Chapter 39
Julian picks us up from the airport, and as much as I want to ask Emilio where we’re going, I keep my questions to myself.
It’s only a short drive until we pull into Lucky Kings’ private back parking lot.
I’ve never been inside the casino. Like with the restaurant, Uncle Yaroslav said that’s a Mafia business and we needed to stay far away from it.
I silently follow them into the building.
Julian makes a right, disappearing into a room, and I keep trailing behind Emilio.
We stop in front of a set of glass doors. He opens one, gesturing for me to go inside.
The room is empty and looks like an upscale employee break room with a couch and TV.
There’s a food area with pizza, pastries, chips, and cookies.
A fridge with a glass door I can see through is stocked with rows of drinks.
“Stay in here. Eat a snack. Just don’t leave, please,” is all Emilio says before leaving the room.
I grab a Dr Pepper from the fridge, snatch a doughnut, and plop down on the couch. As I drag my phone from my pocket to finish my book, I notice a new email notification on the screen.
Dasha emailed me five minutes ago.
I check behind my back, looking from left to right, before opening and reading it.
Liliya!
WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU? I’ve been calling and texting you! Please get in touch with me. I need you!
I hit Reply.
I got a new phone/number. Where are YOU?
I keep my phone in my hand and take a bite of the doughnut, and my attention drifts to the TV.
A reality dating show plays, where women compete for one man’s heart. I nearly snort out my bite when one says that she’s going to drag another woman down the hall by her hair if she stops her from winning a date night.
My phone pings with a new email from Dasha.
What’s your new number?
I reply to her.
Give me yours.
She doesn’t waste time before replying.
You know I can’t. Just talk here. I need money.
I set the doughnut to the side, suddenly nauseous.
Money? How the hell am I supposed to get her money?
Emilio made it clear. Right now, we’re all in danger.
That could include Aurora and the baby.
Another email comes through. This one has her phone number.
I swallow hard, my hand sweaty around the phone.
Can I do this?
Risk our lives and safety?
She’s my sister. My blood.
I shoot up from the couch, chug the Dr Pepper, and toss everything in the bin.
I stare at the door, as if it’s daring me, and tiptoe toward it.
I could sneak out, find an ATM, meet with Dasha, and no one would notice, right?
Sounds easy enough.