Chapter 3 - The Board Changes
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The ballroom spun in a blur of crystal and silk, but my entire world was reduced to the sharp, calculating eyes of the man holding me.
“I’m your secretary, Larkin,” I said, matching his smooth, predatory steps. “Nothing more.”
“My secretary doesn't wear steel-tipped stilettos,” Larkin murmured, his hand tightening slightly on my waist, pulling me a fraction of an inch closer. “My secretary flinches when Thomas raises his voice. You just stared him down without blinking. It takes training to control a flinch, Penelope. Who trained you?”
“I grew up in a bad neighborhood,” I lied effortlessly. “You learn not to show fear.”
Larkin’s gaze darkened. “You process invoices for chemical burns and offshore shell companies. You balance ledgers that would put a normal accountant in a psychiatric ward out of sheer terror. You aren't just brave. You are immune.”
I didn't answer. I simply followed his lead, keeping my expression perfectly neutral.
“Mind if I cut in?” a heavy, accented voice interrupted.
We stopped. Standing beside us was Viktor Volkov, the head of the Russian syndicate that controlled the eastern docks. He was a massive man with a thick beard and eyes like dead winter. He was looking at me with undisguised, hungry interest.
Larkin did not step back. He kept his hand firmly on the small of my back, his posture shifting instantly from investigative to territorial.
“I do mind, Viktor,” Larkin said smoothly, his voice devoid of any warmth. “Miss Woods is with me this evening.”
Viktor chuckled, a harsh, grating sound. “I didn't recognize her, Larkin. You usually keep your weapons hidden in the vault. It is a shame to keep such a beautiful blade sheathed in an office.”
“She is essential to my operations,” Larkin replied, the implied threat hanging heavy in the air between them. “And she is entirely off-limits.”
Viktor raised his hands in mock surrender, offering me a chilling smile before disappearing back into the crowd.
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I looked up at Larkin, my heart hammering a sudden, frantic rhythm against my ribs. “You just claimed me in front of the Russian mob.”
“I marked you as mine,” Larkin corrected, his eyes locking onto mine with a fierce, uncompromising intensity. “Thomas brought you here as a joke, but he accidentally put you on the board. You are a player now, Penelope. And in this room, if you do not belong to a king, you are torn apart by the wolves.”
