Chapter 4 Konstantin #2
Anya barely glances at her cards, tossing out a double-down without a second thought. The dealer gives her a ten. She turns over her cards with a casual flourish: two eights, split, then draws a queen on one and an ace on the other. Twenty-one and nineteen.
She gives me a sidelong look, her lips curving. “Beginner’s luck?”
I grin, not bothering to hide my surprise. “Or someone who counts cards for a living.”
She leans closer, lowering her voice so only I can hear. “I don’t have to count. I read people. It’s easier.”
We play hand after hand, chips sliding back and forth across the table, my pile growing, then shrinking, then holding steady while Anya’s seems to multiply like magic.
She never loses her cool, never hesitates, and every time she turns over a perfect hand, she glances at me, just to see if I’m still paying attention.
At one point, I try to bluff, raising my bet on a pair of nines, hoping to push her out. She stays in, drawing calmly and turning over a twenty. The dealer busts. She rakes in the pot, giving me a mock look of pity.
“You’re good,” I admit, spreading my hands as if surrendering. “Too good.”
She shrugs, stacking her chips into neat towers. “You get used to it. There’s a trick to everything, if you pay attention.”
“I see,” I quip as we continue to play.
On a particularly close hand, Anya leans in, her voice barely above a whisper. “Most men fold when I play like this. You just get more dangerous.”
I smile. “Maybe I like the challenge.”
She laughs, shaking her head as she collects another stack of chips. “That’s what they all say.”
Just then, a server approaches, setting a tall flute of champagne in front of me with a subtle flourish. “Compliments of the house,” he murmurs, voice careful.
I glance at the bubbles, then up at the server. “I didn’t order this.”
He gestures, almost imperceptibly, toward the far end of the lounge, past the bar and private booths. “It’s on the house,” he says again, his eyes flicking behind me.
Something in his tone makes me glance over my shoulder. Across the lounge, I spot Viktor seated in a private booth, watching the room with the patience of a man who never has to wait for anything. He meets my eyes, lifts his own glass in a silent toast, then sets it down.
Anya follows my gaze and offers a small, knowing smile. “Looks like you’ve been noticed.”
I nod, picking up the champagne. “I guess I’m expected.”
She arches a brow, voice light but meaningful. “Then don’t keep him waiting.”
Viktor’s booth is set slightly apart from the rest, half-shielded by glass and a sweep of heavy curtains. As I approach, he sets his glass aside and gestures for me to take the seat across from him, his posture relaxed, but his eyes tracking every movement in the room.
“Konstantin Buryakov,” he says, voice calm, the faintest hint of a smile at the edge of his mouth. “I was wondering when you’d finally come and see my place.”
I slide into the booth, returning his look with measured neutrality. “You made it hard to miss. It’s quite a kingdom you’ve built out here.”
Viktor shrugs, glancing around as if the glamour is barely worth noting. “People like to gamble. I just make it comfortable for them to lose.” He taps a finger against the rim of his empty glass. “I hope Anya was a good host.”
“She knows how to keep things interesting,” I reply, letting my gaze take in the details—the way Viktor’s suit is tailored, the subtle scar under his left eye, the ring on his finger that marks old money and older alliances.
Viktor pours another round of champagne without asking, filling both our glasses. The gesture is casual, but I know he’s watching how much I drink, what I reveal, how long I hesitate. Everything in this room is a test.
He leans back, his voice low, carrying just enough weight to make me focus. “The storm you mentioned—do you think you can weather it alone?”
“I don’t have much choice,” I answer, swirling the glass, keeping my tone neutral. “Family is thin these days, and friends even thinner.”
Viktor gives a dry laugh. “That’s the trouble with being legitimate, isn’t it?
You’re always one step away from being on your own.
” He glances at me over the rim of his glass.
“But I find alliances can be made, even now. The right kind, with the right people. Survival doesn’t care about old grudges or new money. ”
I study him, trying to see past the mask—wondering how much of his offer is genuine, how much is bait. “If you’re proposing an alliance, you’ll have to be more specific.”
He lifts his hands in mock surrender. “I’m not proposing anything, not yet. I just like to know where my guests stand. Especially those with as much at stake as you.”
Before I can say anything more, I notice a flicker of movement just past Viktor’s shoulder—Anya is weaving her way through the lounge, green dress trailing her steps.
She slides into the booth beside Viktor, settling in with the easy confidence of someone who’s used to being at the center of things.
She greets him with a nod, then glances at me, her expression bright, but there’s a certain familiarity in the way she sets her hand on his forearm.
Viktor doesn’t introduce her right away. Instead, he pours her a glass from our bottle, and only after she’s taken a sip does he say, “You two seem to have hit it off at the tables.”
Anya smiles, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “He’s a quick learner. Keeps his cards close.”
“That’s the only way to last in this business,” Viktor replies, meeting my gaze. “It helps that Anya and I go back a long way.”
I catch the way she leans into his words, the small quirks in their gestures—too familiar to be coincidence. “She mentioned she runs the floor,” I say, looking between them.
Anya’s eyes glint. “Runs a little more than that.”
Viktor’s lips curve in a quiet, private smile. “My sister has always known how to keep me on my toes.” His tone is casual, as if he’s talking about a business partner, but there’s an undercurrent of pride there. “And if you’ve ever lost to her at blackjack, you know what I mean.”
I look between them, seeing the resemblance for the first time—the same strong jawline, the shape of their eyes, the easy way they seem to read each other without saying a word.
It’s there in the little things too—the way Anya takes her glass, the way Viktor tracks her movement without ever really looking away.
Anya catches my studying gaze and gives me a small, amused smile, as if she’s used to this reaction. “Surprised?”
“Not anymore,” I say quietly, tipping my glass in her direction. “It explains a lot.”
Viktor nods once, his eyes musing. “We learned early not to trust anyone outside these walls.”
“I can see that,” I say.
Viktor sets down his glass and leans back in the booth, the mood turning almost relaxed. “You should see the rest of the place,” he says. “It’s not all cards and champagne. Let me give you the tour.”
I glance at Anya, still sitting close to him, her smile quick and knowing. “Your sister already helped me out,” I say, watching her reaction, and for a moment I wonder if Viktor sent her on purpose—if every step since I walked in the door was already mapped out.
Anya’s expression doesn’t give much away, but up close, I notice details I missed in the blur of cards and noise.
She’s short—petite, with fine-boned wrists and shoulders that make her seem delicate, though her presence at the table is anything but.
Her hair is pale and straight, falling in a neat line to her chin, a striking contrast to Nadya’s wild dark waves.
Even her eyes—ice blue, focused—remind me how different women can be, how Nadya would’ve taken in this whole place with one glance and seen past every trick of the light.
I force myself back to the present as Viktor stands, one hand resting on Anya’s shoulder. “You’ve had the Anya tour. But there are parts of this place only I can show you.”
He gives her a nod, then gestures for me to follow. “Come on, Konstantin. Let’s see if you’re really as hard to impress as you look.”
I rise, the unease settling in again, but curiosity pulls me forward. Whatever secrets Viktor is holding, I want to see them for myself.
I push myself to my feet, bracing my hand on the table as I reach for my cane. Before I can even grip the handle, Anya is there beside me, already holding it out.
There’s no trace of pity in her eyes, no forced sympathy or sidelong glances like the ones I get from strangers and, sometimes, even from Nadya. Anya’s look is level, matter-of-fact; she simply acknowledges the reality without letting it define the moment.
“Thought you might want this before you go conquering new territory,” she says, her tone warm but perfectly casual, like she’s handing me a set of cards or a drink.
I take the cane, nodding my thanks, noticing how she neither waits for gratitude nor makes a show of the gesture. Then she disappears back toward the lounge, her posture as self-possessed as ever.
Viktor leads me deeper into the building, the sound of the casino fading completely behind thick walls and carefully placed barriers.
The air feels cooler here, quieter, every detail carefully chosen to remind anyone passing through that they’re stepping into territory few ever see.
Even the security guards standing watch are dressed in tailored suits rather than uniforms, their expressions carefully blank, eyes tracking us with discreet intensity.
At the end of the hallway, Viktor swipes a key card and opens a door marked only by a small, polished brass plaque engraved with a simple “V.” It swings open silently, revealing a lounge that puts the rest of the casino to shame.