“It was unwise to bring a date, Gabriella.”

“Wrong. Being with Bastian is the smartest thing I’ve ever done.”

“You have made me angry. Again. You will be punished.”

“You’re insane. I am not an object. I don’t belong to you.”

“Oh, but you do. You always have. You owe me.”

“What is wrong with you, Nick? I don’t want you. I’ve never wanted you. You gross me out and have since I was thirteen. I don’t owe you a damn thing.”

“Oh, but you do. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have the villa next door. My father sold it to your father at below market value, in exchange for you and your virginity. The house is now yours, but I never received full payment.”

She took a step back as revulsion washed through her. “Your father sold the villa to my father when I was thirteen!”

He cupped his hand over her chin and squeezed. “You were so lovely at thirteen, those big, round eyes and long curtain of glossy brown hair. You posed for those cosmetic ads, with those sultry, fuck-me eyes at the camera. Your slender body. Tight little breasts. I would have fucked you then, but your father insisted I wait until you were eighteen. He was concerned your bitch of a mother would find out and pursue statutory rape.”

“It would have been rape, statutory or not. And I was a child.”

He released her chin. “You were never a child, Gabriella. No child poses like you did. You wanted to fuck. The pictures say it all.”

It was this kind of sick bullshit that made her hate her mother for pushing for the photo shoot. She’d been a kid. Playing in front of a camera, not really understanding how men would interpret it. She’d had no concept of sexuality at thirteen. Had no clue what sucking on a popsicle would signal.

Modeling had been a lark.

“I would have married you,” Nikolai said. “If you’d fulfilled the agreement. You’d have been my empress, my czarina. But you defied me. The only woman who ever dared. So I’ll just take you. Use you. You aren’t worthy of my name. You’ve soiled your body with too many men. You aren’t that innocent girl you were at thirteen.” He scanned her up and down. “You’re still skinny with small tits, but I hate short hair. You will grow it long again.”

He was insane, and she was done humoring him. She’d hoped to glean information here, but he was a lost cause. She took a step away, toward the ballroom. Bastian had to have noticed she was gone by now and would probably be pissed she’d broken their one agreed-upon rule.

Nikolai grabbed her arm. His touch wasn’t gentle.

A man entered the hall, lit from behind she couldn’t see his face, but he didn’t have Bastian’s build. He walked slowly down the long corridor, his footsteps soft on the tile. As he drew closer, she took in dark hair, brown eyes, and a handsome, tanned face with a thick beard. He gave Nikolai a hard look and said something in Russian, his tone commanding. Instantly, her arm was released.

She rubbed her bruised skin, wondering who the hell this man was and why Nikolai feared him.

The newcomer flashed a warm smile. “This must be the American I’ve heard so much about,” he said in a heavy Russian accent. He held out a hand. “I’m an associate of Nikolai’s and delighted to meet you.”

She took his hand, and he pulled her to his side, away from Nikolai. Next thing she knew, her arm was looped through his and he was leading her back to the ballroom.

“Such a beautiful evening. You must dance with me.” Once they were out of earshot, he added, “You shouldn’t have gone off with Nikolai.”

“I realize that now. Thank you.”

“Your soldier is looking for you. I told him to let me extract you. I have…sway with Nikolai.”

“I noticed. How did you do it? He obeyed you like a dog.”

The man smiled. “He knows I can bring the world down on him like a hammer.”

She had no doubt Russia had kompromat on Nikolai. It was how they controlled all their oligarchs. As rich and powerful as Drugov was, he couldn’t outrun his government. This man must’ve been sent by the Kremlin to ensure their wealthy pawn stayed in line.

The Russian led her into the ballroom and past Bastian, taking her straight to the dance floor, where he took her in his arms as the singer crooned a song by Adele.

“Why are you here, Ms. Stewart?”

She was surprised he used her legal name. Everyone here was determined to brand her with Prime. “I’m on vacation. Recovering from an ordeal. Why are you here, Mister…?”

“I’m monitoring my boss’s investment.”

She noticed he didn’t bother giving her a name. Again. “And who is your boss?”

He merely smiled and tightened his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. His secrecy—everything about him, really—should have her on edge, but for some reason, she didn’t fear him. Maybe it was because he’d rescued her from Nikolai or maybe it was because his manner toward her wasn’t the least bit threatening. But one thing she was certain of, the man was dangerous.

She hoped to hell he’d prove to be an ally.

Bastian cut in on Brie’s dance with the Russian who’d helpfully extracted her from Drugov without causing a scene. The Russian bowed to Bastian and Brie, said, “Stay out of trouble, Gabriella,” and left them.

Bastian swept Brie into his arms, relieved but still a little angry she’d left with Drugov in the first place.

“Who is he?” she asked, glancing toward the retreating Russian’s back.

“My best guess is he’s GRU.”

She leaned against Bastian, pressing her temple to his collarbone. “What is GRU?”

He tightened his arm around her waist, glad to have her safe against him. “Russia’s largest intelligence agency. Like our CIA.”

She raised her head and glanced in the direction of the mysterious Russian, then whispered, “I was dancing with a Russian spy?”

Bastian laughed. “And now you’re dancing with an American Green Beret. Which is better?”

She grinned wickedly. “Wellll…” She kissed him. “He’s not my type. What does it mean that he’s here?”

She was three inches taller in heels, and he liked the way she fit against him as they danced. He spun her in a slow circle. “I think it means Russia knows Drugov’s got a screw loose and they’re shutting him down.” He turned to see the probable GRU agent had disappeared into the crowd. Bastian wanted to get the man’s fingerprints on a glass, but he wore white gloves with his tux. Not unusual at this party, but still worth noting.

“Nikolai is really crazy,” Brie said. “Worse than he was a decade ago.”

Bastian turned his gaze back to her. “Rumor has it he had his old man killed so he could take over the family business.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“Savvy. She briefed SOCOM on him at length after you left the meeting.” His gaze narrowed. “You promised you wouldn’t go off alone with him.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I won’t be stupid like that again. I just…I hoped he’d say something he wouldn’t say in front of you. He did, but it wasn’t about Lawiri.”

“You asked him about Lawiri?”

“I didn’t have a chance. He was too busy telling me how he bought my virginity with the villa.”

“What?”

She explained how the villa next door had belonged to Drugov’s family, and they sold it after this house was built, apparently for below market value, because Brie’s daddy had no problem including his daughter in the deal.

“Maybe he never really expected Drugov to try to collect payment,” she said. “It could have been something verbal—a joke—that my dad laughed off. There were a lot of gross comments about me back then, thanks to the makeup ads. It’s possible my dad didn’t realize…but then when I turned eighteen, Nikolai insisted on collecting.”

He heard the note of hope in her voice, that maybe her dad hadn’t sold her all those years ago, long before she ever found herself in a slave market in South Sudan.

She met Bastian’s gaze and stopped swaying to the music, her eyes wide with horror. “How many times have I been sold?” Her thoughts must’ve flowed down the same lines.

He tightened his arm around her. There were so many things he wanted to say to comfort her, but this wasn’t the place. “Dance with me, sweetheart,” he whispered in her ear. “Let me hold you.”

She settled against him. One song ended and another began. Before he’d cut in, he’d made a song request, and with perfect timing, the singer’s clear voice rang out with the sultry lyrics of “Kissing a Fool.”

He held her tight and pretended they were in a muddy field in South Sudan, dancing under the stars, and hoped she was doing the same thing.

Dimitri Veselov watched the Americans dance. One thing was clear: the relationship between them wasn’t a charade, as he’d initially thought. For his purposes, that was good, because he couldn’t spend all his time trying to keep Drugov from the woman when he needed to get into the lab.

From Chief Ford’s bearing, Dimitri could tell the sick bastard Drugov wouldn’t get another shot at cornering Gabriella again.

Now…how to lead the couple to the truth without compromising himself? If he could get Chief Ford to destroy the contaminated stockpile, it would save the world a lot of grief, and Dimitri might be able to sleep at night.

If Drugov’s orders from the Kremlin were what Dimitri believed, he would have to expose himself—putting his sister and her son in danger—to stop a genocide. But if Chief Ford swooped in and exposed Drugov and Lawiri and the atrocity they would commit to end South Sudan’s civil war, then Dimitri could quietly return to his regular gig, and his sister and nephew would remain safe.

He rubbed his chin, glad he’d opted to wear the beard on this assignment. He hadn’t expected to come into close contact with American Special Forces. The beard would disguise him if the Green Beret managed to get his photo. Combined with the darkened hair and colored contacts, he looked nothing like his picture in US government files.

His time was running short. He was expected back at his post in three days. He needed to finish this job and return home, hoping his handlers didn’t guess he’d helped the Americans on this one.

If they figured it out, Sophia and Yulian were as good as dead. He wouldn’t let that happen. And for once, he’d find out what it was like to be on the right side.