Putin On The Ritz の小説・ストーリー

“I love you too” ******************* “You seriously rented the whole Ritz Carlton?” I asked wide eyed and Nikolay shrugged. “I wanted us to have our privacy, there will be guards at the doors guarding the hotel. The maids will be tending to our needs, but none of them are our men or girls. We would be having these few days for us completely” Nikolay said and I shook my head at him making him smirk. “You do realize that we have the family gala event and we have to be there” I said looking at Nikolay crossing my arms over my chest.

This major celebration, with a ton of high-profile guests, was happening in a fancy New York hotel’s enormous hall. It’s a party thrown by Mr. Zurich, the second-richest guy on the planet. The Forbes says so. Just when I thought of Stavros that he might be present, I caught sight of him. My chest ached, a familiar weight settling as I caught sight of him. As usual, he looked magnificent. The high and mighty Demakis, with his impeccably stylish tailored suits. Next to him was the gorgeous Russian heiress Loraine Bovarin. The only daughter of the billionaire Vladimir Bovarin, who owned the most extensive metal business in Russia.

She felt a little embarrassed and fearful the first time she faced so many cameras. Nathan smiled calmly, shook Valentina's hand toward the camera, and said with a smile. "This is my wife, Valentina Miller. Ask your reporter friends to come to the press conference if there are any other questions. The five-star hotel " The Ritz " will be the site of the Mercer Group press conference; I will answer one by one your questions." After speaking, he grabbed Valentina's waist and got into the car. The reporters were unwilling to miss details, so they advanced with their cameras.

"You're impossible. You are in luck, already on my way. The usual place?" Payne paused and tentatively asked, "What's the special occasion? You sound so pliable tonight." "Want me to rescind the offer?" I asked, brows arched, even though he couldn't see me. "Of course not. I'll go get ready, boss." He added, ending the call before I could speak. I chuckled at his actions, scrolling my phone to make reservations at the Ritz, an elite VIP restaurant known for its seafood, before placing it back into my pocket.

I say, nearly begging, "I need to know what's happening. I wasn’t planning for any of this!" He keeps his eyes locked with mine, searching my gaze. "Fine,” he says after a moment of silence. “I have a meeting tomorrow with this guy… He’s the most powerful media mogul in Russia. I want you to be by my side. We'll be staying at the Hilton for two nights." I bite my lip, suddenly overwhelmed with anticipation. We’ll be staying at the Hilton? In the same room? Does that mean…?

The second he spotted the envelope in my hands, he burst out laughing—rough, breathless. “Oh no, Zoe. I still want to live. I’m not doing that again. If you want to return it, do it yourself.” I huffed and shoved the envelope into my bag. “You’re both impossible. When did Valeri leave?” “A while ago.” Rinat pushed himself up and nodded toward the door. “Taxi’s waiting. Let’s go. I swear, I’m never drinking champagne again. It’s not a drink—it’s torture.” “Really?” I said, surprised. I felt perfectly fine. “I liked it.”

Stella asked faintly, "Where are you taking me?" "Ritz Club," Federick said with a smile. New Century Ritz Club was the most luxurious club in Baskerville. Most people would not be able to book a VIP room at the Ritz Club. Stella followed Federick into the VIP room. Felicia naturally took Federick's arm and introduced to Wilson Chuck with a smile, "Dad, it was Federick who saved me yesterday." Wilson smiled with satisfaction and reached out his hand. "Minister, you are a young talent from the Ministry of Health Department. I've met you before. Nice to meet you again. Thank you for helping my daughter." Wilson said politely.

Not yet. The Plaza was lit up like a beacon. Cameras. Press. Security everywhere. The city's elite arriving in their designer gowns and borrowed jewels. We pulled up in Dante's Bentley. The valet opened my door. Flashbulbs exploded. "Mr. Russo! Ms. Moretti! Over here!" "Is it true you're engaged?" "Any comment on the recent violence?" Dante's hand found the small of my back. Steady. Grounding. "Smile," he murmured. "Let them see we're not afraid."

"What about him?" "His name is Victor Petrov. Russian oligarch, suspected arms dealer, and he's been at the club every Friday for the past month. Keith wants to know why." "You think he's planning something?" "I think everyone's planning something." Sofia fast-forwards the footage. "Watch how he interacts with the staff. See that? He barely acknowledges the servers, except—there. He slips something to that bartender." I watch the exchange, barely visible unless you're looking for it. "Money?"

Underneath it, the old ghost, Caleb Knight, the scaredy cat who could be broken at will was clawing his way out, eager to run away and afraid of the whole situation as a coward that he was. An hour later, the armored Mercedes pulled up to the private VIP entrance of the luxury venue. The air outside was freezing, but the interior of the grand hall was a sweltering furnace of wealth, opulence, and high-society tension. Crystal chandeliers dripped from the vaulted ceilings, casting a blinding, golden glow over Moscow's elite. Oligarchs, politicians, and oil magnates floated through the room, their laughter clinking against champagne flutes. Yet, as I walked toward the main elevated dais, my ey