Page 4 of Brutal Union (Ruthless Mafia Kings #8)

NADIA

Skeezy. This club is sketchy and that is me saying this nicely.

The alleyway is dimly lit, tucked quite far from the nearest busy street.

The lack of CCTV is noticeable, perhaps the main perk for illicit activity in Japan.

I wonder if it was designed as such, or if Sho was able to make it that way.

The alley itself is quite boring, like a stock backdrop in anime, save for a bright pink neon light outside of an unassuming bar.

Outside the entrance is a tall, burlish, bouncer with a crooked nose, a real bruiser type.

Next to him waiting to gain entry is a businessman: average height, sleek and clean.

They look me up and down as I approach, a predatory glint in their eyes.

“Please take off your jacket,” the big man says, “we need to conduct a thorough search.” A smile creeps along his mouth.

Instinctively, I brace myself to punch him in the throat and visualize the fight, leaving both men on the ground, clutching at knife wounds and their groins.

Before I can react, the businessman scolds the big one .

“Where are your manners?” he chides. He turns to me as I escape the brief moment of shock. “You should always let a woman this gorgeous in, no search necessary.”

His eyes crawl over my skin, as he slides his tongue over the plump pink of his lips.

The guy has shaggy blonde hair, bright brown eyes, broad shoulders and tan skin that screams Italian.

If I didn’t have a serious mission I would ask this guy to direct me to the nearest restroom and let him know the feeling is mutual, but I can’t, not when Sho could be anywhere.

I flutter my eyelashes looking up into his eyes with a wicked smirk. “Back at ya’ handsome.”

I move past both of the guys, rubbing my hip into the growing hard-on of the handsome blonde guy, as I make my way into the club.

It is illegal to gamble in Japan, but like most illegal things, if there is a market then there is an underground market for it.

The club pulses with low neon lights and deep bass, the scent of expensive cologne and cigar smoke clinging to the air like a second skin.

I slip through the crowd, my body weaving between men in crisp suits and women draped in silk and sin.

The underground gambling den is hidden beneath the illusion of an upscale bar—on the surface, it’s a place to drink, to dance, to forget.

But below, past the velvet ropes and behind the mirrored doors, is where the real game begins.

I don’t need to ask for directions. I know exactly where Sho would be.

A man like him—cold, calculating, with enough charm to convince a snake to shed its skin—would never linger in the open. He’d be down in the VIP lounge, where the air is thick with smoke and secrets, where power shifts hands with the flick of a wrist and the turn of a card.

I’d usually push my breasts up a little higher in my dress and take the two sticks out of my bun, letting my long blonde hair fall down my back as I sweet-talk my way inside.

However, the way the security guy’s lips curl as he checks out a man half his size tells me that cleavage isn’t the currency he deals in.

The mirrored doors swing open, and I step into the heart of the casino like I own it. Because, in a way, I do. The air is thick with sweat, smoke, and desperation—the scent of men who think luck is something they can buy.

Dice clatter against velvet, cards flick through practiced fingers, and glasses of whiskey sweat under the heat of bad decisions. Men in suits lean over tables, their confidence as fragile as their bankrolls, while women drape themselves over the winners, their smiles as expensive as their dresses.

I don’t bother trying to fit in, even in a room full of gorgeous women, some eyes drift to the curve of my hips, or my plunging neckline that fits the black tie dress code.

A man with a potbelly licks his lips and mouths to me beautiful , but all I want to do is cut his tongue out.

This dress is for one guy, and it doesn’t even look like he is here.

I decide on the Craps table because it is one of the only gambling games I have ever played. There really isn’t any time to gamble when you are killing enemies, trying to figure out why your father killed your mother, and then becoming queen of a Mafia.

I sidle up to the table, slipping into an open spot beside a man whose gold watch gleams under the chandelier’s soft glow. The dealer eyes me as I purchase a stack of chips, but it’s not suspicion—it’s curiosity. I flash him a slow smile and place my bet, letting the dice tumble across the felt.

They land in my favor.

A low whistle comes from my left. “Well, well. Looks like we’ve got a natural.”

I turn to find the blonde from the entrance, now lounging beside me with an easy grin and a whiskey glass dangling between his fingers. His brown eyes gleam under the lights, sharp but amused.

“Beginner’s luck,” I say, rolling the dice between my fingers.

“Nah,” he drawls, watching as I toss them again—another win. “That’s all me, sweetheart. I’m your lucky charm.”

I arch a brow, biting back a laugh. “That so?”

He nods, taking a slow sip of his drink before offering his hand. “Calvin Barnes. But everyone calls me Barney.”

That does make me laugh, sharp and unrestrained. “Barney?” I repeat, tilting my head. “Like the purple dinosaur?”

His grin doesn’t falter, but his eyes narrow just slightly. “Like the guy who just made you rich,” he counters.

I stack my winnings and smirk. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

He leans in slightly, voice dropping just enough to feel like a secret. “Come on doll, just roll it again.”

His fingers curve around my wrist, and I stare into the golden hue of his eyes as the dice tumbles across my fingertips, and onto the table.

The dice spill across the table, bouncing once, twice—before landing in my favor. Again.

A chorus of groans and muttered curses ripple around the table, but Barney only laughs, low and smooth, as his fingers brush my wrist once more. “See, doll? Told ya. I’m your lucky charm. ”

I drag my fingers along the edge of my winnings, smirking. “Or maybe I don’t need luck. Maybe I was already winning, and you just showed up to watch.”

He presses a hand to his chest, mock-wounded. “Damn. Tough crowd.”

I roll the dice between my fingers again, but before I can throw, a shadow falls over the table.

“I think you’ve overstayed your welcome.”

The voice is smooth but firm, every word spoken with intent.. It slides down my spine like the sharp edge of a blade.

I look up, and see the man of the hour.

Sho stands at my side, a vision of tailored elegance and quiet danger.

The black of his suit cuts a perfect line against his lean, toned frame, the crisp collar of his shirt open just enough to hint at smooth, tan skin.

His hair, dark as ink, curves slightly where it falls over his forehead, the rest slicked back with effortless precision.

But it’s his eyes that hold me still—deep, assessing, the color of midnight, void of anything that could be mistaken for warmth.

Barney shifts beside me, his easy confidence faltering. “Hey, man. We were just?—”

Sho tilts his head, slow and measured. “Leave.”

There’s no anger in his tone, no outright threat. Just a quiet certainty, an expectation.

Barney opens his mouth to argue, but then—he gets a good look at Sho.

His tan skin pales. “Shit,” he breathes, stumbling back a step. “You’re?— ”

Sho doesn’t blink.

Barney swallows hard, backpedaling so fast he nearly trips over himself. “Didn’t realize, man. My mistake.” He glances at me, giving me a sheepish, almost apologetic look before he turns on his heel and disappears into the crowd.

I arch a brow, watching him flee. “That was dramatic.”

Sho doesn’t acknowledge the comment. Instead, he steps closer, his presence swallowing the space between us. His fingers brush my wrist—just for a second, a whisper of contact before he takes the dice from my hand and sets them on the table.

“You shouldn’t play with toys, Hime, ” he murmurs, eyes never leaving mine. “It’s a waste of time.”

I tilt my head, lips curving. “And what do you suggest I play with instead?”

“I don’t think you should play at all, pretty girl.” His lips quirk in satisfaction, as he extends his arm to me and I loop my arm in the crux of his elbow.

“I think you underestimate my intelligence, Shadow. ” I tease looking around the room, my eyes snagging on the fine tailoring of a bald man who looks vaguely familiar.

I turn, guiding Sho to the Blackjack table, the only other game I know due to Nikolai’s obsession with the game as a teenager. He leans down, his breath cascading over the shell of my ear. “I would never underestimate the Queen of Russia. That’s like asking for my beheading.”

Sho slides onto one of the high stools, he taps the table twice, signaling to the dealer to hand him two cards. I follow suit, the dealer passing me two cards along with the vaguely familiar bald man next to me.

“You don’t have to ask for that,” I smirk. “If you want a little head, all you have to ask for is a little head.”

I look down at my two cards, a Queen and a two of hearts, which means I have a count of twelve, given that the Jack, Queen, or King in Blackjack counts as a ten.

Sho chuckles, slowly looking over his cards, before flashing me one of his tiny smiles that makes him look more adorable than deadly. Not saying that Sho is attractive to me anyway.

“Are you offering?” Sho fully smiles, and my eyes roll over the sharp edges of his jaw.

He taps the table at the same time I do, and the dealer slides each of us a card, but not for himself, meaning he is closer to twenty-one than the both of us.

I look down at my new card; it’s an eight of spades, making my total twenty.

Sho looks at his and taps again before turning to me with a smug smile.