Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I'm borrowing her characters and giving them a lot of money.

Unbeta'd, unedited.

If you haven't read The Cleaner, this companion/extra/outtake will make zero sense.

Even after all these months, Aronov wouldn't stop whispering in my ear, so I thought I'd give him some air time. I don't know if this will be it, or if I'll post more outtakes/in-between takes from his POV. We'll see.

Unlike The Cleaner, all the dialogue is in English. One, writing Aronov's POV in Russian would mean… a lot of Russian and far too much scrolling for you. Two, it would be rather time-consuming for me to do it correctly. So, for the sake of ease, let's all pretend that any dialogue you see in italics is actually being spoken in Russian.

This scene occurs during Misha's party at the Schönbrunn Palace while they're still in Vienna (Chapter 12, The Cleaner).

The Oligarch

Ruthless, driven, and powerful, Mikhail Aronov tore through the ranks of his enemies to establish himself as a baron of industry and a modern lord. A man without boundaries or conscience, he has everything, yet nothing. Companion piece to The Cleaner. AH.

"Find Edward. Tell him I want to speak to him after I talk to Mikhail."

Angling slightly at the familiar voice, I eye the man in gray as he weaves through the throng of suited partygoers and their sequined trinkets. Noting his expression, distinctly devoid of emotion, I wave away a pair of nameless, weaseling businessmen who'd thought to curry favor for their masters.

The bald one – one of Volodya's pathetic sycophants – grasps the dismissal immediately. He spins on his heel with a nod and a polite, submissive, "Thank you for your time, Mikhail Ilyitch."

The other one is slower, in mind and body. His mouth keeps running.

Feliks takes care of the problem.

"Hello, brother," I say, amused by the tension now crawling through the room as my bodyguard eagerly escorts the fool out. "I didn't expect to see you here tonight."

Unfazed as always, Sasha folds his hands behind his back and tsks. "Kaius called."

I find Kaius at the opposite end of the gilded ballroom, wedged between two of his whores and talking to Jovan. Pupils glassy and blown from coke or whatever else he's been snorting, he slugs back three fingers of whiskey and signals for another. Idiot.

"What exactly did he say to convince you to leave the country?" I ask.

"He told me that you had lost your goddamned mind."

I laugh.

Sasha's gaze cuts to me. "He said there is a woman."

"Is that so?" Irritation trickles through my veins, arrowing into a repeating pulse at my temple. "Kaius oversteps."

"Because you allow it." One dark brow arches. "I would have him beaten for such an offense."

It's true, and I grunt a reluctant agreement. "He has his uses still. His father thinks so, at least."

"It's your mistake to make," Sasha says, flat and monotone. Out of habit, he scans the crowd like a hawk hunting prey, momentarily lighting on specific individuals for reasons unbeknownst to me. "Tell me about the woman."

"Careful." I draw it out while leveling him a glare that would send most into panic. "I would hate to have you beaten for offending."

"Fine." My brother-in-law's lips twitch, and his steel-gray irises spark with muted laughter. "Tell me about the woman… please."

Uninclined to voice the insatiable itch this woman has caused, I flick an arrogant hand, then tap the sleeve of my suit jacket. At once, a server appears with a glass of my usual Monfortino. The rich, luxurious aroma of tar and roses floods my senses as I eye him over the rim of my glass. "It's a momentary distraction, nothing more."

Features sharpening, Sasha studies me before chuffing. "You're lying."

"And you're annoying." Nonetheless, I find myself speaking, answering his question like some artless simpleton beneath his FSB spotlight. "She is the daughter of Charles Swan. I suspect you know of him." I glance over to the entry, oddly disappointed when an ancient bureaucrat steps inside with his twenty-something bride. "She will be here tonight. I've also convinced her and her companion to return to the compound with me."

Although I am certain he's already obtained this information, Sasha's head swivels. Incredulity rolls off him in waves. "Are you kidding me?"

Instead of replying, I drink my wine and watch Edward in his usual black-on-black prowl the perimeter, silently slipping in and out of sight like a wraith. He pauses to whisper something to Alex, then moves on to a trio of suited guests from Prague. The skinny one with a scar down his throat abruptly stiffens and goes cadaver white. His mismatched eyes frantically search the room, and when they finally land on me, blind fear skitters across his features.

I smile.

"Misha, now is not a good time for this nonsense. You know this," Sasha says, drawing me back. "You attract enough attention from Washington as it is."

It's an oblique reference to my guest in Italy and his meddlesome bitch of a wife. My fist curls inside my trouser pocket, and I down a third of my glass. "I'm aware."

"You invite disaster." I say nothing to that, and with an aggravated harrumph, he swipes a hand through graying hair. "Did you at least run a background check, or have you been too busy playing Casanova?"

It's a dry, evenly delivered accusation, and I roll my eyes. "Of course, I'm not an idiot."

He grumbles something insulting, which I ignore for both our sakes. "I will assume then that she's clean."

"It appears so." I hesitate, frowning at a niggling sensation I can't quite name. "Yet…"

"Yet… you don't believe it." Sasha is not surprised. Then again, he suspects everyone. "Who do you think sent her?"

"I don't know, but I want you to find out."

Almost on cue, one of Kaius' barely clothed whores walks by. Young, nubile, and beautiful beyond belief, the blonde's hips sway in open invitation. She parts her blood-red lips, offering their use. It's tempting to indulge, to take her to my bed and fuck this confounding itch away, but again, I find myself scanning the room in search of another.

I drain the rest of my wine. "Use whatever resources you need, but be discrete about it."

"And now, you insult me." Sasha motions the blonde away with an irritated scowl. "I should have just stayed home."

This time, a rare, genuine smile touches my lips. "Speaking of which, how are my nephews?"

"Fine." With a quiet, resigned sigh, Sasha relaxes. It's a slight, barely noticeable drop in his defenses that no one but me would ever notice. "Didima is adamant that Kolya attend Conservatory. I am not yet convinced."

I snort. "And Masha?"

"She has a new pony." Grumbling,Sasha surreptitiously slides back his cuff, revealing a yellowing, plum-colored bruise the size of my fist. "It bites." His gray eyes narrow. "I have been forbidden from selling it… or shooting it."

My face splits in two, and a loud, boisterous laugh spills out. When he glares, all I can do is clap him on the shoulder and shake my head. "Their lives are very different from where we started, eh?"

The glare turns pensive. "Very, but is that not the dream of every parent?"

I wouldn't know.

The lingering taste of my wine turns bitter, and we're quiet for a moment before I finally ask, "How is Didima?"

"She's well." It's a quiet, carefully delivered response. "She sends her regards."

"But still, you don't permit her to join you." A muscle ticks in my cheek. "Sasha, I would like to see my sister."

"You know my answer." Unmovable and unperturbed, his shoulders rise and fall in a deceptively lazy shrug. "When you next visit Moscow, perhaps a visit can be arranged."

"Very well," I say as that throbbing in my temple returns. My anger is wasted on the man beside me, however, so I inhale a deep breath of fragrant, perfumed air and force a resigned smile. "Tell me about Moscow then. What's going on?"

"It would appear that your friend Sergey is at risk of falling out of favor." Sasha looks over, inscrutable as always. "Let's just say that it would be wise for you to make an appearance this winter."

I curse under my breath. "Is there a particular reason or just because?"

"There are certain individuals who are displeased with some industry leaders. They feel that too many are taking funds out of the country instead of bringing them in. That there is a lack of… patriotism." Sasha's lips flatten into a hard, disapproving line. "Examples have been made."

"Windows can be quite dangerous, I hear."

"As is the tea."

A few minutes later, my patience finally reaches its end, and I order Dmitri to hunt down the driver I had sent to Isabella's – Bella's – hotel. When he returns, informing me that she's just arrived, I inhale another breath of fragrant air, and something inside me unfurls.

Nerves, anticipation… both, perhaps.

Regardless, it's been ages since I've felt such a sensation.

"So," I say, lighter, relishing the utter novelty of it. "What do you intend to report back to your minders?"

Sasha chuckles at our old joke. "I will say that my brother-in-law is, as always, a patriot." His cheeks crease with rare mirth and mischief. "And… that his foundation intends to fund a new, state-of-the-art hospital in Irkutsk to better serve the workers of his aluminum smelter, as well those working for one of the nation's most important aviation production lines."

I wince at the price tag, and then my shoulders shake. "And you're an asshole."

"Do not make me chase you," I tell her, drinking in the wide, dark eyes staring back at me with open challenge. That stubborn willfulness she's incapable of hiding is a drug, as intoxicating as everything else about her. "I promise you, I will win."

With one last fleeting caress, Bella escapes my grasp. Bathed in the warm, flickering light from the overhead chandeliers, she walks away from me with confidence and purpose, and I grin at the scandalized, disbelieving looks that follow in her wake.

"Tell me, beautiful, what must I do to convince you to come with me to Greece?" Alex croons to Rosalie, stealing her away from my other side. She laughs at his antics and runs lacquered nails down his lapel until he grips her tighter, sliding a hand up and down the skin-tight fabric of her corset. Unashamed, he skirts the edge of propriety.

Of course, I can't blame him for his salivating, nor for his pawing. That woman's body is sin incarnate, a voluptuous fantasy come to life, and she wields her sexuality like a favored weapon.

Yet… again, I find I want none of what she offers, other than to use as a lever.

I tsk in mock disappointment, earning a triumphant laugh from Alex. My attention diverts, however, continuing to track the object of my infatuation as she makes her way across the Gallery. In my periphery, an increasingly inebriated Kaius watches her. Malice darkens his expression.

I know this look. I know it well, and when he smiles at Jovan and moves to follow, my teeth grind in a flash of unexpected fury.

Ignoring Alex and his absurd seductions, I seek out Dmitri, then Edward, only to find that one standing five meters away, hands in his pockets and silently studying the same scene. As if called, Edward glances over at me, questioning.

"Go," I say as Kaius slips through the entry, disappearing into the adjacent hall. "Follow him. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

As usual, Edward's features and lazy demeanor reveal nothing, but he obeys at once with a subtle tip of his chin. My lips curve because those two are not friends, and perhaps, Sasha was right after all. Perhaps, it's time for Kaius to learn a lesson.

Satisfied, I turn back to Alex right in time to catch Rosalie leaning into him and whispering suggestively in his ear. She giggles – an annoyingly vapid sound – before pulling out of his grasp and sauntering over to one of the attendants.

"My God." Exhaling a harsh punch of air, Alex angles toward me and shakes his head. Cherry-red lipstick stains his throat and collar. "How about you let me take that one off your hands?"

"You cannot help yourself, can you?" I say, plucking a second glass of Monfortino off an offered tray. "I suspect she is quite a… handful."

"She's a handful, all right, but what can I say?" Grinning like the devil, Alex throws his hands up. "I appreciate a woman who knows her worth."

"You appreciate a nice set of tits and a mouth around your cock."

Wiping his neck with a handkerchief, he laughs. "Is there really a difference?"

I laugh at that, but a few minutes later, after dispatching yet another pair of cajoling flatterers bold enough to approach, I turn back to him. "You have something I want."

Alex downs a tumbler of finely aged Scotch. "Which is?"

"I understand you have a certain painting hanging in your private gallery – a Chagall," I say, and his brows disappear behind neatly gelled hair. "I would like to purchase it from you."

He eyes me askance. "I didn't know you collected him."

I smile. "I do now."

Alex's expression turns thoughtful, calculating even. It's a stark contrast to the jovial man from before, yet I know this is who he truly is. "I don't know that I want to sell it."

"Name your price," I finally tell him, irritation pricking. "I'll pay above market if needed, but I want it delivered to my house in Tuscany before I arrive. Understood?"

His features sharpen and darken at the command I don't bother to soften, but after a moment, he sighs in resignation. "Fine. Even twenty-five, and don't sell or fuck the blonde." He flashes me a row of pearly white teeth. "I want her."

"We have a deal."

.

.

.

Notes:

Ilyitch is the patronymic form of the name Ilya. In many former USSR countries, patronymics function as something like a middle name and are used along with the first name in formal address.

Monfortino refers to Giacomo Conterno riserva Barolo Monfortino, which is one of the finest Barolos made. Depending on the vintage, prices easily range into the thousands.

Irkutsk is a city in the Siberian Federal District of Russia. It's close to Lake Baikal. Its primary industry is JSC Irkut, which is part of the larger government-run PJSC UAC aerospace and defense corporation.