Chapter 15
SERGEI
The club had been alive for hours, and I’d never felt more dead inside.
The bass pulsed through the floor, climbing up through the soles of my shoes and settling deep in my bones, a constant reminder that everything around me was moving even as something in me had died.
By our standards, it was early. Just past eleven.
But we were already at capacity, bodies packed tight across the lower floor, and the last I’d checked, a line still stretched outside with people desperate for a way in.
It meant the cover-up had worked.
The nurse’s death had made the rounds on the news all week, her name just another headline to feed public curiosity, but the authorities were nowhere close to the truth.
By the time her body had been returned to her parents, we’d already ensured the clues pointed elsewhere.
With her heart missing, we’d fabricated the narrative—organ trafficking.
Something that had nothing to do with us, while at the same time giving Arkady a little trouble.
Black market organ harvesting was his forte.
The cops knew it and had even investigated him in the past, but they’d turned up empty.
As much as I’d hated removing one of the nurse’s organs, I had no other option. If I’d just moved her body, that would’ve raised too many questions. The key had been giving them a story they were eager to believe. Something that pulled their attention in the wrong direction and kept it there.
So far, it was working, and still, none of it felt like a win.
At least Maxim had seemed pleased with the way I handled the matter and was no longer breathing fire whenever we spoke.
But with Leo still missing, I found little pleasure in Maxim’s satisfaction.
Was he even okay? Almost two weeks had passed without a word from him.
He hadn’t used his usual credit cards. The last info I’d had on him was from the driver who’d confirmed he’d dropped Leo off at the airport.
No, Leo hadn’t mentioned where he was going, and the cab driver didn’t have a clue.
I hadn’t been able to tap into the airport security footage to track his movements.
He could be anywhere in the world. Logically, I knew he had to come back at some point, but when?
And was he even taking care of himself? What if he felt so guilty about sleeping with me that he tried to harm himself?
He’d said the car crash was an accident, but what if it wasn’t?
I moved through the lower level with purpose, eyes scanning out of habit. Faces, movement, the various exchanges taking place—I tried to register it all. I found nothing out of place, and yet I still checked. I always checked. Even when my mind wasn’t fully here, drifting.
“Sergei.”
Hazel’s voice cut through the noise, pulling me back into the present. I turned to find her approaching, tablet tucked under her arm, her expression all business as usual. She looked great in a pair of brown leather pants and a sheer top with her usual stilettos.
“Everything okay?” I asked, already preparing myself mentally to tackle a problem.
“The guests you introduced me to earlier are asking for you,” she said. “They’re upstairs.”
Of course they were.
“They’re still at the Diamond Club?”
“Yes, at the main table.”
“Thanks.” I nodded. “Keep an eye on the bar. I want all drinks monitored tonight. No exceptions.”
Her brow lifted slightly, but she didn’t question it. “Yes, boss. On it.”
Good. She took orders well, which I liked about her. Made it easy for me to get shit done without having to explain myself.
I made my way toward the private access point, bypassing the main staircase in favor of the secured lift.
The scanner beeped softly as it recognized my pass, and the doors slid open.
The moment I stepped out, the atmosphere shifted.
The third floor, which hosted the Diamond Club, was a different world.
The music from below dulled into a distant thrum, replaced by a quieter and more controlled environment with softer lighting, dark wood, and carpeting that swallowed the sound of footsteps.
This wasn’t where people came to lose themselves.
This was where they came to lose everything else.
The main gaming area stretched out ahead, private tables spaced far enough apart to allow conversations to remain private.
Dealers moved with quiet precision, chips stacked high, cards dealt with practiced ease.
There were no loud cheers or drunken shouting, just tension and stakes high enough to ruin lives.
I spotted the brigadiers immediately. They’d shown up one after the other in support of me taking over the club.
At least that was their excuse, but I knew it was to size me up.
I would have ignored them if Maxim didn’t want me to get close to them to ensure they didn’t follow Vasiliev’s footsteps, but they were treading the line they shouldn’t cross.
Aistov, Popov, and Gusev sat at the center table, a tower of chips already forming between them.
Aistov lounged back in his chair like he owned the place, one arm draped lazily over the back, the other flicking a chip between his fingers with restless energy.
Gusev sat opposite him, solid and unreadable, while Popov leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, his attention fixed on the cards in front of him.
I approached without hurry. “Gentlemen.”
Three sets of eyes lifted.
“Sergei,” Gusev greeted with a nod.
“Finally,” Aistov drawled, his grin quick and sharp. “I was starting to think you were avoiding us.”
“Unlikely,” I said evenly. “I had to take care of some business downstairs, but you seem entertained. Finding everything to your satisfaction?”
“Depends.” Aistov dragged his gaze over me in a way that would have irritated me on any other day, if my mind wasn’t already occupied. “Are you going to join us, or are you here for me to admire?”
Aistov’s attempt to flirt rolled right off my back.
I knew better than to take him seriously.
I was there when Maxim discovered him, little more than a kid, but with grit enough for Maxim to take a chance on him.
He was hardly my type, being too colorful and social.
I preferred spiteful and angry, dressed up in scrubs.
“Business first,” I said. “If there’s anything you need—”
“Oh, we need something,” he cut in, leaning forward. “A fourth player to drive the stakes up.”
“Find someone else.”
“What if I only want you?”
Popov huffed out a quiet breath. “Are you looking for a poker player or someone to take home tonight?”
“Oh, if he offers, I’m okay with both,” Aistov said, batting his lashes at me. When he smiled, dimples appeared in his cheeks. “Don’t tell me you don’t gamble, Sergei. What’s the sense of running a casino?”
Gusev glanced between us, then sighed. “One hand,” he said to me. “Just to shut him up.”
Aistov shot him a look. “I don’t need shutting up.”
“You do,” Popov muttered, not looking up from his cards. “Constantly. It’s a wonder you get anything done when you run that mouth of yours.”
Aistov ignored their banter, his attention snapping back to me. “One hand,” he agreed, softer now, almost coaxing. “Unless you don’t have the money to bet?”
I stared at him for a long second. Then, because refusing would drag this out longer than I cared for—and because Maxim wanted me to get closer to the three brigadiers—I pulled out the empty chair and sat.
“Deal.”
Aistov’s grin turned victorious. “Great. Now there’s another handsome face at the table besides mine.”
The dealer moved immediately, shuffling with deft hands before distributing the cards. Chips slid across the table, and bets were placed without hesitation. The numbers climbed fast, but I didn’t mind. A small price to pay for them seeing me as one of them.
I wasn’t an expert poker player, but I could hold my own. I watched each player, reading the subtle shifts in posture, the flickers of tells that most people thought they hid well. Aistov didn’t bother hiding anything. He shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near a casino.
He played like he did everything else in his life—reckless, bold, and a little too eager. His gaze kept drifting back to me, a smirk tugging at his mouth every time he orchestrated it so that our hands brushed over the table.
“Are you distracted?” he said.
“Not in the least.”
“Liar.” He tilted his head, studying me. “Thinking about something else?”
“Play your hand.”
He chuckled, clearly entertained. “Touchy.”
“Focus,” Gusev snapped.
“Relax,” Aistov shot back. “I can multitask. Besides, it’s my money to gamble with.”
The tension at the table tightened as the final cards were revealed, and chips piled even higher. I stayed in longer than I should have. When the hand ended, the dealer pushed the pot toward Aistov, who was not a gracious winner.
“That’s it for me,” I said, pushing my remaining cards forward.
Aistov’s brows lifted. “That’s it?”
“That’s it. I work too hard for you to take all my money.”
“Come on,” he pressed, leaning in again and ogling me up and down. “One more hand. I’m sure we can barter with something more interesting.”
“That’s a hard pass.”
Popov’s mouth twitched, like he was suppressing a smile. “I’m out too. Sergei, maybe we can have a drink?”
Well, that was fast. I hadn’t expected to have a one-on-one with any of them yet. They knew how close I was to Maxim, so they’d always been cautious around me.
“Sure. Why not?”
We left the table behind, Aistov still pouting and Gusev trying to distract him.
We relocated to the bar that lined the far wall of the Diamond Club.
It was quieter here, more intimate. Crystal shelves glowed under soft lighting, showcasing top-shelf liquor that most people downstairs couldn’t even pronounce, much less afford.
“Mr. Popov.” The bartender, a beautiful strawberry blonde, seemed to come alive when she recognized the man next to me. “How nice to see you again. What can I get you, gentlemen?”