Page 21 of The Bratva King

“No,” I agree. “But I want the question answered before it becomes our problem.”

He gives a slow nod. “I’ll keep digging.”

“Good.” I look at the screen again. She’s laughing at something one of her players said. “She has a kid.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“It’s neither. She brought the boy to work.”

He nods. “I heard.”

“No babysitter. Which means no father.”

“Not necessarily,” he says. “He might be working. Maybe he’s military. Or in jail.”

I frown. “Could be why she’s hiding. Maybe the father’s dangerous.”

“Possibly.” He checks his watch. “We need to go. I hired a marketing firm. I didn’t want to sit through all the interviews. The representative is meeting us over there.”

I tear my eyes from the screen. I will find out her secrets.

Fifteen minutes later, the SUV pulls up to Tatiana. The facade has progressed since my last visit two days ago. The glass panels on the lower three floors are in, and the effect is already striking. I stand on the sidewalk for a moment and look at it.

People walk past without a second glance. To them, it’s another hotel. They have no idea what I’m building.

Catherine Grimes, the marketing manager Pasha hired, waits just inside the main entrance. She’s young. Mid-thirties. Sharp suit despite the heat. She looks at me, assessing. I’ve met a thousand women just like her. They see me. The tattoos. The black clothes. They think they’d like to tap into their wild side.

I’m not interested in being anyone’s tour guide into the dangerous underground.

“Mr. Sokolov,” she says. “I’m glad you could be here.”

I nod and walk past her into the lobby.

Workers are everywhere. I insisted on hiring additional crews and paid them double what they’d make at the piece-of-shit hotel the Italians are renovating to keep up.

Catherine falls into step beside me as I cross the lobby toward the casino floor. She has a portfolio tucked under her arm, thick with materials I’ll be expected to look at. I’m already deciding how much of this conversation I can hand off to Pasha.

“We’ve developed three campaign directions,” Catherine starts. “The first positions Tatiana at the apex of luxury on the Strip.”

“They all do that,” I say.

She blinks at me. “Sorry?”

“Every luxury property on this street calls itself the apex of something. It means nothing.” I stop, and turn to face her. “What makes Tatiana different from every other property on this road?”

She looks around. I know the difference. If she’s going to sell my hotel, she needs to know it, too.

“Don’t tell me the amenities,” I say. “Don’t tell me the thread count of the sheets or how many Michelin stars the restaurant has. Those are facts. Facts don’t make people feel anything.” I look up at the atrium ceiling. “What does it feel like?”

Catherine looks to Pasha like he might have the answers.

Pasha looks back at her, giving her no help.

“Arrival,” Catherine blurts out.

“What?”

She nods, looking around. “You’ve stepped into a palace. Exclusive, but not cold. Elevated. Effortless. Pampered.”