the back wall.
I called out to the barkeep, “Does that bandura actually play, or is it just a decoration?”
The barkeep easily lifted the beautiful cherry stringed instrument from its hooks. He carried it around to hand it to me. “It is my own instrument,” he stated. “I would be honored if you would play us a tune.”
He nodded his head to a waitress, and she turned the house music off.
Now I did have the full attention of the room.
I gave the strings a strum and shifted a few knobs to bring it into tune. Then I looked down at Alex. “Any requests?”
He was watching me as if nobody else in the world existed. “Whatever pleases you the most.”
I gave him a smile that told him just what would please me the most.
His mouth went dry.
I began singing a folk song, rich and warm, one which every man present knew the words to. In a moment Alex had joined in with me, and then the barkeep, and soon the entire room rang with the rhythm of the words.
My presence here was an act, and yet warmth filled me as we sang. As we treasured a rich culture which had withstood its near-destruction. Which had persevered.
The song at last wrapped around to its end.
The room echoed with applause and cheers, and I bowed in gratitude.
Then I looked down and strummed a chord. “Maybe something slower, next.”
I rippled my fingers into the opening chords.
His eyes opened, and he was caught on me.
I sang the love song which had always held my heart. It was a tender twining of haunting melody and intricate lyrics.
The singer, a young woman, is torn away from her beloved; she aches with the loss. She endures hardships and miseries beyond measure. No matter how fate twists, she never gives up hope. She strives with all her being to return to him.
Then, just when all seems lost, her final efforts burst through the challenges. At last she arrives in her home village. Surely it is too late. Surely he is gone, or married, or lost to her …
He is there, waiting. He has been searching for her, without fail, and has heard of her return. He has just arrived.
And they gaze into each other’s eyes …
Many eyes were shining around the room. The applause rose even higher.
I turned in place, holding the bandura high. “And one more, to end the selection on a rousing note. A dance tune!”
A cry of delight rose from the group, and I dove into the fast paced music. Men were drumming along on tables. Women whirled around passed from arm to arm. The voices rose loud as feet stomped and cheers rang out. The entire club could have been transported back to Lviv, to a hundred years ago. To a time when communities came together to celebrate, to share, and to lift up the night.
The song cascaded to a rollicking end.
There were cheers and applause, thumps and raised glasses. I bowed to the barkeep and handed him back his instrument. “That is a fine bandura. Thank you for allowing me to play it.”
He beamed. “Thank you for the beautiful performance. That will be the talk of the place for months.”
He gave a wry smile. “It almost makes me regret the no cellphone policy. I’m sure many men here would pay good money to have a video of that performance.”
I chuckled. “And I’m sure many other men would pay far more money to have any such recording destroyed. Along with the person who made that recording.”
He nodded and touched his nose. Then he headed back over behind the bar.
Alex was looking at me with a shimmering gaze. “You are amazing. Simply amazing.”
I gave him a twinkling smile. “What I am is thirsty.”
He put out his hand and took mine, helping me back into my seat. He then handed me my Champagne flute. He filled it afresh.
He toasted me. “To tonight. To seeing you with that smile on your face.”
My smile widened of its own accord. “To the man who brings me such pleasure that I lose all sense of place and time.”
His body shone. I knew, if we had been alone, that there would be no more words.
I drank some Champagne.
Man, but this stuff was good.
My free hand was resting on the table, and he laid his on top, his fingers curling around to my palm.
One finger tapped against my palm, and I followed the letters in Morse code.
Please. Don’t do it. We’ll find another way.
I brought my eyes to his.
They held mine with an intensity which took my breath away. As if he were wholly mine, and there could be nothing held back between us.
Nothing but this.
I gave him a wry smile, sliding my hand from his grasp. “And now, I apologize, but I must powder my nose. I will be back shortly.”
I drew my eyes away from him, so I would not be swayed by that powerful gaze. I took up my purse and walked around the table.
Mark’s hand snapped across the table to grab, hard, at my wrist. Even though I had been expecting it, the suddenness of it startled me, and I let out a gasp.
Half the men around us rose to their feet.
Mark’s voice held a tinge of a drunken slur. “Hey! You! I got money too, ya know! It’s my turn now. And enough of this guitar stuff. I wanna see some dancin’. Somethin’ more sexy. With some oomph to it.”
I tugged at my hand, but Mark wasn’t releasing me. His gaze became a leer, and it swept down my body.
Alex’s voice held concern. “Hey, pal, I think you should –”
Mark snapped, “You had your chance! She’s mine now! And this hundred dollar bill says she’d better start –”
A voice came from behind us. Cool. Calm. But it cut through the room as if it were a beam of pure ice. It could be heard in every last distant corner.
“Let. Her. Go.”