Chapter 22
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
KIRILL
I park my Ducati behind Velour and storm through the back entrance. Security takes one look at me and gets the fuck out of my way as I head straight for the stairs.
Twenty minutes ago, I was in a meeting with Dem’s tech guys, pulling data off Konstantin’s smashed hard drive, when a guard I assigned to keep an eye on Evelina called. Apparently, my father requested her to serve at his poker night.
Of course he fucking did. I don’t know when she caught his eye, but Ruslan Baronov has always enjoyed the perks of power. He’s handsome, charming, generous when it suits him, and never above taking advantage of his position to get laid.
But there’s no fucking way he’s touching her. She’s mine, and I’ll stake my claim in front of his entire inner circle if that’s what it takes.
I push through the door of the Sapphire Suite, letting it swing wide. “Hope I’m not too late to join.”
My father glances up from his cards, one eyebrow raised. Abram sits to his left, Grigori and Yuri across the table. Evelina stands near the bar cart with a fresh bottle of vodka on the tray, her posture controlled and professional.
Her gaze locks on mine and widens with surprise. I wink at her and pull out the empty chair between Grigori and Yuri, forcing them to shift apart. “Deal me in.”
My father drums his fingers against the felt. “You’re too late. The game’s started.”
“Then you’ll have to catch me up.”
Abram’s jaw tightens, but he can’t exactly refuse the heir a seat at the table.
Grigori exhales smoke, beady eyes darting between me and my father. “Always room for family.”
I’ve never asked to join these monthly games. I never wanted to spend an evening with the men who built their fortunes auctioning women like they were livestock.
These poker nights started back when Velour ran a different kind of business. Nights after the auctions closed and money changed hands, Ruslan and his inner circle would celebrate with cards and top-shelf vodka.
It was then I learned how ugly this life can be. How it can destroy the innocent, and how the monsters responsible just wash the blood off their hands and never pay the price.
Abram deals me in, and tense silence settles over the room. I ignore my cards and watch Evelina instead. She purposefully avoids acknowledging me, her jaw tight like she’s unhappy about something.
“How was your trip, Father? Productive?”
“Productive enough.” His stare slides to Evelina, then back to me. “I’m surprised you have time for poker, Kirill. I thought you’d be focused on more pressing matters.”
I grit my teeth. “Thirteen days left. Plenty of time.”
“Confidence is admirable. Overconfidence gets you killed.” His smile is hollow. “It’s not just your future hanging in the balance.”
How could I forget? Katya. The arranged marriage. The consequences if I fail.
“Bit early for that conversation, isn’t it?”
“And what have you accomplished while I was gone?” He turns to Abram. “The younger generation doesn’t understand war. Always hiding behind computers and digital smoke screens. You’ll learn soon enough that some problems require a more direct approach.”
The insult lands as designed. He’s calling me soft, saying I don’t have the stomach for the violence that built this empire. When the Ghost situation finally demands blood, I won’t be able to deliver.
I’m not filling him in on the failed pier mission. It was bloody all right, but it wasn’t a success.
When I don’t answer, he turns to Evelina, a smooth, easy smile sliding into place. The mask he wears to lay on the charm.
He lifts his now-empty glass. “Evelina, we could use a refresh.”
“Of course,” she says, her professional smile firmly in place. He watches her pour, his attention lingering in a way that makes my trigger finger itchy.
“Your bet, Kirill.” Yuri gestures to the pot.
I toss chips into the pot without checking my cards, attention on Evelina and the weird energy swirling around the room.
Play continues. Cards snap against felt. Chips click. Vodka gets poured. I play recklessly, betting high on garbage hands, going all-in on nothing just to watch my father’s mouth press into a thin line every time I drag the pot toward me.
Evelina moves to the bar cart for clean glassware, and I use the distraction to push back from the table. “Need to take a piss. Deal me out this hand.”
I follow her to the small service alcove outside the suite. It’s barely more than a hallway with a sink and a supply shelf. She’s washing up when I step inside. She doesn’t turn around, but her shoulders stiffen.
“You’re not subtle,” she says quietly. “What are you doing up here?”
I’m close enough that the heat of her back touches my chest.
“Because my father asked for you tonight. And when Ruslan Baronov is interested in a woman who works for him, she doesn’t feel like she has the option to say no.”
She sets the glass down and turns to face me. This close, I can see the slight tremble in her lower lip before she bites it down.
“He’s been fine. Nothing’s happened.” But there’s something off in the way she can’t look at me.
I brace one hand on the counter beside her hip, caging her in. “That’s why I’m here. You’re never going to be alone with him again. Or any of his friends. If they want you in a room, I’m in that room. If they ask for you specifically, the answer is you’re busy working for me. Understand?”
Her breath catches. “Kirill, he’ll know there’s something between us.”
“I don’t give a shit what he knows.” My hand slides to her waist, possessive. “You’re mine, Evelina. Which means I’m the one watching your back now.”
Her eyes search mine, something vulnerable breaking through. “I understand.”
I lean in closer, my voice rough. “And for the record, I know you can handle yourself. Doesn’t mean you should have to.”
Footsteps click in the main room and we break apart. She grabs the tray and heads back inside without another word. I follow moments later.
My father’s gaze tracks between us when we return. Cold calculation settles over his features as he realizes exactly why I’m here.
I take my seat, and the hand drags on.
Twenty minutes later, Abram grunts and rolls up his sleeves. “Fucking sauna in here.”
Evelina’s beside Abram, bottle in hand, leaning in to refill his glass when she inhales sharply and lets out a strangled noise.
The bottle slips from her grip. Vodka splashes across Abram’s lap before glass hits the floor.
She’s frozen, staring at something on Abram’s forearm like it’s a coiled viper.
“What the fuck!” Abram jumps up from his seat, vodka soaking the front of his pants.
“I’m so sorry,” she pleads. “I don’t know what happened. That was so unprofessional?—“
She grabs napkins, fingers shaking so hard she can barely hold them.
“Goddamn right it’s unprofessional!” Abram’s face mottles purple. “You stupid girl. Do you know how much this suit costs?”
“It’s only vodka, but I’m sorry. I’ll pay for the cleaning.”
“You’ll pay?” He sneers. “With what ... your server wages?”
White-hot rage floods my veins. “That’s enough,” I snap at Abram, stepping between him and Evelina. I turn toward her. “Get some air. Someone else will finish your shift.”
“What? No, it’s fine?—“
“Go.” It’s not a request. I need her out of this room before I do something she can’t unsee.
She turns and runs for the door.
The second she leaves, all my murderous focus snaps to Abram. “What did you do to her?”
“Nothing!” He swipes at his pants with a stack of crumpled napkins. “You were there. She dumped a drink on me!”
“She was fine until she stood beside you. Then something spooked her.” I move closer, using my height to intimidate. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything!”
“Kirill.” My father’s voice, sharp with warning. “Back off.”
I ignore him. “Did you touch her? Grab her ass?—”
“I didn’t touch her!” he spits, a vein throbbing in his temple. “You were right there, Kirill! I didn’t do shit!”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not?—”
My hand dives into the ice bucket, fingers closing around the metal pick. In one smooth motion, I grab Abram’s right hand and slam it flat against the felt.
It drives through his palm and into the wood beneath with a wet crunch.
Abram’s scream is high-pitched and animal. He yanks his hand back, but the pick holds him in place, pinning him like an insect to a board. Blood pools around the wound and soaks into the green felt, spreading in a dark stain that swallows the ace of spades.
My father surges to his feet. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”
Grigori reaches for his holster, but my father waves him off.
I lean down until I’m an inch from Abram’s face, close enough to smell the fear-sweat beading across his forehead.
“I’m going to find out exactly what happened,” I seethe. “And when I do, this—“ I tap the pick, making him scream again. “—is going to feel like a goddamn massage.”
I straighten and head for the door.
My father’s voice follows me, edged with fury. “This isn’t over.”
“No,” I growl. “It’s not.”
I take the stairs two at a time, scanning the main floor for her, pushing through to the bar where Oksana’s mixing drinks.
“Where’s Evelina?”
She startles. “She felt sick. I sent her home in an Uber.”
“Fuck.”
“What’s wrong? Did something happen upstairs?”
I don’t bother answering. I’m already heading for the back exit, phone pressed to my ear. I’m going to follow her to Brooklyn, but first, I need to hear her voice. Need to know she’s okay. The call goes right to voicemail. Fuck.
My phone’s not even back in my pocket when it buzzes again, this time with Matvey.
“What is it?” I snap.
When Matvey doesn’t bother to ask what crawled up my ass, I know it’s serious. “We pulled something you’re going to want to see off Konstantin’s phone.”
“I don’t have time for this shit. What is it?”
“He built a database of our assets. Real estate, shell companies, offshore accounts, shipping routes, you name it. And not only us. The Italians, the Triads, the Irish, the Yakuza. Swiss bank accounts, shadow corporations, shit that nobody outside the inner circle should know exists.”
My blood turns to ice. I lean back against the brick wall of the alley, rough surface digging into my shoulders.
“They know where all our money is.” My voice is flat. “Which means they can steal it, freeze it, or hand it to the feds on a silver platter.”
“Exactly.” Matvey’s voice is grim. “The Ghost recruited Konstantin as an intelligence operative. He’s been compiling intel on every crime family in New York.”
“If the Ghost has this kind of intel on all of us, they take everything we’ve built. Call a meeting with the heirs for tonight. Tell them I have proof the Ghost is coming for all of us, and if they want to hear about it, they’ll be there within the hour. I’ll head to the warehouse now.”
I end the call and pull up my messages, thumbing a quick note to Miron with one hand.
Keep eyes on Evelina 24/7. Anything out of the ordinary, I want to know immediately.
I swing onto the Ducati and peel out of the alley, heading toward the warehouse instead of the only place I want to be.