Chapter 19
Kirill
Leaning back in my chair in my brand-new office, I savor the sound of Kira’s bright laughter drifting across the room at whatever stupid joke Kostya just cracked. A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth… right up until my phone starts buzzing.
My smile drops in annoyance, only to reappear sharper when a familiar name flashes across the screen.
“This call better be what I think it is, Kim, or I’m going to be very annoyed.”
“Well, hello to you too,” she scoffs on the other end. “You know, after everything I’ve done for you these past few months, you could stand to be a little nicer to me.”
“You haven’t done anything deserving of that yet.”
“Oh, yes I have,” she sings, far too smug for my liking. “After a little persuasion on Daddy’s end, he and his friends have decided to help you with your little venture.”
My smile widens.
“And how many friends has your stepfather persuaded?”
“All the key players you need,” she replies vaguely, careful not to incriminate herself on a phone call.
This time my smile is stretched from ear to ear.
That means the good Governor was able to get me three members of the Illinois Gaming Board Commissioners, the Licensing Director of the IGB and an Alderman.
Yes. Kim Hardgraves has a reason to be smug indeed for getting her Daddy to pull this off for me.
“There’s just one little, itsy-bitsy problem,” she adds, instantly erasing the good mood she’d managed to put me in.
“And what is that?”
“If this deal is going to happen, they need to meet with you…tonight.”
“When?”
“In an hour. Think you can clear your busy schedule by then?”
I glance toward my niece, still laughing at whatever idiocy my brother is saying, and frown.
“I’ll make it happen.”
“Good. These white-collar types tend to get cold feet quick, so I’d hurry if I was you. I’ll text you the address,” she coos. “Now that business is out of the way… have you given any thought to my little offer?”
“No,” I deadpan, my tone dropping a full octave.
“Oh, don’t be like that. I’d make it worth your while.”
I ignore the way her voice dips into a low, suggestive hum. There isn’t a universe in which I’d touch her—not even with a ten-foot pole.
“I’ll wire you your percentage for the help you provided. That’s all you’re getting.”
“Well, that’s not very nice. Maybe I should tell Daddy this deal is a bad idea after all.”
“Do that, and it will be the last thing you say,” I warn, my voice turning lethal. “Take the money, Kim. And spend it on something… what was the word you used? Ah, yes…nice…for your husband. The poor fucker deserves it after marrying a traitorous bitch like you.”
I hang up before she can respond.
One hour.
In one hour, I’ll finally push things in my favor.
There’s only one problem. Frankie is here. At my club.
“Kostya, we got the call,” I say, and in an instant his carefree grin melts into focused seriousness.
“You’re shitting me. When?” he asks, just as Kim’s text with the address comes through.
“We have one hour.”
“Then let’s get going!” Kostya springs to his feet, practically vibrating with excitement.
I keep my smile in check, but I’m glad he’s looking forward to this. Since we got back from Russia, he’s been all-in with my plan, throwing in smart ideas of his own and offering me solid counsel. The kid might not like doing Bratva business, but he sure has a head for it.
“Oh, you have to be off?” Frankie asks, immediately sensing that playtime is over. “Then I guess I should go home, too. I’ll call an Uber.”
“The fuck you will.” Kostya snatches the phone right out of her hand. “No way is my niece getting into an Uber with some stranger.”
“I don’t want to be any trouble,” Frankie says.
“No problem at all. We’ll drop you home,” Kostya assures her.
“Actually, we can’t,” I cut in. “The meet is on the other side of town.”
“So what? They can wait a few minutes,” Kostya scoffs.
“The more time we give them, the riskier it is that they’ll second-guess everything and back out,” I warn, giving him a look that says this is our one shot.
“Shit,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair.
“Kira,” I say, hating what I’m about to ask, “can you call your boyfriend to come get you?” But the moment she starts nervously chewing her bottom lip, I know Lucky isn’t an option. I cross my arms and narrow my gaze at my niece. “Lucky doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”
She shakes her head. “He doesn’t like it when I come see you at your place of work.”
“And he’s right,” I say, surprising her. “A strip club is no place for a young woman like you.”
“But is it really a strip club anymore?” she counters. “I mean, this place is incredible. It has that bootleg 1920s vibe. Almost burlesque. I rarely see any of the girls with their clothes off.”
“If you stayed a little later, you would,” Kostya laughs. “Besides, every time you show up here, Kirill tells the girls to keep their clothes on for your sake. He still wants to give you the impression we’re classy or some shit.”
“But this place is classy! I mean, it even showed up in the Chicago Sun as a must-visit nightlife spot.”
It’s true.
Who would have thought a few changes to the girls’ routines and a complete makeover of the place would bring in wealthy and upscale clientele?
Oh, that’s right… I did.
I knew that if this place was going to make real money, I couldn’t keep it as the skeezy strip club it used to be.
So I took a page out of the burlesque club Katya worked at back in Russia and used every detail I could remember about it.
Before Vasily bought that place, Katya loved her job.
She was excited to go to work. Proud of it.
Maybe, in a way, I redesigned my club to feel closer to her.
Or maybe I just wanted something that reminded me of better days, back when she was alive.
But I don’t need that reminder anymore. Not when we have Kira. She’s the only memory of my sweet sister I’ll ever need.
Still, I’d rather Kira not spend too much time here. After all, my Bratva soldaty still conduct business within these walls. Her boyfriend being wary of her coming here is warranted.
“What about Stella?” Kostya asks, his dark eyes sparkling mischievously. “I’m sure she wouldn’t make a fuss about picking you up.”
“That’s perfect!” Kira beams as Kostya hands her back her phone. She taps her fingers on the keypad of her phone a few times and grins. “Stella says she’ll be here in ten.”
“You hear that, brother? She’ll be here in ten.” Kostya winks.
I try to keep my expression cool, composed… but I doubt I’m fooling either of them.
Stella has been avoiding me since she stormed out of Russia with fire in her veins and her jaw clenched like she’d rather bite through steel than look at me again.
I told myself she’d cool off. That she’d come to her senses and seek me out eventually.
Then weeks passed.
Then more.
Until two long months went by without even a text or a phone call.
And while I haven’t spoken to her… haven’t touched her softness or heard her laugh… that doesn’t mean I haven’t seen her.
After learning her schedule, I drive to her school every morning and watch her walk across campus, books in hand, from the parking lot. I don’t dare turn the ignition off, because if I do, there will be nothing stopping me from getting out of the car and running after her.
No.
Watching Stella from afar is the closest I allow myself to be near her.
But now she’s just a car ride away.
She’s coming to me…
And that changes the rules of the game.
Kostya is still smirking at me as I help Kira gather up her things and lead her out of the office.
We make our way down the hallway, past the low thrum of music and chatter of the main room, until we finally push through the front doors.
The snow is coming down in thick, heavy sheets, the kind that muffles the whole damn world.
Even the dark-blue neon glow of my new sign, the one that reads Obsidian, looks softer under it, almost harmless.
Almost.
The rest of Chicago might believe this is the new nightspot to hang out in, but everyone in Little Russia knows this is a Bratva owned business and should be respected as such. Feared even.
Kostya stands beside me under the awning, hands shoved into his coat pockets, bouncing lightly on his heels. He’s trying to look casual, but I know him too well. He’s as restless as I am.
“Relax,” I mutter.
“I am relaxed,” he lies, eyes flicking toward the street for the tenth time in a minute.
I huff out a breath.
He’s excited.
I’m excited.
But for two very different reasons.
He’s on pins and needles to be part of this deal, eager to prove to Sasha that he’s not the screwup our brother paints him to be.
My nerves, on the other hand, have everything to do with the woman who will be arriving any minute now.
Kostya nudges me. “You’re smiling.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You are. It’s creepy.”
I smack the back of his head. He laughs.
Truth is, I am smiling. I feel like a damn child waiting for a gift he doesn’t deserve. Stella always had that effect on me—turning all my carefully coiled control inside out with a single look, a single laugh, a single snarky reply.
So when headlights turn into the lot, slicing through the snow, my pulse kicks.
“That must be Stella,” Frankie says, waving at the car.
The car rolls to a stop a few rows away, and the world narrows to that windshield.
But instead of the wild red hair I was expecting to see, all I see is the short blond hair of her older brother.
Marcello Romano steps out of the car and strides towards us. My jaw tightens, irritation scraping over the remnants of happiness in my chest.
Frankie’s voice cuts through the cold when Marcello reaches us.
“Marcello?” she says, confused. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m your ride.”
My jaw ticks in aggravation.
Why the hell is he picking up my niece?
And where the hell is Stella?