A warm hand grasped mine, and I looked at Natasha, saw her faint smile of encouragement. It didn’t stop my pounding heart, the almost disembodied feeling that my light head created, but I appreciated the effort.
The next hour was excruciating. I didn’t meet David’s gaze, but I could feel his eyes on me, and the fear that he’d instilled came back automatically. I wasn’t close enough for David to touch, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t unnerved.
And Vasile wasn’t helping. He hadn’t looked at me, seemed completely disinterested in me, in everyone around him, save Vargas and David. I followed his lead as Sorin and Natasha did, not eating or drinking or speaking, a silent island in the sea of joviality.
The other guests laughed and drank, all acting as if everything was well, but the undercurrent of tension in the room was unmistakable, and it soon reached the breaking point.
“My food not good enough for you, Mr. Petran?” Vargas finally said.
He sounded friendly, like this was jocular teasing, but the lowering volume in the room, the sudden ratcheting of the tension made the seriousness of the question undeniable.
“We aren’t hungry,” Vasile said.
Which wasn’t a complete lie, at least not for me. I couldn’t have eaten a thing, even if forced.
“Fair enough. But you, your brother, your guests,” he let his eyes linger on me momentarily before looking at the bar at the opposite side of the room, “drink with me.”
“That’s a great idea, Vargas,” David said, his eyes glued to me. And with each word he spoke a fresh dose of ice and terror raced through my veins. “Offer Mr. Vargas’s guests a drink, bitch,” he said, mirroring the words that had started this all.
I went to stand, instinct telling me to comply or face the consequences.
Vasile’s hand clamped on my wrist, strong but not punishing, and held me in place.
“Apologize.”
The lethal tone of his voice froze me and everyone else in the room. After a moment, still halfway between sitting and standing, I shifted to look at Vasile, saw the rage on his face, the tight set of his jaw, his glacial gaze leaving no question of his anger.
“Your English has gotten a lot better,” David said, practically sneering.
“Apologize.”
“For what? For calling my—”
Something dangerous flitted across Vasile’s face, and David cut off short. I’d never seen that before, David heeding a warning and some small part of me wished he hadn’t, wanted him to give Vasile a reason to mete out the damage I’d never have a chance to. But the other, saner part of me wanted peace, wanted out of this whole situation.
The room was tense, heavy with the weight of the brewing confrontation, and all I wanted to do was run.
“Gentlemen, we’re here as friends and business associates. Let’s not ruin the evening,” Vargas said. “I’m sure David meant no offense, Mr. Petran. So he’d be happy to apologize. Wouldn’t you, David?”
David looked like he wanted to spit, but he choked out the words, “I apologize, Mr. Petran.”
“You didn’t insult me,” Vasile said evenly. “Apologize.”
Vargas’s face showed surprise, and David turned an alarming shade of red as disgust tugged at his features. “You’re out of your fucking mind. I’m not apologizing to that—”
“You should watch you’re fucking mouth,” Sorin interjected, voice equally lethal. “Or better yet, don’t. Go ahead, say it. See how Clan Petran handles those who disrespect what’s ours.”
Sorin put extra emphasis on “ours” and the implication was not missed by David. He exhaled hard, his hands clenched into tight fists on the cream-colored tablecloth. I focused on his meaty fingers, remembered the pain they could inflict. He exhaled again, every eye in the room on him, watching.
“I apologize, Fawn,” he said.
Vasile didn’t look the least bit placated, and it probably wasn’t lost on him that David may as well have insulted me again with the venom and scorn in that “apology.” I worried what would happen next.
But after a beat, Vasile stood smoothly, then pulled me the rest of the way up. Natasha and Sorin behind, we left the grand home.
Fourteen
Vasile
* * *
Fawn was out of the limo before it came to a complete stop. After speaking with Oleg, I followed her.
“Dammit!”
Her low-voiced words, agitated, not at all Fawn, hit my ears, the wrongness of them amping my reaction.
I walked faster, the sound of her voice and the cursing both cause for alarm, neither something that I had ever heard from Fawn.
When I entered, I zeroed in on her hopping from foot to foot as she clawed at the zipper of her dress.