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Kir shrugs. “I saw how you looked at her. Better keep it together, my brother.”
Bastard. That’s the problem working with family. They know you too well. They can anticipate your next move. Your next words. Your next thoughts.
Push your buttons and all that shit.
I ignore my brother. Hell, I saw him checking her out, too. But I’m not saying anything. Not yet. “What does her father know about the club? Aside from the card rooms?” I ask.
“Vadik, he knows everything. How do you think he got his lame ass into so much debt? By sitting in the back of the room like a good little boy? He’s up to his eyeballs in this place. Paying the strippers for lap dances, hiring out the hookers for a good time. The man ain’t no saint.”
That makes it all the more sordid, his willingness to pimp out his daughter.
Not that that changes anything. But as much as I’ve been around, I can still be shocked by the decisions people make from time to time.
Blows my motherfucking mind, this one does.
* * *
CHAPTEREIGHT
Vadik
I lift a paperweight from Papa’s desk, a gift my mother got him on one of their working vacations, a trip to Italy to meet with the brotherhood there. In the yellowed glass there is a replica of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. It’s funny, that such a clichéd little thing brought him so much happiness.
I roll the cold glass in my hands and, for about the tenth time that day, wish the old bastard were still around.
“He’s throwing his daughter to the wolves,” I say, stating the obvious.
Kir nods slowly, scrutinizing me. I wish he would back the fuck off. “You got concerns about that?”
I rub my temples again before I answer. “Nope. We got business to attend to.”
“Vadik. Is this going to be an issue for us?” Kir asks.
I won’t dignify his pain in the ass interrogation. I get to my feet. “C’mon. Let’s get a drink.”
He claps me on the back on the way to the door. “Now that’s my big brother.”
And that’s mymiddlebrother. The only way to change the subject is to mention alcohol.
“Dominika!” I holler as we settle into the dark, paneled-wall lounge.
I sink deeply into a crackly leather chair, and the scent of everything I remember from my childhood rises up to meet me—lemon oil on the furniture, cigars, and expensive whisky. I loved coming to the club when I was a kid. All three of us did.
Of course, Mama only let us come in the off-hours, when there were no girls running around half naked, and no grown men crying because they’d bet their house on a card game.
“Vadik. Kir,” Dominika says a little over-solicitously.
It’s not like her to suck up. But she’s nervous. If the club closes, she has nowhere to go. Hell, she’s still bitter my father didn’t leave her a red cent in his will.
Shitty treatment of a long-time mistress, but I have no doubt he had his reasons.
“Couple scotches, please,” Kir says.
I watch Dominika disappear behind the bar, choosing the top shelf brand she knows my brothers and I prefer.
She brings us two Baccarat crystal rocks glasses, Kir’s with ice and mine without. I suck down the liquor in one long draw. The migraine that was threatening was finally taking its leave thanks to the pain pills my doctor prescribed. Pills that are not supposed to be taken with alcohol.
But there are times I’ll do anything to make the pain go away. Kind of like how Gil Gates will do anything to get my brothers and me off his back.
