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"High-stakes tables are rolling out in a few weeks. Aleks and his shiny playhouse won't stand a chance."
"His hotel's gonna eat dust before it hits a year," Dimitri growls, puffing out a cloud of smoke so thick it momentarily veils his face. I can see the vein in his neck throbbing, a clear sign of the anger boiling beneath.
The buzz of the idea zips through me.
I imagine the raw, electric atmosphere of our future club, the heavy clinks of chips, and the cold, calculating gazes of the players. Here, in this club, where the only light comes from the shimmering pool and the flickering neon, we're plotting the fall of Aleks's empire.
"You smart fuck," I smirk at Erik, impressed despite myself. "What's our take gonna look like with this new setup?"
Erik doesn't miss a beat. "Initial calculation, around ten million a week."
I raise an eyebrow, letting the number sink in. "That's a good start."
Dimitri lets out a whistle, reclining into the plush leather of the sofa with a smirk.
"What do you need from us?" I ask Erik, leaning back, feeling the full weight of the past and our future on my shoulders. Erik's the brain behind the operation, making moves I couldn't even when I was on the outside. Four years in a cell, and he, along with Dimitri, didn't just keep the Ivankov Bratva running; they grew it, stretched our reach further than I ever did.
Erik tosses me a look, a ghost of a smirk on his face. "Got it covered. Just another day at the office, you know?"
Right then, Laughter hits my ears, loud and clear, a deliberate jab from the pool.
The trio of girls, splashing around, their eyes fixed on us like we're the night's main show.
They're not just enjoying the pool; they're putting on a performance, aiming every giggle and curve directly at our table.
One leans back against the pool's edge, her body arching in a way that screams 'look at me', champagne glass held high.
Another swirls the water with her hair, sending sparkling droplets flying, her eyes locked on Dimitri.
Dimitri takes another long drag of his cigar, clearly not giving a damn about the girl's show.
The last one, standing ankle-deep, tosses her head back, a challenge in her gaze meant for Erik and me.
The trio keeps up their little circus in the water, but my mind's stuck on a loop, replaying a memory I can't shake— the waitress from the other night, her loud moans still echoing in my ear, her dripping pussy begging for my cock.
Fuck.
My veins throb with desire as I think about her.
Erik, catching the drift but missing the point, raises his glass in a silent toast to the spectacle before us, then turns, a sly grin splitting his face.
"You like?"
"Fuck, no," I snap, quicker than I intend. My gaze hardens, trying to push away the unwelcome thoughts.
"Ah - Lost your touch, Luka?" Erik's laughter fills the air, mocking.
"Fuck off," I snap at Erik, shooting him a glare that could freeze hell over.
But of course, he doesn’t care. Leaning in, a smirk playing on his lips. "Still hung up on that server from the party?" he teases, the joke sharp enough to cut.
My glare sharpens, wishing I could wipe that grin off his face. "Mind your own business," I retort, the words laced with a warning.
Fucking hell, yank your head out of your dark hole Luka.
Anger boils within me, my blood hot and ready to explode. I clench my jaw, reminding myself she's just another worthless fuck who shouldn't matter.
But who am I kidding?
