90. The enemy of my enemy

Erica

“Jeremiah Sokolov.” He introduced himself in his deep voice with a hint of accent that wasn’t there before.

But it was not needed as his last name already registered in my mind and I stared at him for a moment, before stating. “You are a Russian.”

He smiled, like he was proud of being recognised as one. “Please to meet you.”

“Do these people know you are here? Because if you are Russian and you are in this party you can’t be an ordinary Russian. You must be someone important.”

“I am starting to see why he brought you with him tonight.” He murmured, his grey eyes taking me in as if seeing me for the first time. “But to answer your questions. Yes, the hosts know I’m here. They invited me. And,” he leaned closer and whispered, “I am the head of the Sokolov family. The bratva.” If it was even possible his voice dropped even further to a caress as he said, “That makes me his enemy and you know what they say about the enemy of my enemy.”

“A friend.” I finished on a whisper as a slithe