“Yes!” Davis high-fived me. “Allie knows what’s up.”
“Um,” Charlie began hesitantly, “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I think your dad is waving for you to come over.” Her cornflower blue eyes were apologetic.
I offered her a small smile. “It’s not your fault. You guys don’t drink all the Champagne without me. And Isabel, I want to hear all the details about your audition yesterday. I’ll be back soon.”
I rubbed my thumb over the smooth back of my locket once before slipping on my composed mask and making my way through the crowd. My dad was talking to Mike and another middle-aged, dark haired man I vaguely recognized.
As I joined them, I recalled that his name was Mikhail Ivanov, a Russian billionaire who was one of my father’s most important donors. An exceptionally tall man, he towered over Mike and had several inches of height on my dad. His hair was so densely black that I suspected a dye job, but it matched his close-cropped beard, so it might be natural. His dark eyes focused on me, thick lashes narrowing as he assessed me.
I wanted to flee in the face of his scrutiny, but I resolutely maintained my composure.
“There she is!” Mike beamed at me, and his eyes widened with something like relief. His tux was a little too tight around his belly, one of the buttons straining slightly. Next to the imposing Russian, he seemed far more human. I’d always thought of him as a larger-than-life personal hero. My heart tugged, and my steps quickened as I hastened to join my mentor in a show of solidarity.
Mikhail offered me a polite smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. The man was notoriously calculating, an obscenely rich, billionaire businessman who’d worked his way to the top through ruthless acquisitions and international maneuvering. For a moment, the flash of his dark eyes reminded me of Francesca’s shark-like, calculating gaze, and my steps faltered.
What else did your daddy tell you about his dirty dealings? Tell me everything you know about his relationship with the Russians. Max’s deranged question echoed through my mind, and the memory of my time in his basement chilled my skin.
I shook my head slightly, as though I could forcibly rid myself of the thought. It was insane that I would even recall his words in this moment. Just because Mikhail Ivanov was Russian didn’t make him a dangerous criminal. No matter how intimidating I found him, the billionaire businessman had a fearsome but respectable reputation. My father wouldn’t associate with him if he was at all involved with the Bratva.
It was ludicrous to even consider otherwise. I’d looked at the evidence for myself; there was no Bratva involvement in the Five Families case. There were zero connections between my dad and Russian organized crime.
I focused on Mike, his need for help bolstering my resolve. I straightened my spine and spread my lips in a practiced smile. When I attended these events for my father, I’d learned to slip into a different persona, drawing on my confident façade like a costume. Isabel had coached me using acting techniques, and I’d gotten pretty good at appearing poised when necessary. No matter how shaky I felt on the inside.
“Allie, I was just telling your dad about all the hard work you’ve been putting in at the office. Especially considering the extra time you’ve spent researching our old cases for your studies. Ron, you’ve raised a brilliant young woman.”
My father’s proud grin flooded my chest with warmth, and my own smile broadened with genuine delight. “That’s my girl. Allie, you remember Mikhail Ivanov.” He made sure to include one of his biggest donors in the conversation. “Mikhail, my daughter, Allie. She’s interning at the US Attorney’s Office this summer.” His chest practically swelled with pride, and my eyes stung.
I blinked hard before the burst of emotion could crack my composed mask.
Mikhail nodded at me. “Yes, I remember.” His Russian accent was still thick despite his years in America. “It’s lovely to see you again, Allie.”
“You too,” I replied automatically. “And it’s great to see you, Mr. Callahan. I didn’t realize you would be here tonight.”
He clapped my dad on the shoulder. “Your old man was nice enough to extend an invite.” He didn’t tell me to call him Mike, and I was glad I hadn’t. It seemed more appropriate to address him with professional courtesy in public, especially in front of important, intimidating men like Mikhail.
“You’re studying your father’s old cases?” The Russian shocked me by appearing interested. “Which ones? He had a very impressive career before finding his place in politics. It’s why I’ve supported him for many years.”
My cheeks heated at the sudden, intense attention. I’d expected to come over and snap a photo with Mikhail and then return to my friends. He’d never wanted to talk to me before.