When they pulled up to a somewhat dilapidated theater in East Williamsburg, faint bells of recognition started going off in the back of Salim’s head. Wasn’t there meant to be a group out here that was making waves? Something secretive and impossible to get a ticket for?

By the time he read on the marquee that it was Williamsburg Ballet, everything clicked.

“Ah, right, ballet. I’d forgotten about that little hobby of yours.”

Nikolai looked mock-offended.

“Hobby? I bought one of the foremost dance companies in Russia. I’m a respected member of the community! I love ballet!”

Salim rolled his eyes. “You love beautiful women in skin-tight clothing.”

Nikolai grinned.

“Well, who in their right mind doesn’t? And besides, it’s in my blood to like it. Are you, of all people, going to deny me my family history? Now, just wait here; I’ve got to go charm someone into deciding they have room for us.”

Of course, Nikolai hadn’t had someone arrange this for him. It would have been trivial, with his connections, even as notoriously difficult a ticket as this was. But getting into something exclusive with a wave of his hand on the day of the performance was just another way of winning.

In some ways, and on days like today, Nikolai reminded Salim of his father, and a number of his brothers to boot. And the thought led him down a path in his mind that he had hoped to leave aside when he’d boarded the plane back to New York.

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t realize for some time what his eyes had come to rest on. And even after he did, and knew that he was staring in a way that would probably make her uncomfortable if she could see him through the glass, he couldn’t tear his glance away.

There, standing in the alley, illuminated by the street lamp above her, was an astoundingly beautiful woman in a revealing costume, seemingly transfixed by the sight of her own breath. Standing as she was, illuminated in the darkness, she reminded him a great deal of a Caravaggio painting, not unlike the one he had won today.

But unlike a Caravaggio painting, Salim found that he had no desire to explore the world in the darkness around her. All he wanted to do was explore her. Her hair was pulled back, and her costume was a thing of beauty, although he doubted it would look half as perfect draped around any other body.

It was her face—something about the emotions expressed there, and lived out so coherently by every other muscle she had—that made her stand out to him. She was a dancer; that much was obvious from what she was wearing. But even as she stood still, it was as though she was dancing, expressing herself with everything she was.

What a rare talent, Salim thought, to be able to be a work of art, even while standing still.

There was also the question of what those emotions actually were; there was some kind of sadness there that Salim could see, even from this distance. But there was hope, too. She had the joy of victory, even mixed as it was with a clear sense of anxiety. She was at once still, focused and determined, and, at the same time, her whole body seemed poised for something, as though she were waiting for the sound of a gun to take flight.

Salim had forgiven Nikolai for many things over the years, but in the moment when he came back to the town car and told him that their seats were ready, he felt sure he would never forgive him for taking him away from his quiet observation of the woman in the lamplight.

When would he again get the opportunity to just sit and observe this woman, being so perfectly expressive and perfectly herself without meaning to? It was an authentic moment, in a world that, at least in Salim’s experience, often lacked authenticity.

He mourned the loss of that moment up until the ballet began, when he saw that same woman, with that same ethereal beauty, come out onto the stage.

Instantly, he understood why he and Nikolai were there. The ballet company was one thing—they are easily enough bought and sold, and Nikolai had shown a penchant for buying just that sort of thing. But she was the real treasure here.

She was the diamond in the over-the-river wasteland.

There was a part of Salim that almost felt betrayed. He’d thought that that moment with her in the alley was singular. He thought that he was getting to see something unique that no one would ever see. But here he was, in a room with so many strangers—none of whom, Salim felt, could possibly deserve the gift they were being given—and still she gave off that same purity of intention and emotion and form that she had all on her own in the alley.

If he had to guess, he would imagine that everyone in the room felt the same way that he did. He felt alone with her. He felt a sense of connection that he had only ever felt a few times, and then with works of art. That feeling—so rare and so treasured—was what had led him to become a collector in the first place. And he was, in a way, proud of Nikolai for having uncovered something so rare and holy.

He was proud up until the moment at intermission, when Nikolai opened his mouth.

“Can you imagine how much I’m going to enjoy sleeping with that?”

He had leaned in close, so that no one else could hear them, and still Salim felt embarrassed by his friend. And insulted, as though he’d said something to personally offend him. It was a strange feeling; over the course of their friendship, Nikolai had said many offensive things, but the reason they were able to stay friends was that Salim had always been able to find a way to ignore them.

But this—that Nikolai would talk about her that way—that made Salim furious. He had to swallow his anger as he replied.

“You think she doesn’t have plenty of better options than you?”

Salim, in his annoyance, had backed away from Nikolai, but Nikolai leaned back in conspiratorially.

“I hear she’s had plenty of options. But I haven’t heard of her actually taking any of them. From what I hear, she’s picky. So picky that I can’t actually find any evidence of her having dated anyone.”

The pit of anger in Salim’s stomach was growing. Nikolai hadn’t just heard this from idle gossip. If anyone had asked, Salim was sure that no one would think Nikolai even knew who she was at all. But Nikolai’s family had ways of finding things out—mostly, for the sake of their business enterprises. And Nikolai had gone and used them to stalk this woman who had done nothing to provoke his intense interest other than exist and be extraordinary.

But even as he was upset at Nikolai’s methods of gathering information, Salim found himself curious about his results.

“What, no one? And you think she’s going to date you?”

Nikolai laughed, causing a few people nearby to look over at them. He waited until they had looked away before he continued.

“Oh, Salim. Who said anything about dating?”

Again, the anger grew.

“You won’t be able to,” he said, more out of instinct than intention. He didn’t believe that Nikolai wouldn’t be able to. He knew his friend too well for that.

Nikolai looked surprised, and maybe, somewhere in there, even a little insulted.

“What, and you think you could?”

“More than you.”

Nikolai seemed to consider for a moment. And then, with a grin, he leaned back in.

“All right, then, since you seem so certain. How about you give me a chance to earn back that five million dollars that I missed out on earlier?”

Salim knew he should probably hesitate. He knew he should think it through. He’d only put forward the five million before because he knew his friend well enough to know that that money was perfectly safe. He would have been good for it if Nikolai had been able to come up with the names, but he never would have offered it if he’d thought there was the slightest chance he’d do it.

Salim had made a rule of not getting involved in Nikolai’s little power trips, except when Nikolai brought them to him. It was another of the things that had allowed them to stay more or less on good terms across all these years.

And yet…

He pictured the girl, whose name the program told him was Ophelia. He imagined her falling for Nikolai’s charms, only to be let down when he inevitably did what he would always do. You can’t blame a scorpion for doing what is in its nature; the fable was true. But Salim couldn’t stand idly by and let Nikolai inflict that nature on someone else.

He couldn’t stop Nikolai from pursuing Ophelia. And he couldn’t, in all likelihood, prevent Nikolai from succeeding, unless he gave Ophelia some reason to turn him down. He didn’t need to win. He just needed to prevent Nikolai from succeeding for as long as it took him to give up and change his mind.

And, with the success that Salim had had with women, he knew that filling the beautiful ballerina’s head up with a different fantasy would be perfectly within his capabilities.

He could lead her on and keep her out of Nikolai’s orbit. And then, Ophelia—and her heart—would be safe from Nikolai’s penchant to take everything a woman had to give and leave her the moment he was done.

Salim stuck out a strong, sure hand, ready to shake. “You have a bet.”