PROJECT ASTERIA

S E V E N

Rich people worked hard and partied even harder. When she'd been helping Andrei the entire day with his plans of embezzling money from the Chinese government for the Seven, the whole mansion was silent, except for the occasional knock on the door from the butler. Everyone had their own thing going on, and she couldn't remember Andrei even stopping to take a break.

But now, it was time for another dinner party. And God, the Seven knew how to party.

Andrei passed her with a smile, before giving her the most subtlest of nods. From this point on, she had an hour to get Cyrus to talk before the dinner really started.

Carina approached the Iranian mogul with the timidness of any of his potential lovers. He seemed to catch on as he smiled coyly, eyeing her the way a patron would a spectacular painting. "Good evening," he said, and she responded in like, as he followed her to the balcony, and shut the door behind them.

She could no longer see Andrei through the glass windows, which could've been good or bad.

There were several personalities that she had created for herself as a spy. There was the sadist, the prostitute, the academic, the politician, and so many more. But tonight, it would be the therapist that would get Anvari to spill his entire life story, and hopefully reveal the location or any whereabouts of his son. Carina made sure to subtly touch his arm here and there as she chatted with him.

He liked to talk about economics and politics, so she did too. Conversations about the stocks of his company and Saudi Aramco eventually blossomed into his gloomy outlook for his future. He was opening up as any person did when someone was willing to listen. Even the most depressing and empty of men would be glad to have a companion.

Andrei had been right about the misogyny, but she had a mission. And if she had to play the role of a therapeutic and submissive lover, then she would.

Carina had made sure to encourage him to drink a few glasses. He was tipsy, nearly drunk. And she heard stories about him when he was drunk—he went wild.

And he kept talking, but there was nothing he said that was of any interest to her. She still needed him to talk about his son, assuming he knew he had one. This was a risky gamble. She couldn't just ask him about his past lovers—that would be suspicious and terrible, and she didn't want to be seen as jealous of them.

She risked a glance at the clock. Fifty four minutes and twelve seconds had passed. Andrei was never late, always punctual. And if he didn't return in five minutes, then something would be terribly wrong. But he always had a plan, so she trusted in him.

Carina had only zoned out shortly before she felt his hands trail down her arm, and onto her back. She pursed her lips. She had hoped it wouldn't come to this, but it seemed that it would. There would be no one to stop him, and if she did, he'd see it as skeptical. With nobody to say no, not even herself, he would take her like another one of his many conquests.

She reluctantly kissed him back, and let his hands roam over her body.

Two minutes.

"You know," he said, whispering into her ear, as if he were going to tell her a secret. And secret it was. "You look like my first wife. Just like her."

She let a pause into the conversation before she asked. "Who?" She asked, trying not to sound too interested, too probing.

Cyrus's cold fingers undid her dress. "She was an American supermodel," he said, hands clasping around her waist. "Her name was Barbara Collins."

She bit back a scream as his lips fell to her neck, then her collarbone.

"What happened to her?" She whispered softly, comfortingly, trying not to squirm from the discomfort. She would kill Andrei if he didn't come back now.

"We got divorced," he said, trying to remain emotionless. But she could see the newly fractured light in his eyes. "She took my, my only son, my pride and joy, into custody. And then they disappeared."

His voice cracked.

Bingo. It was inadvertent, but he had said it. And that meant he didn't know Armon's whereabouts either. He cleared his throat, as she put her arms around him, comfortingly. Her hands ran down his solid back, which spoke of years of discipline. Then he turned her around and pushed her onto the railing of the balcony, his expression hardening again as if the moment of weakness had been switched off.

Five seconds to go.

No, no, no. Her eyes widened. Andrei, where are you?

As he undid his belt, the door opened.

"Who knew you two would get along so nicely?" Andrei smirked, averting his eyes, playing the role of the master in the Seven. "Good evening, Cyrus, Lily. Would you mind saving this for later? I need to have a private conversation with the lady."

Cyrus sighed in annoyance, but he knew where he stood in the hierarchy. He shot her a flirtatious smile. "We can do this another time," he said, stepping back inside to give the two spies their privacy.

"Big problem," Andrei said, his amused expression sliding off his face the second the door closed. "Alejandro is missing."