Chapter 3
MELANI
“Can I serve the drinks?” The question slips out before I can stop it. Too eager. Desperate, even. But I can’t help myself. Not when the opportunity is right there, dangling in front of me.
Nadia pauses mid-motion, her fingers hovering over the whiskey bottles and crystal tumblers she’s been fussing over for the past five minutes.
She’s treating this order like a sacred ritual, polishing each glass until it sparkles, choosing specific bottles of premium brandy with the care of someone defusing a bomb.
If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she had a crush on one of the brothers.
That might be crazy, but I can’t shake the way she refused to let any of the bartenders touch their order, how she insisted on handling it all herself.
She blamed the opening rush, but that excuse feels thin.
Sure, people are already streaming into Zvezda, but we literally just opened, so it’s not like there’s a packed crowd yet.
She narrows her eyes at me briefly as she transfers the pristine tumblers and expensive bottles onto a silver tray. “I don’t think so.”
I bite my lip, fighting the urge to talk back to my direct boss on my very first shift. But damn it, I want to take the drinks to them so badly. Those three men are the reason my brother has a scarred P carved into his wrist. They’re the reason he’s missing. God, I hope he’s okay.
Logically, Luciano couldn’t have had the chance to work directly with any of the brothers—he was too low on the chain, just an errand boy—but they must know something about him. Must have records, information, anything. It’s their organization, after all. And I’m desperate.
“I could take the tray with you, then,” I try to negotiate. “Help you serve them.”
I could use this opportunity to get the measure of them up close and study them. Maybe even eavesdrop on their conversations if I’m careful and lucky.
Nadia is already shaking her head before I finish speaking. “Absolutely not. You just started working here tonight, and the Petrovs are ruthless. You don’t want to make a mistake in front of them this soon. Trust me.”
“Or what? They’d fire me?” I grin at her even though I’m only half joking.
If the rumors are true—and in my gut, I know they are—getting fired would be the kindest punishment the Petrovs could deliver.
I could lose a finger. A hand. Disappear like Luciano.
I suppress the shudder trying to crawl up my spine.
“You don’t know who they are,” Nadia says cryptically, not even cracking a smile as she lifts the tray and walks away with it.
Yes, I do know exactly who they are. But I’ll bide my time.
I’ll have more opportunities to get close to the Petrovs—or at least Ivan Petrov—before the night is over.
My attention drifts towards the direction of his office.
Now would be the perfect time. While he’s occupied with his brothers, distracted by whatever business they’re conducting, I could slip up there, poke around, find—
“Hey, new girl!”
I’m already moving towards the stairs, not registering that someone’s calling me until a hand closes over my shoulder.
I flinch and whirl around, fists raised.
“Whoa.” The guy jerks his hands up, eyes going wide.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you like that.
” His tone is careful, almost embarrassed. “You, uh… You spook easy.”
Heat floods my cheeks. I force my hands down, feeling utterly ridiculous. “Sorry. Hi.”
He looks to be around my age, maybe a year or two older, with military-style hair, bushy brows, and surprisingly long dark lashes that frame guileless hazel eyes.
His uniform matches mine, so at least that explains why he’s back here—another server.
I’m proven right when he continues, “Nadia told me you’d be shadowing me tonight.
I was just trying to get your attention so we could get started, and I don’t know your name yet. ”
I nod. “Right. I’m Mel.”
“Nice to meet you, Mel. I’m Jack.” He extends his hand, and I shake it briefly, keeping the contact minimal.
“You’re lucky. My first room is with a group of regulars tonight, a small gathering of friends, and they’re pretty tame compared to what we usually get here.
” He turns and starts walking towards one of the second-floor VIP lounges.
I follow close behind, my curiosity piqued despite everything else going on.
Whatever I’m expecting when he opens the door, it’s definitely not this.
Three stunning women lounging together like modern-day goddesses, all in their late twenties maybe, their physical differences only emphasized by how close they’re sitting.
A curvy redhead with a neckline so deep my eyes almost bug out—she has to be at least an F-cup.
Next to her, a dark-haired beauty with a much leaner frame, her bust even smaller than my B-cup.
And on the other side, a blonde with impossibly long legs stretched out like she knows exactly what they do to people.
Jack said they’re friends, but the way they lean into one another screams an intimacy that goes way beyond friendship.
That impression only deepens the longer I look.
There’s an air of decadence clinging to them—from their sexy, unmistakably expensive clothes to the jewelry flashing at their wrists, throats, and ears.
The blonde even has a nose ring that glints like pure gold.
I hover awkwardly behind Jack while he introduces us. The blonde catches my eye, winks, then crooks a finger at me. My brows knit in confusion, but Jack seems to understand, because he steps aside, giving the women an unobstructed view of me. I feel weirdly exposed. Like I’m being sized up.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” the redhead asks, her voice smooth as honey.
“Mel.” I glance at Jack for backup, but he’s deeply focused on a spot on the wall.
“I don’t remember seeing you here before. You must be new at Zvezda.” This time it’s the blonde. I meet her gaze and dip my head in confirmation.
“You’ll do very well here,” the dark-haired woman says, nodding. “With a face like that.” She whistles softly, and all three of them chuckle.
The redhead finally turns her attention back to Jack, breaking whatever spell they’ve woven. “So,” she purrs, “what special offerings do you have for us tonight?”
He steps forward quickly, a polite smile fixed on his face.
“We have a limited run of Cristal Rosé magnum tonight. It’s been popular with our VIPs.
” They discuss their elaborate drink order with Jack for several more minutes while I stand there, trying to process what just happened.
After what feels like forever, we leave the lounge, and I practically gulp the air—I hadn’t realized their perfumes were that strong until I’m free of their cloying grip.
“What was that?” My voice comes out slightly breathless as I shake off the lingering scent. Jack adjusts his bow tie—the male uniform includes one—his face looking a bit flushed.
“They’re… special clients.”
No shit. I hold back my eye roll, but barely, because I need the information he obviously has. “Special how?”
“They’re successful women in a… a beautiful relationship with each other,” he says as he heads towards the bar to prepare their drinks.
My steps falter slightly as the implication registers, but I quickly recover and keep pace with him.
So they’re in some sort of poly relationship.
My heart does a weird little flip. I’ve read about this—devoured books featuring complicated, beautiful love between multiple people—but I’ve never actually seen it in real life.
I glance towards their lounge door, my lips tugging into a proud smile.
Good for them. I love seeing women thriving in male-dominated spaces.
“Sometimes,” Jack adds casually, “they invite people back to their hotel suite with them. They seemed to really like you.”
That makes me stop short. “What?” An open poly relationship. Scandalous. My cheeks flush hot for some reason, and of course, Jack looks over right then.
His lips quirk up. “If you’re not comfortable going back, I can go alone.”
“You said they’re pretty tame compared to what you usually get here at Zvezda. Do I even want to know what the usual clientele is like?”
Jack’s smile widens. “Yeah. See, because of Zvezda’s exclusivity and strict security and privacy protocols, powerful people come here to relax and wind down.
They feel secure knowing they won’t find themselves splashed across tabloid covers the next morning.
That’s why servers aren’t allowed to clock in with their phones.
” Ah, so that’s why mine was confiscated the moment I arrived.
I glance around the main floor at the wealthy patrons scattered across booths and tables, voices kept low beneath the sultry music.
What are their stories? What secrets are they hiding?
I’ve never seen this many rich people in one place.
I hadn’t reached the age to attend any of my father's work parties before he stole from the don and we had to flee. The memory drifts in uninvited, darkening my mood and reminding me why I’m here—not to work or marvel at the intriguing lives of the rich and bored.
So when Jack asks if I want to join him to serve the drinks, I politely decline, feigning being overwhelmed.
“You said they like me, but I’m not into that sort of thing. I’d hate to make a mistake with VIP clients on my very first night.”
He nods in understanding, accepting my excuse at face value. “That’s fair. You can take a quick break in the employee restroom before we attend to the next clients on my list.”
“Sounds good.” I latch onto the chance gratefully.
The employee restroom is just down the hall from the stairs leading to Ivan Petrov’s office. If anyone catches me, I can claim I got lost. It is my first night here, after all, and this place is massive; it’s a plausible enough excuse.
The logical side of my brain is screaming at me to take a step back. To stick with gathering intel tonight and wait until I can plan everything out before I make a bold move. But the logical side of my brain hasn’t gotten me anywhere. And something about this place feeds my wilder side.
The only way I’m going to get shit done is if I take risks.
I wipe my sweaty palms on my skirt and glance around the bar area.
That’s when I spot it—an expensive bottle of cognac sitting on the counter, the same Armenian brandy Nadia carried to the Petrov brothers earlier.
I pick it up carefully and tuck it under my arm as camouflage, just in case I run into someone the restroom excuse won’t work on.
I glance around again, but none of the other servers or bartenders are even looking in my direction. Nadia doesn’t seem to be on the main floor either. Guess it’s now or never.
With my heart thundering in my ears, I edge my way towards the forbidden staircase.
I half expect someone to stop me—the scary-looking bouncers, the other servers, anyone—but no one bats an eye.
I slip into the dim stairwell, schooling my steps into something that passes for casual, and nearly jump out of my skin when brighter lights suddenly flick on overhead.
“Just motion sensors, you idiot,” I mutter under my breath, forcing myself to keep moving. As I climb, I take note of the cameras and try my absolute best to look as innocent and lost as possible.
The stairs open onto a wall of floor-to-ceiling glass. From this height, I can see every possible angle of the club below, even the balconies of VIP lounges. A perfect vantage point for the owner.
I spot Nadia emerging onto the main floor, her head swiveling like she’s searching for someone.
Is she looking for me? Panic jolts me into action, and I turn to face the only door on this level.
An intimidating, imposing door made from what looks like black lacquered wood.
In place of a normal handle, there’s a numeric keypad and a small button below it.
Shit. Of course there’s a code. Did I really think it would be that easy?
That I could just waltz into the office of a Bratva enforcer without security measures?
The Petrovs aren’t stupid. I swallow the sudden lump growing in my throat at the thought of failing.
No. Failure is not an option. Not when Luciano’s life might depend on what I find.
I press my ear against the door, straining to hear any sound from inside. But even if people were having a screaming match in there, I wouldn’t know. The door is too thick; it’s probably soundproof like the VIP lounges.
Taking a deep breath, I press the small button beneath the keypad, then push at the door experimentally.
It opens.
It actually fucking opens. Just in time for me to hear a muffled sound, followed by a bright flash of light and a heavy thud.
My brain struggles to process what I’m seeing. A rapidly spreading pool of blood. A body lying motionless on the floor. And standing over it, a man in a suit holding a smoking gun, his eyes wide with shock when they land on me.
No. No, no, no—
Then the gun points at me. I gasp, but the sound dies in my throat when a broad back suddenly fills my vision, moving with impossible speed to stand in front of me, and a large hand reaches out to wrench the weapon from the startled man’s hand.
“Help me. Please.”
The soft, desperate rasp pulls my attention to another man. He’s on his knees, hands tied behind him, next to the body still bleeding out on the floor. His terrified eyes plead with me, and I stumble back a step.
Swiftly, almost casually, the man in front of me cocks the gun and shoots the bound man point-blank in the head.
A strangled shriek rips from my throat as a neat, perfectly round hole appears in his forehead.
He drops like a log. The shooter turns to face me, the gun finding my chest, and everything in me goes cold when I see who it is.
The Devil himself.
My hands go limp, and the bottle of cognac I forgot I was holding slips from my nerveless fingers, shattering at my feet, the glass exploding outward as its golden liquid spreads across the floor.
All I can do is stare into Ivan Petrov’s cold, murderous eyes and wonder if I’m about to become the third body on his office floor.