Then recognition hits, and my steps slow.
That ring belonged to my mother.
The air around me turns cold despite the heat coming off the water.
I know every detail of it. The oval stone. The thin platinum band. The tiny flaw near the setting that no jeweler could ever fully smooth out. My father had it made for her before I was born, back when he still pretended loyalty and love meant the same thing. After she died, the ring disappeared into a safe somewhere in the Volkov estate.
And now it sits on the hand of a stranger.
No. Not a stranger.
A girl. Young. Blonde. Beautiful enough that every man on the terrace has looked at her at least once since I walked in.
I stop near the entrance of the restaurant, my attention fixed on her hand. On my mother’s ring.
Beside me, Viktor notices the shift in my expression immediately. He has worked for me long enough to understand silence better than most people understand words.
“What is it?” he asks quietly.
I keep my eyes on the girl. “Who is she?”
Viktor follows my gaze toward the table of women. His answer comes after only a second. “Anya Sokolova.”
The name means nothing to me at first.
Then he adds, “Sergei Sokolov’s daughter.”
I remember Sergei. A useful man. Nervous eyes. Too eager to please my father. The kind of man who survives by kneeling before stronger men.
“And the ring?” I ask.
Viktor hesitates. “She’s engaged to Dmitri.”
The words land heavily.
Something ugly moves through my chest.
Dmitri. Of course.
Who else would dare take that ring from the Volkov house without permission? My half brother has always mistaken access for ownership. Cars, money, women, power. He burns througheverything like a spoiled child convinced there will always be more.
But that ring was my mother’s.
Not his to give away.
My jaw tightens hard enough to hurt. “Interesting,” I say.
Viktor wisely says nothing after that.
I look back toward the table. Anya Sokolova is smiling at something one of the women says, but the smile feels practiced. Pretty. Controlled. She sits straight, aware of being watched without ever appearing uncomfortable under attention.
Beautiful women usually bore me.
Men become idiots around them. Women become competitive around them.
But there’s something about this one that catches under my skin immediately.
Maybe it’s the ring.