CHAPTER 11
DIMITRI
I watch her exit the elevator and stop dead in my tracks.
Sloane Murphy crosses the casino lobby like she owns it, with a sway of her hips that makes my mouth go dry instantly.
She's wearing a black blouse that reveals just enough to make my imagination skyrocket, jeans that look painted on her legs, and heels that elongate her figure, making her seem taller, more predatory.
Her red hair falls in waves over her shoulders, wild and magnetic under the casino lights. There's something different about her tonight: heavier makeup, a more provocative attitude. She isn't the Sloane I've seen with Harper. This is another version, one that makes my blood run hot.
Fuck.
I should look away. I should get back to the security check I was conducting. I should do anything except stand here, frozen like a teenager, while I watch her head toward the Molotov Lounge.
"Sir?" Ivan's voice—one of my men—snaps me back to reality. "Do we continue with the security round?"
I clear my throat, forcing myself to regain composure.
"Change of plans." My voice comes out harsher than I intended. "Go by yourself. I have to check something in the monitoring room."
Ivan nods without questioning my instructions. My men know better than to ask when I give a direct order.
I head to the security room with quick strides, scolding myself mentally. I shouldn't be doing this. I shouldn't follow her like a fucking stalker. But my feet seem to have a will of their own, carrying me straight into the guts of the casino's surveillance system.
Again.
"Get out," I order the technicians when I enter the room.
They look at me in confusion but don't argue. In thirty seconds I'm alone, surrounded by screens showing every corner of The Tsarina.
My fingers fly over the keyboard, locating the cameras for the Molotov Lounge. I find her immediately, her red hair like a flame among the clientele. She's sitting at the bar, crossing her legs in a way that makes my dick throb painfully.
What the fuck am I doing? This is pathetic.
I'm about to regain my common sense and leave when a man approaches her. Forties, gray hair, expensive suit, predatory smile. My body tenses instinctively, my fingers gripping the edge of the console until my knuckles turn white.
Get away from her, you son of a bitch.
As if she could hear me, Sloane keeps the guy at a distance. She doesn't reject him openly, but she doesn't show genuine interest either. Her body language is polite but reserved.
For the next hour, I watch a parade of assholes try to pick her up. Each one more pathetic than the last. And even though none of them seem to get her interest, every smile she gives them, every polite laugh, every casual touch on her arm provokes a wave of irrational fury in me.
I should get the hell out of here. This is pure masochism.
But analyzing everything that's happened, I realize something strange. Sloane isn't really interested in those men. Her eyes constantly scan the room, stopping repeatedly on... the hallway in the back. The one leading to the private elevators.
To the lower levels.
My instinct wakes up. I'm not watching a woman looking for company. This is something else.
When I see her get up and go to the restroom, my suspicions intensify. I quickly switch to the hallway cameras and watch her enter the restrooms.
One minute. Two. Three.
And then Sloane emerges, but instead of going back to the bar, she turns in the opposite direction.
Toward the restricted elevators.
Toward the levels where the real Bratva business happens.
A shiver runs down my spine. What the fuck is she doing? Why is she snooping around the restricted areas? Is it simple curiosity? Or is there something else?
Why did she really come to Las Vegas?
I jump up. Whatever she's plotting, I'm going to find out right now.
I bolt out of the security room, taking the fastest route to the private elevators. The casino is a blur of lights and sounds as I stride through it, my mind racing with every step.
Is it possible Harper is wrong about her friend? That Sloane has hidden interests for coming here?
When I reach the hallway, I see her touching the elevators like she's trying to activate them.
"Do you mind telling me what you're doing here?" My voice echoes in the silent hallway.
She freezes, her body tensing visibly. When she turns toward me, there's a flash of alarm in her eyes that confirms my suspicions. It's not the innocent surprise of someone lost. It's the panic of someone caught.
"I..." she begins, quickly recovering her composure. "I got lost looking for the restroom."
"The restrooms are in the opposite direction," I reply, approaching slowly. "And you were in them exactly four minutes ago."
Her eyes widen slightly. She knows I've been watching her.
"Are you spying on me?" Her tone is accusatory, a classic defense tactic: attack first.
"It's my job to watch this casino," I reply, stopping three feet from her. "Especially the restricted areas where unauthorized people shouldn't be."
I cross my arms over my chest, studying every nuance of her expression. Her perfume wraps around me, a mix of vanilla and something more intense, more seductive than her usual scent. She scented herself specifically for tonight. For this... mission.
"You're hiding something, Murphy," I say, my voice low and controlled. "And I'm going to find out what it is."
For a second, I see panic in her eyes. Then, like a curtain falling, her expression changes completely. A mischievous smile appears on her lips, and she takes a step toward me, deliberately invading my personal space.
"Okay, you caught me," she says, with a conspiratorial tone. "I was looking for the fun part of the casino."
"The fun part?" I repeat, not falling for her act.
"You know." She shrugs, her eyes shining with false innocence. "Where the real action happens. Underground poker games, high stakes... Don't tell me you don't have something like that."
A breath of incredulous laughter escapes me.
"You play poker?"
"Surprised?" She leans in slightly, lowering her voice. "Anytime you want, I'll kick your ass."
The challenge in her eyes is genuine, but the story is a lie. I know it with the same certainty that I know the sun will rise tomorrow. I've lived surrounded by professional liars my whole life. I can smell a lie from miles away.
And Sloane Murphy, despite her impressive performance, is lying.
"Interesting," I say, pretending to consider her explanation. "And why didn't you just ask us directly? You could have told Harper. Or me."
"Ask you?" She lets out a dry laugh. "No offense, but you aren't exactly the most approachable person in the world. Besides..." Her voice takes on a lower, almost seductive tone. "Sometimes it's more fun to discover things on your own."
She's trying to distract me. To use her attractiveness to deflect my suspicions. And the most pathetic part is that a part of me is responding exactly how she wants.
"If you want to play poker," I say, keeping my voice neutral, "I can arrange it. But under other circumstances. Not sneaking into restricted areas where you could have ended up being interrogated by my men."
Her eyes narrow, evaluating me.
"You'd do that? Take me to a game?"
"Why not?" I reply, letting a predatory smile form on my lips. "It could be... educational. To see if you really play as well as you say."
Something seems to shine in her eyes. Triumph? Anticipation? Or something more calculating?
"I'll prove I'm better than you think," she says, accepting the implied challenge. "In many things."
"I'm looking forward to it," I reply, knowing we're talking about more than just a card game. "But for now, I think you should go back to the bar. Or better yet, the penthouse."
"Are you kicking me out?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm suggesting you don't push your luck," I correct, leaning in close enough for her to feel my proximity. "You don't know what you're getting into, Murphy."
Our gazes lock, pure electricity arcing between us. For a second, I forget my suspicions, my distrust. Only this brutal tension exists, this undeniable attraction.
"I'll walk you back," I finally say, taking a step back before I do something stupid like kiss her. "And if you listen to me for once in your life, I'll organize that poker game you want so badly."
As I escort her back, with a hand firmly placed on her lower back, my mind is racing. Sloane Murphy is up to something. I don't know what it is, but I'm going to find out.
And if I have to use this mutual attraction to make her lower her guard, so be it.
The predator in me wakes up, smelling the hunt. Because one thing is clear: whatever game Sloane is playing, she has no idea who she's messing with.
And unlike poker, this is a game where I never lose.