A ruthless mob boss tried to insult me in Russian at his restaurant table, completely unaware I understood every word.

Monday evening arrived under a blanket of fog that rolled off Lake Michigan, wrapping the city streets in a ghost-like dampness.

At six-thirty, Mara stood in front of the mirror in her small bedroom. She wore a simple, elegant black dress with long sleeves and a high neckline—the only formal dress she owned, bought years ago for an academic dinner at Northwestern. Her blonde hair was pinned neatly back, exposing the delicate line of her neck and her sharp, determined jawline.

Her phone rang on the nightstand.

She picked it up. "Hello?"

"Mara." It was Alexi’s voice. Deep, calm, echoing slightly through a high-end car speaker. "There is a car waiting outside your building."

"I can take the train," she replied automatically.

"Not tonight. Get in the car."

Mara breathed out slowly, grabbed her small black clutch, and walked downstairs.

A sleek black Mercedes sedan was idling at the curb. The driver, an older man with graying hair and an immaculate suit, held the door open for her without a word.

The ride across town was silent. The city lights blurred through the fogged windows, painting red and golden ribbons across the wet asphalt.

When the car pulled up to the main entrance of Ardane, the velvet ropes were already set up, but the restaurant was eerily dark. The grand dining room that usually buzzed with wealthy patrons, clinking champagne flutes, and live jazz was empty.

Corbin, the manager, was standing near the entrance. When he saw Mara enter, his face was pale, his eyes wide with an uneasy mix of terror and deep respect. He opened the door for her without making eye contact.

"Where is everyone?" Mara asked quietly as she stepped inside.

"Mr. Vulov bought out the entire restaurant for the evening," Corbin whispered nervously. "The staff was sent home. Only the kitchen leads and Mr. Vulov's personal security team are inside."

Mara walked across the silent, carpeted floor toward table nineteen.

The white roses were gone, replaced by a single crystal vase containing a single dark red dahlia.

Alexi was already seated, wearing a tailored black tuxedo that highlighted his broad shoulders and commanding presence. Kirill stood near the grand windows overlooking the fog-shrouded city, his arms crossed over his chest, a subtle bulge under his jacket indicating his concealed weapon.

Alexi stood up as Mara approached. His eyes moved slowly down her dress, lingering on her face for a quiet, heavy moment before he pulled out the leather chair opposite him.

"You look exquisite," he said softly in English.

"Let's get this over with, Mr. Vulov," Mara replied, taking her seat, her pulse hammering against her throat.