Page 11 of A Prince of Smoke and Mirrors (Billionaire Sanctuary: The Heir #1)

business

NICOLAI ROMANOV

Summoning world business leaders to Las Vegas was easier than to, say, Sweden, where I was born and still ostensibly a citizen.

Forcing said leaders to concentrate on business while in Las Vegas was, however, more difficult.

Especially when John’s bachelor party week was commencing and he was already in his cups at two in the afternoon. “I thought tonight’s gathering at the Sanctuary club didn’t start until eight.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.

” John Borbon sprawled on the wide white couch in his suite at the Waldorf Astoria on the south end of the Las Vegas Strip.

As with most Waldorfs, the art deco golden circle motifs and upholstery in the colorway of blizzard conditions in the Alps were reminiscent of the slightly gauche Jay Gatsby, rather than the filthy rich of the Gilded Age or true old money.

John’s long legs were splayed, and the vodka tonic in his hand was likely his third or more. “The party started yesterday, Nico. You’re late.”

I dropped my courier bag on the end of the couch and rubbed my neck, which ached and was radiating a headache into the base of my skull. Working instead of sleeping on the plane had been a mistake. “We need to meet with those New Jersey real estate developers at three.”

“I don’t want to meet with anybody. I want to enjoy my last goddamn week of freedom,” John slurred.

The headache pinched between my eyebrows, and I rubbed the spasming muscle. “Your wedding isn’t until next month. Late next month.”

“—with my friends whom I’ll never get to see again?—”

“We’ll all be at Royal Ascot next week, then Glastonbury, and then there’s Wimbledon directly after. We’re sick of each other by the end of the London social season.”

“—and I’ll be tied down after I get married. My life will be over.”

Sometimes, being the responsible cousin was taxing. “I realize it will be quite the change for you, but you’ll manage.”

John squinted up at me. “I’m not like you, Nico. I can’t just step into running the family business.”

“Your father runs your family business. Nothing much is going to change for you, other than you should cut down on the women.”

He smirked. “The women don’t seem to be upset.”

“Tomcatting around looks bad, and it will look worse if Anna catches you and divorces you. So troubling for you Roman Catholics. We Orthodox get three annulments before we’re out. Now go shower and have a coffee before the Americans get here.”

“I’m not fucking around anymore. I really do love Anna.”

I sighed. John’s protestations always increased with his alcohol consumption. “That’s good.”

“As a matter of fact, I called and asked her to come to Vegas so we could get married right now. The courthouse is open twenty-four hours a day, and you can get a license and be legally married immediately. All you need is ID.”

I paused. “And she said?”

“She told me I was piss-drunk and to sod off. She’s been planning this wedding for a year and is not drunk-eloping.”

Anna was not an impetuous romantic and thus was an excellent foil for John. I welcomed an ally in keeping John on the straight and narrow. “Smart girl.”

“Can’t you attend the meeting?” he wheedled. “You can take notes and tell me what they said.”

Smashing John on the side of his head with the laptop-heavy courier bag would not have the desired effect on his ambition. He was such a better person when he was sober. “You are a lawyer. I need you there. And I cannot sign legally binding contracts for the royal family of Spain, Don Badajoz.”

“Stop it.”

“Signing paperwork is your job. Now go shower. You reek of cheap rum.”

John pouted. “It was Caroni.”

“Immaterial. Go shower before I strip your clothes off, whip your naked ass with the flat side of a saber, and drag you into the stall like when we were in high school and you were late for class.”

“You wouldn’t.”

My patience was becoming harder to hold onto.

The meeting with the Americans was due to start in less than an hour.

Dragging John by his ear to the conference room downstairs seemed so tiring.

“And I’ll make sure the shower is as ice cold as the snow melt from the skiing slopes of Gstaad, just like old times. Now go.”

John crawled to his feet and stumbled toward the suite’s bedroom. “Arrogant asshole.”

“I heard that!”

“I meant for you to hear it because you’re arrogant as fuck.”

“I’m not arrogant,” I called after him. “I’m imperious. It’s different.”

“You’re still an asshole.”

“That may be, but—wait.” I snagged a bottle of water off the wet bar and followed him to his bedroom. His shirt was already lying on the floor. “Drink this.”

“I’m not thirsty. I’ve been drinking all day,” John protested.

“Hydrate, you rat-arsed bellend. You’ll thank me later.” I shoved the bottle in his hand and strode back into the living room.

“God, you’re funny when you’re mad. With everyone else, you hide it behind a disinterested veneer of haughtiness, but if I piss you off, you wear your heart on your fucking sleeve. You would have been a terrifying tsar.”

“Drink the fucking water and shower.”

“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty.” The bedroom door closed most of the way behind him.

I sank onto the couch, my head in my hands, and waited.

Water swished from somewhere farther back in the suite.

John was usually all right. He was even my favorite cousin most of the time.

But alcohol was not John’s friend. He became morose.

And childish.

Hopefully, the shower would sober him up enough for the meeting.

Twenty minutes later, John stumbled out of the bedroom as a better-smelling, wet-haired drunk.

It was an improvement I could work with.

Keeping a tight hold of his arm, I steered him into the meeting downstairs and pointedly ignored the askance looks in his direction from the New Jersey mafia cronies.

They were wearing baggy suits, for God’s sake. None of them should be giving personal presentation advice.

Nevertheless, their plan for increasing housing density in train-commutable communities near New York City was interesting.

Living in Europe gives one an entirely different perspective on efficient housing, public transportation, and city planning, of course, but it was an interesting step in what I considered to be the right direction, or at least a profitable direction.

When the meeting ended, the New Jersey people left, leaving John and me in the acoustic-paneled conference room.

I swiveled in my chair to face him. “I say, you managed to sit upright and didn’t urinate on yourself. Good job.”

He glared at me. “I’m sobering up. There’s no need for sarcasm.”

“Oh, excellent. Shall we have a bite before the drunken debauchery at the Sanctuary? I had breakfast in Paris and missed a meal in there, somewhere.”

“That explains the attitude. I’ll ring and have something delivered to my room. Unless you’re staying at the Waldorf?”

“No, I’m staying at the club. I don’t like the Strip. I’ll head over there to freshen up before the throng descends later tonight.”

“Always one for the quiet life. So studious. So security-compliant,” he chided me back.

“Yes, quite. Harry said he’s staying at the Sanctuary club, too, so I won’t be a monk.”

“But he’s no fun these days, taking marriage and fatherhood seriously and all that. Promise me that you’ll at least try to pick up a woman or a man for a one-night thing.”

My sigh was impossible to hide, though I tried for form’s sake. “It’s so much trouble, especially when my small security bubble overlaps with Harry’s. His people are terribly stringent because he pays them directly instead of as part of a larger corporate account. If he dies, they don’t get paid.”

John stared at the wooden conference table for a beat before looking up at me again, his sea-green eyes searching my face like he was trying to scry the future. “And how seriously are you taking your security these days?”

I shrugged. “Seriously enough. A step up, the last few months.”

“I’m not talking about stalkers or lone jackals who might take a potshot at you.”

Trepidation filled the room like a toxic mist, but I spoke gently. “I’m aware of that.”

“He’s paranoid, Nico.”

“I know.”

“He’s a paranoid KGB psychopath, Nico.”

I kept my gaze level to show him I took the situation seriously. “I know, and I’ve been careful not to give him reason to perceive me as a threat.”

“Paranoid KGB psychopaths perceive everyone as a threat.”

This line of conversation did nothing but give me ulcers. “And I can’t change that.”

John managed the smallest of scowls. “Meeting with representatives from other organized crime groups might be considered threatening.”

I stood, tapping the New Jersey businessmen’s prospectuses to even the edges.

“They’re ostensibly not mafia. They’re just Italians in construction in New Jersey.

Besides, everyone in business is at least somewhat involved with the black market these days.

No one wears white hats anymore. Every damned industry is fifty shades of gray. ”

“Remember at Le Rosey, when they told us to only invest with legitimate businesses?”

I chuckled at what they’d taught us as the world’s wealthiest teenagers at boarding school. “Half a lifetime ago, and even they didn’t believe what they were saying in the slightest.”

“You have cause for concern. Almost no one else has a military intelligence service gunning for them. I don’t want to lose you.”

“And I don’t want to be lost, so I keep my head down. I’ve made it very clear how much I admire Europe and don’t want to travel to Russia, even if the opportunity arose. I doubt I’m on Vladimir’s radar. Aren’t you concerned about Konstantin’s safety at all?”

My brother, Konstantin, was my only living immediate family member and younger than me by over half a decade.

“He’s further down the list.” John shoved his chair back and stood. “Have you considered living somewhere less obtrusive, maybe Singapore?”

I snorted. “As if the FSB hasn’t thoroughly infiltrated Singapore.”

“It’s just a bit farther away from Moscow than Stockholm. Out of sight, out of mind.”

“I only have an apartment in Stockholm. I’m in Paris most of the time. Distance, as you said.”

“It’s still Europe. It’s still a car ride away from St. Petersburg.”

Geography had never been John’s strongest subject. “It’s over thirty hours by car from Paris if one drives straight through without traffic or gas stops. From Stockholm, you have to take a ship.”

I should have noticed his eyebrows rise, but I kept talking.

“Flying is ridiculous due to the travel restrictions to Russia. Emirates has a layover in Dubai, of all places, so the flight time is only slightly shorter than driving it. Flying private is really the only way to get there, which would definitely invite scrutiny.”

John’s sharp glance told me I’d been caught out. He pointed at me and said, “And yet you know exactly how to get to Russia.”

Yes, I knew. I always felt Russia’s pull like a damned homing pigeon, even though I’d never stepped foot on Russian soil.

“It doesn’t matter where I live, John. If Vladimir is going to send the FSB to kill me, he will.

If he’s going to send his goons to kidnap me and deposit me in a Kharp or Vorkuta gulag, he will.

There’s absolutely nothing I can do about it except make myself too boring to bother with. ”

John sighed and stared at his hands. “I’m just worried about you, Nicolai.”

I stopped myself from snapping back. Private and sober moments for John and me were few and far between these days, so he’d probably been bottling that up for months.

“I’m careful, and subtle, and that’s all I can do.

And no matter who my several-greats-grandfather was, I don’t ever want to be the damned Imperial Tsar of Russia. ”

John nodded. “Keep saying it just like that, Nico, and maybe Vladimir Putin will let you live.”