Page 33

MIA

I hadn’t missed the Goldenrod. The underground casino part is new to me, but it must not be new to the Lozhkin Bratva. My party strides inside like it owns the place—which it likely does—while I’m left fumbling for my step in the dim half-light.

I hadn’t missed Yulian’s attitude, either.

He’s walking one step ahead of me, not gracing me with a single glance. Any other day, I’d be yelling in his face.

But today isn’t any other day.

It’s been a full week since he told me his plan. A full week of silences and nights spent alone. He was trying to change my mind, I know. But the old Yulian would have forbidden this outright, so I’m counting the cold shoulder act as a victory.

Would be nice if he stopped acting like an asshole, though.

My black maternity dress snags on the stairs. “Shit,” I mumble.

That, of all things, makes Yulian turn. “Need some help with that?”

I hate the way he asks. Like I’m not even up to climbing down a staircase in the dark, let alone acting as medical backup to a Bratva conspiracy. “No.” I scowl, yanking it free. “I’ve got it.”

“Didn’t look like you had it two seconds ago.”

“Are you going to criticize everything I do or can we keep going?”

He pauses, breathes, says nothing at first. Then: “After you,” gesturing for me to step forward in mock chivalry.

“Hmpf.” I turn up my nose and grab my maxi dress, walking the rest of the way down like some Victorian maiden. Couldn’t be avoided, though—another false step like that and I’ll break my neck for real.

Once we’re back on solid ground, I look around me.

As always, everything around here screams “luxury.” The place is decked in gold foil and black velvet, a den of sin and money, and drinks trading hands across the bar that might cost more than all my organs combined.

My eyes flit to the gambling area. There are tables for all sorts of games: poker, baccarat, Russian roulette. That last one strikes me as particularly appropriate.

“Wow.” Next to me, Kallie wolf-whistles. “This place is lit. Though not literally lit. Honestly, I can’t see shit.”

“Glad to know I’m not the only one.”

She, too, volunteered to provide medical backup once she found out the deets from Maksim. He looked like a kicked puppy when we got here, which tells me everything I need to know about how that particular conversation went.

Though I can’t really blame him. Having Kallie here gives me mixed feelings, too. Especially after what happened last time.

But I wasn’t in a position to argue. Not after I’ve fought tooth and nail to be here. If there’s one thing I can definitely see in this dark, smoke-filled hole, it’s the irony.

“I’m gonna go lose Maks some money,” Kallie says cheerfully. “Wanna come with?”

“No, thanks. Think I’ll hang back and brood.”

“Hey, it’s your funeral.”

Let’s hope not.

I haven’t been alone five seconds that I hear Yulian’s voice in my ear. “I take it you’ve never been to a casino,” he whispers with a note of amusement.

“Is that a crime?”

“Just interesting, is all.”

Interesting. Right. “How about, ‘You don’t belong here and should have stayed home’?” I bite back. “Or are we not doing honesty anymore?”

“If that’s how you feel, I can call a car.”

Like hell. “No, thanks. In fact, I think I’m gonna go play—” I turn towards a table at random and point. “—that.”

Without thinking, I stride with all the false confidence in the world towards the blackjack table.

Not that I’ve ever played blackjack. Or watched a game. Or read about it. My knowledge begins and ends with Casino Royale , which, come to think of it, was about poker. Might not be as helpful as I initially was hoping for.

I whisper a breathless “Hi” to the dealer and sit down, pretending to know what I’m doing.

Then I realize I’m not carrying any chips. Or cash.

The dealer looks at me expectantly. I open my mouth to say something, anything?—

“Here.”

—and then Yulian’s hand descends on the table.

Ten gray chips roll to a stop on the dark green velvet surface. I try to remember how much that color is supposed to be worth, but judging by the look on the dealer’s face, it must be a boatload.

“Step aside,” Yulian orders. The man who was occupying the seat to my right a second ago vanishes into thin air, like Yulian hexed him into the seventh circle of hell or something.

His reputation precedes him, apparently.

I blink. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Am I not allowed to play the games at my own casino?” He takes the other guy’s place and sets out another stack of gray chips. “Unless you’re afraid of playing against the real house…?”

Right. He owns the fucking place. How could I ever forget?

“Not at all,” I lie. “Bring it on.”

The game begins.

“Since you clearly know the rules, I won’t bother explaining them to you,” Yulian drawls.

I bite my tongue, but pretend I’m unaffected.

Luckily, the rules aren’t so complicated. After a couple of rounds of failing spectacularly, I start getting the gist of it.

But I still keep losing.

When I win my first round, Yulian looks oddly pleased. “Nice work.”

“It was nothing,” I say with a haughty sniffle.

A small crowd has gathered around us, watching quietly. Not the vory— they know better than to stick to us. Somehow, I get the feeling Yulian made that a rule: stay at least four feet away from me at all times, or else.

I spy Zhenya and Anton lounging at the bar. Kazimir is observing the game from a distance. When I lock eyes with him, he raises his glass at me and winks.

Then I feel it.

Something warm, sliding up my calf.

No way.

But one look at Yulian tells me that, yes, way.

He keeps looking at the cards, his poker face perfectly intact, one hand shuffling and reshuffling his stack of chips. Meanwhile, his free hand slips between my thighs.

This is ridiculous. This—this is…

Oh my God.

I try to squeeze my legs. Try to trap him, but that’s worse, somehow.

Then I try to kick him under the table.

Big mistake.

Yulian takes advantage of my parted legs immediately. He starts playing with my clit under the table, over the fabric of my panties.

Heat floods my cheeks, then lower.

“Well?” he coaxes. “What will it be?”

“I…” I whisper, but my voice cracks when Yulian presses down harder.

“Do you surrender?”

“No,” I grit, then double down.

It’s the wrong move. Yulian’s punishment is instant. He pushes my panties aside and?—

Oh… my…!

I start trembling. My cards scatter all over the table.

Yulian keeps rolling his chips around like nothing’s wrong.

I’ll kill him. Pleasure mounts together with my rage. If Desya doesn’t get him tonight, I swear I fucking will.

I bite down hard on my lower lip. Wetness is spreading now, drenching Yulian’s fingertips and what’s left of my panties. I’ve never been more glad to be wearing black in my life.

I shouldn’t be this sensitive. But it’s been a week of silence, lonely nights, and building pressure. Now, that pressure feels like it’s about to explode right here, in front of every stranger who’s watching our game.

“I… mhh ? — ”

“Yes?” Yulian teases.

I’m gonna come.

Fuck me, I’m gonna come.

I slam my cards down and pant, “I surrender!”

Yulian stops.

I take the opportunity to stagger upright and stumble over to the ladies’ room. “Asshole,” I curse under my breath. “Fucking asshole?—”

“Is that a request?”

I whip around in the bathroom hallway.

Yulian is right behind me. He’s got a shit-eating smirk on his face, and Jesus H., I have never wanted to break my oath so badly. To marry his smug face with my closed fist.

Instead, I drag him down and kiss him.

It’s angry. Feral. He kisses back with all the intensity he’s capable of, not seeming to mind that I’m practically eating his face.

I pull back to breathe. “That was cheating,” I pant.

“Was it? I thought I was dealing honestly.”

“Not that part.”

His hand slides between the folds of my dress. My pussy’s still drenched, desperate to finish what it didn’t get to. “How about this?”

He starts touching me over my clothes. I’m so worked up, it just might be enough.

I grab his shoulders, hold on for dear life?—

“GET DOWN!”

—and that’s when some dickhead starts shooting.