AS WE DESCENDED the stairs, I started to wake up to the scale of this thing. As we passed one of the rear windows, I saw a Lamborghini cruise past, engine throbbing and snorting, to park next to a long line of other exotic sports cars. A sea of limousines were parked out front. The grounds had been transformed: tens of thousands of tiny white fairy lights had been strung from the trees, giving them a frosty, magical glow, and flaming torches lit the way to the door.

Instead of going down to the main hall, we veered off on the second floor and went down a back staircase, emerging from the big double doors that led into the ballroom. Grigory was there, and he nodded to us. “Everyone’s here,” he told Konstantin. And he put his hand on the doorknobs, ready to open them wide.

I suddenly realized what was about to happen. “Wait!” I said desperately.

Konstantin and Grigory looked round at me in confusion.

“I—” It’s probably not as bad as I think, I told myself. But I had to be sure. I let go of Konstantin’s arm, stooped and put my eye to the keyhole.

It was much worse than I thought.

The enormous ballroom had been lined with tables of food and a life-size ice sculpture of an angel stood at one end. A string quartet was sitting in one corner, instruments poised. And something like two hundred people were arranged in two thick crowds on either side of the room, the women all in huge, elaborate dresses like mine. That left an aisle down the center for...us.

We were the guests of honor. We were going to make a grand entrance.

I felt myself go pale. I was used to hiding. This was my worst nightmare.

“Christina?” asked Konstantin in puzzlement.

Now my face went red. I was scared and I was ashamed of being scared. I knew I should just fake the confidence: Christina would have lapped up the attention. But the idea of all those eyes on me made me want to curl up into a ball. And now Konstantin and Grigory were staring at me and wondering what was going on and—“Sorry,” I mumbled. “I just—” I glanced helplessly up at Konstantin, trying to find a way to explain. They’re expecting someone glamorous, but they’re going to get me—

I saw him frown and I quickly looked away. I’m not surprised he’s annoyed, I’m ruining everything. I saw him nod to Grigory and the guard quickly made himself scarce. He’s going to tell me off, like on the rooftop.

But instead, one knuckle pressed gently under my chin and lifted my head to look at him. He was frowning even harder but, when I saw the glint of blue in his eyes, my fear melted away. He wasn’t annoyed because I was scared; he was furious because I doubted myself.

He spoke with the same quiet intensity that he used to strike fear into mob bosses and mayors. But for once, he was using that power for good. “You listen to me,” he ordered. “There isn’t a woman in that room, not one of them, who compares to you.” He took my hand and squeezed it. “Do you hear me?”

I nodded dumbly and my heart gave a huge, hot, thump-thump.

He squeezed my hand again. “Then let’s go in there.” And he threw open the doors.

Cheers and applause rose into a deafening roar, engulfing us. Konstantin led me gently forward and I managed to stumble along beside him, trying to remember to nod and smile and wave. What he’d said to me kept spinning around my head, giving me the confidence to walk down the length of that massive room, and the feel of his arm hooked through mine did the rest.

At last, we reached the far end and the applause died down. The string quartet started to play and everyone relaxed and started to mingle. I let out a silent sigh of relief. It felt like something had shifted inside me. I felt...different.

For the next hour, we moved around the floor. There were politicians and celebrities. There were industry leaders I recognized from Time magazine and notorious underworld figures I recognized from FBI files. And yet, whoever they were, however important meeting them was to expanding his empire, Konstantin never let me feel that they were more important than me. Even as he talked to them, his gaze kept flicking my way, as if he couldn’t take his eyes off me. My feet were in agony after the first twenty minutes, but I didn’t care, not when he looked at me like that.

He finished the conversation he was having and then led me decisively off across the room. My eyes widened when I saw what was in front of us. An area had been set aside for dancing, right next to the string quartet, and a handful of couples were gliding elegantly around in some sort of waltz. My first thought was God, no: I had no idea how to do it, and my feet felt like they were on fire. But then I thought about dancing with Konstantin. Being swept around the floor in his arms, that muscled body guiding me. That was worth any amount of pain and embarrassment. So as we stepped onto the floor, I turned to him with a nervous smile, lifting my hand to take his like the other couples were doing….

He looked at me blankly. My face fell. Then he realized what I’d been trying to do and his face fell. “I’m sorry, golub. I wasn’t—” He nodded towards the far side of the room. Through a set of open doors and across the hallway, I could see the poker room. Of course: he’d just been cutting across the dance floor on his way to make some deals. Even at a ball, he had to build his empire. He looked at the dancing couples around us. “I don’t...dance.”

I went scarlet. Of course he wasn’t taking you to dance! You idiot! Have you forgotten what he is? I nodded frantically. “I don’t dance either,” I told him. I didn’t want him to think I was disappointed. Because I wasn’t...right? Of course I wasn’t. I was relieved. “Go do some business,” I told him. And I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, the way Christina would have, and turned and hurried away as fast as my aching feet would allow.

As soon as they saw I was on my own, a gaggle of women surrounded me. They were all desperate to know about Konstantin: did he really kill any man who looked at me? Did he really sleep in a coffin? One of them grabbed my arm, her eyes huge. “Did he brand you with his mark?”

They reminded me of me, back when I used to watch him from a distance. I wanted to tell them that he was more than just a bunch of myths, that he was complex... damaged. That sometimes, I could see a whole different man underneath all the coldness. Or I thought I could.

“Excuse me,” said Konstantin from behind me. “I need to borrow her.”

I slowly turned around.

He held his hand out: would you like to dance?

I looked around us. Everyone was pretending not to look, but I could hear the amazed murmurs spreading through the room. Is Konstantin going to dance?

But he ignored the crowd. He ignored the group of whispering women and the men waiting for him in the poker room. There was only one thing that was important to him. That made my heart fill and lift, tugging me up so hard that my throbbing feet didn’t seem to even touch the floor. I took his hand and he led me past the other couples and over to the string quartet, just as they finished the current piece. He spoke to the cellist, a tiny woman with glasses who wasn’t much bigger than her instrument. “Can you play the slow movement of Elgar’s Cello Concerto?” he asked her.

The cellist blinked. The rest of the quartet stared at her, worried. Whatever that piece was, apparently it was a serious ask. Then the cellist nodded, sat up very straight, wriggled her shoulders, and flipped through her music with the air of someone refusing to back down from a challenge.

She began to play and it was beautiful, a haunting tune that made me think of the might of an army and loss...unspeakable loss. But it also lifted and carried you, lending you hope. Konstantin allowed me only a bar or two to get used to it and then we were off.

I’d barely ever danced with a partner before. My memory of dancing with men is awkwardly shuffling around a dance floor with one of the ushers at a friend’s wedding, trying not to step on each other’s toes. This was not like that. This was amazing.

He led. Head up, back ramrod straight, sweeping me around the room in great, bold arcs and looping swirls. The whole crowd had stopped to watch, but he wasn’t self-conscious at all. His eyes never left mine. His only focus was on making me happy.

And somehow, even though I had no idea what I was doing and my feet were screaming in pain, I managed to stay with him. He was so strong and he hauled me around with such confidence, I just had to give up control and go with it. It helped that I always knew exactly what he was going to do: he communicated in the way he held me: a press of that big hand on my back meant we were going forwards, a gentle squeeze on my hand meant we were breaking left...I forgot to be shy and scared, I forgot about all the people watching, and I just enjoyed it.

God, he looked so right, dancing like this. The music suited his looks, bold and beautiful, strong yet graceful. Noble, which seemed like a crazy term to put on a criminal. But it fitted.

We finally glided to a stop and the room erupted into applause. The cellist put down her bow and slumped, panting but grinning. Konstantin took both my hands in his and looked down at me.

“Thank you,” I said with feeling. “Where did you learn to dance like that?”

His eyes flickered blue for an instant, softening as he remembered. “My grandmother.” He glanced away for a second as if pushing the momentary weakness away, but when he looked at me again, the blue was still there. He’d enjoyed the dancing, despite himself. We both had. He pulled on my hands just a little bit and I stepped closer, looking up at him, my body molding to his. His eyes fell to my lips again and I felt my heart tighten and lift in anticipation.

And then he seemed to remember who he was, what our relationship was. He squeezed my hands one last time and then dropped them. “I should….” He nodded towards the poker room.

I nodded quickly. “Go.”

We walked off in opposite directions. I could feel the eyes of every woman there on me and heard a hundred whispered conversations. No one could believe what he’d just done, including me. How could he be so cold, so mercilessly evil, and yet do something so warm and romantic? I wanted to scream at them, see? He’s more than you think!

Then I saw Grigory through the crowd. I ducked back behind a cluster of politicians. I didn’t want to run into him on my own and have to talk my way out of another kiss. I’d managed to keep my distance over the last week, never letting myself be alone with him, but I could tell he was getting frustrated.

He wasn’t looking for me now, though. He was talking to one of the guests, a man I didn’t recognize. They were speaking in low tones, using the hubbub around them as cover. This was important, I could feel it.

I sidled closer, keeping my back towards Grigory. “You have it?” he asked the man. “I need to deliver it tonight.”

The other man had a thick, wiry beard and a heavy Russian accent. “I have it. You have my money?”

“I’ll get it. Meet me downstairs, in the parking garage, in five minutes,” said Grigory.

They headed off in different directions. I thought fast. Today was the 15th, the day the “tool” was meant to be delivered to the man I’d met at the shopping mall. Konstantin must have asked Grigory to take care of it, just as he’d asked Christina to deliver the money. Grigory was about to buy the “tool” and then deliver it. This was my only chance to find out what it was.

I raced for the stairs...and staggered, cursing. I’d forgotten about my feet. After an hour of walking around and then a bout of dancing, they were in agony. I wasn’t racing anywhere.

I limped up to our room, grabbed my phone, and then crept down the stairs to the basement, wincing with each step. The skirt of my dress was so wide, it almost touched the wall on both sides. How the hell am I supposed to creep around in this?

I made it to the garage before anyone else and quickly looked around. Fortunately, I’d had a lot of practice when it comes to hiding. A broken light had left a patch of deep shadow right at the back of the garage and I hunkered down there, peeking out around one of the big SUVs.

Grigory arrived first, a thick envelope in his hand that must have been packed with cash. A moment later, the man with the beard showed up, carrying some sort of suitcase. “I hope Konstantin knows what he’s doing,” he muttered as he handed it to Grigory. “Using this thing will bring a lot of attention.”

Grigory looked suddenly grim. “He knows what he’s doing.” He handed the man the money and carried the case around to the back of a black Mercedes. He was going to load it into a car and deliver it right now! This was my only chance to find out what it was.

Trying to move silently, I pressed my back against the side of the SUV and shuffled sideways along its length, keeping it between me and Grigory. He was muttering to himself, moving things around in the Mercedes’ trunk to make room for the case.

I reached the SUV’s front fender, less than six feet from where Grigory stood. As he put the case in the trunk, his back to me, I craned my head out from behind the car and lifted my phone. Then, just as he swung the trunk closed, I took a photo.

My phone camera clicked, the trunk slammed and I dropped back behind the SUV, all at the same time. I heard Grigory whip around—he’d heard something. I sat there with my back pressed against the cold metal, heart hammering, trying not to breathe.

On the screen was the photo I’d taken, the suitcase clearly visible. It was one of those toughened flight cases with a vaguely military look. There was a number on the side that meant nothing to me, but maybe Calahan could decode it. I quickly sent him the photo: if Grigory caught me, at least all this wouldn’t have been in vain. But the email just sat in my outbox. Shit! There was no signal because we were underground.

I heard Grigory take a step towards the SUV. I imagined his eyes searching the silent garage. I was paranoid that my phone was going to ring and give me away, so I powered it off.

Over a minute went by. Then I heard Grigory curse in Russian, climb into the Mercedes and speed off. I slumped against the SUV, panting. Then I levered myself up and began the long walk back up the stairs to the ball. Before, I’d been running on adrenaline but now I felt every hard, concrete stair under my soles, every jolt as my heel came down, and the shoes bit into my skin. By the time I reached the ballroom, I was a wreck. But I pasted a smile on my face, opened the door and slipped inside.

I walked the length of the room looking for Konstantin. Maybe he’s still playing poker. It was only when I reached the far end that I felt a warm hand on my bare shoulder and spun around. That was a mistake: my right shoe dug into the side of my foot in a particularly vicious way and I staggered sideways.

Konstantin grabbed me under the arms, taking my weight like it was nothing. “What is it?”

I shook my head. “Nothing.” But as I tried to straighten up, a bolt of pain shot up my leg and I couldn’t disguise my wince.

Konstantin looked down at my feet, then frowned at me. “Why didn’t you say something?” He shook his head. “We’re leaving. I’ll take you upstairs.”

“You can’t leave!” I said, horrified. “It’s your party!”

“If it’s my party,” he said firmly, “then I can do what I like.”

And he hooked one arm under my back and the other arm behind my knees and suddenly I was scooped up in his arms, my huge skirt flowing down over his forearm, and he was carrying me through the room. Everyone turned to look and I would have curled up and died from embarrassment but—

But nobody else mattered because I was looking up into his eyes. And the deep concern I saw there, the tenderness, took my breath away. It was even more overwhelming because of who he was, because I knew it was coming through all those layers of coldness.

He carried me all the way up to our bedroom and kicked the door shut behind us. Then he dropped me gently onto the bed. Christina probably would have found a way to land gracefully, but I just sort of sprawled, arms and legs everywhere, and then I reached down and pried off my shoes. The relief was almost spiritual. I lay back with a contented groan.

And then I realized he was looking at me in a very particular way.

“What?” I asked.

He didn’t answer, just stood at the foot of the bed, staring down at me.

I glanced down at myself. I wasn’t doing anything sexy. I was just lying there untidily, my skirts all in a mess, barefoot and with my hair all disheveled but—

But his eyes...they were like I’d never seen them. Not just a faint flicker of blue but a steady gleam. Not just lust. Something deeper.

“What?” I asked again.

This wasn’t the dungeon. This was our bedroom. Nothing was allowed to happen, here, but….

But his knuckles had gone white where they gripped the foot of the bed. The tension that had been building for a week rose up between us, the air going thick and heavy.

“Wha—”

But I never reached the t because he suddenly lunged forward, grabbed me, and kissed me.