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“Yes, sir,” the man had said quietly. The other three had gawked at the check in his hand, unable to believe their eyes. Kira had been dying to know the number, though she had a feeling it would bowl her right over.
“Good. Enjoy the rest of your evening,” Mr. Muscles had said.
After that, Kira had chased after him to ask if he was the owner of the casino. She could see no other reason for him to take charge like that and for him to have the kind of money that would make spoiled rich people blanch. He’d assured her that he didn’t work there, but that he was a loyal regular, and he couldn’t sit idly by while clients berated an innocent cocktail waitress. He’d walked her out to her car after the shift ended, but Kira had never caught his name.
From then on, he had been a common fixture at the casino. Kira was fascinated and enthralled by his hulking muscles, devilishly handsome looks, chivalrous attitude, and deep pockets. She desperately wanted to know more about him, but he played coy. He never gave much away, even as he hung around flirting with her night after night.
Over time, Kira had grown into her new job. She no longer struggled to balance a cocktail tray, and she was hardly ruffled by the odd complaint or demanding customer here and there. She didn’t need a bodyguard anymore. She could happily get through an entire shift without needing Mr. Muscles to intervene, although he did continue to offer. Their banter had become more teasing and playful as the weeks went on. Nowadays, they had settled into their current game: pretending not to be that into each other even as their words and actions betrayed the truth.
At least now Kira felt more like his equal, less like a frightened little girl who needed him to save her. Unlike that first night, she was no longer terrified of difficult customers. Even when she was rudely called over to tend to a group of rowdy men playing blackjack, she was unfazed. Not even their ogling stares and lewd comments could fluster her now.
“Just a moment, and I’ll be right back with your cocktails,” Kira said politely.
“I’ve got a cocktail for you right here,” jeered one of the men, gesturing crudely at his crotch. The other men, who were beyond buzzed, burst into raucous laughter.
“Funny,” Kira said, though there wasn’t a hint of humor on her face. She simply turned and walked away, rolling her eyes. When she approached the service station, Mr. Muscles was already poised to swoop in.
“You need me to break a few kneecaps over there?” he whispered.
Kira gave him a smile. “I appreciate it, but I think I’ve got this. They’re harmless, just stupid and drunk,” she said.
“You just say the word, and…” Mr. Muscles drew a line across his throat.
Kira giggled. “Hey, if you kill them, I have no chance of getting tipped.”
“I can easily match whatever they might pay you,” he offered.
Something told her he wasn’t just kidding around. But she also knew that despite being at the casino all the time, he didn’tactuallywork there. The last thing she wanted was for him to get in trouble for trying to defend her honor.
Kira laid a hand on his arm softly. She felt a spark run through her whole body. It was the first time she had ever actually touched him. She quickly gathered herself and told him with as much confidence as possible, “I can handle it.”
But she had to admit that it did feel good knowing he was right there, just in case.
CHAPTER7
LUKA
The noontime sunglared off the hood of Luka’s car as it turned down the long driveway of the Sokolov Estate. He maneuvered the vehicle expertly down the line, finagling through the other parked cars to find a spot without touching the grass. The front lawn of the estate was a feast for the eyes, with professional landscaping kept to a meticulous standard. It was lush, green, and vibrant with life. It was May in Las Vegas, and the air was a splendid, temperate seventy-one degrees. Birds, bees, and butterflies buzzed around the various outcroppings of flowers and shrubs. They mingled along the vines that climbed the trellises and high security fences surrounding the property.
Luka parked the car, cut the engine, and stepped out into the light. His boots crunched on the gravel path and he clicked the key fob to lock the car. He took a leisurely little lap around the back to make double sure the trunk was locked, then strolled up to the front entrance. One of the many part-time maids hired to work around the house opened the door and let him in with a polite smile. She ducked out of his way and got right back to polishing the banister of the grand staircase. She didn’t ask Luka any questions—not his name, not his reason for being there. She was well-trained. The Sokolovs had their own staff, some of whom lived in the mansion alongside Mikhail’s family and others who came and went. They kept a wall of detachment between these two groups, even though anyone who came into the estate was thoroughly vetted before hiring anyway. It was just another way to maintain some secrecy.
Luka’s footsteps echoed as he followed the sound of conversation through the grand hall to the formal dining room, which served as a primary meeting place for Mikhail’s A-team. Their voices grew louder as he approached. He swept his fingers back through his hair and smoothed down his black shirt. He was dressed in head-to-toe black tactical clothing, which made him little more than a shadow in the dark. This time, though, at least there was no blood (his or otherwise) he needed to hide.
He stepped into the dining room and saw the table full of food and the chairs almost completely taken up. Luka was pleasantly surprised to see that it was a full house, with some less-familiar faces hanging around. The more the merrier, he thought. There was always more than enough food to go around, and sometimes new faces meant new perspectives. Luka’s primary focus here was to discuss the mission to rescue Inessa weeks earlier, and the smaller missions that had followed since then. He was eager to share his experience in the ghost town, interrogating one of Dasha’s lackeys who they’d captured when he ran off into the desert. There were others still out there, he was pretty certain, but he had no doubt the team would whittle them away one by one. They would stomp out all remaining flickers of Dasha Turgenev’s former power until he was merely an ugly, reeking memory.
As expected, the usual members of Mikhail’s closest group were all present. Luka found himself a chair at the end of the table closest to the side door where he had entered. He settled down in between Rad on his right and Ivan on his left. Vadim was on Rad’s other side, and directly opposite Luka down the other end of the eight-foot-long mahogany dining table sat Mikhail. He was the Pakhan, the reigning patriarch of the Sokolov crime family. He sat proudly and impressively in the throne-like chair, presiding over the meeting. He, too, wore all black.
Luka appreciated that about his leader; even though he was powerful enough to do whatever he wanted, dress however he pleased, he still chose to wear the standard look of his team. It made the men feel like he was more their equal, a soldier who would fight alongside them, rather than some out-of-touch master who merely lorded his power over the rest. His authority was unquestionable. His word was the final say on any and all affairs relating to the bratva. And these days, he balanced the danger of his work with the responsibilities of home. He was no longer just the Pakhan; he was also Annika’s husband, and the father of the two youngest Sokolov heirs. But he would still rush into battle with his comrades. He would still drive a weapon into an enemy’s flesh if the situation called for it.
To his left was Andrei, his right-hand man and commander. As usual, he was quiet and solemn, keeping mostly to himself. He observed everything and listened to every word, silently taking it all in. He was contemplative, especially among such quick-tempered, adrenaline-fueled men. Luka understood why Andrei made such a great commander. He could keep a cool head even when the others were aflame. He knew how to see the big picture and direct the team in the most prudent ways. There had been times in the past, when Luka was still quite young, that he’d wished he was Mikhail’s cousin like Andrei. He had grown up longing for an entry into that world with a little tinge of prestige behind his family name.
Now, as an adult, Luka was content with his lineage and his position in life. He didn’t need to be the commander or the king of the world. His father had taught him to know his place and have pride in it. There was beauty in the blood spatter. There was dignity in destruction. He deserved his place at this abundant table among the Sokolov elite.
“Oh, Luka’s arrived!” said Annika, nudging Mikhail’s shoulder.
“Dobro pozhalovat’,” Mikhail greeted him. “Rad, pass him the bread and butter.”
“Welcome, brother. Straight from the field again?” Rad asked brightly.
