Bonus Epilogue
NIKOLAI
The wheels touch down at Van Nuys just after six. LA heat is different from Vegas. Thicker. But cooler.
Roman texted three days ago. Bring cash if you’re a betting man.
I’m not. I learned young that the only bets worth making are the ones where I control the outcome.
Gabby kissed me goodbye at the door, telling me to behave. That makes me smile even as I climb down the steps. I smile now. A lot. Well, a lot for me. I’m counting down the minutes until I can get home to my family.
My hand slides into the pocket of my black slacks and fingers the plastic dinosaur Luke gave me. He does that. Kid has more dinosaurs than a toy store.
I might have contributed to that. It’s so easy to spoil him. I’d buy him the moon given the chance.
Whenever I have to take a trip, he gives me one of his dinosaurs. He doesn’t say anything—just gives it to me. I know why. The dinosaur protects me.
I get it.
Roman climbs out of the SUV with blacked-out windows, his tall frame coming around the front. His black hair is cut short, longer on top. The guy is a fighter. Ex-fighter, but he could easily kick anyone’s ass.
He extends his hand. “Ready for one hell of a night, cousin?”
“I am.”
He looks behind me. “No Pasha?”
I shake my head. “His mom is in the hospital again. Bad reaction to the meds they put her on.”
“That’s too bad.”
He goes around to open the driver’s side door. I forget he travels alone. He doesn’t require security like we do. No one really knows he’s the pakhan of a powerful bratva. He operates deep in the shadows.
My cousins have only been in the States for ten years. They’ve done a good job flying under the radar.
“You said this is one of your best fighters?” I ask.
He nods. “Trust me, you’re going to want to talk to his agent and get him to Vegas.”
“For a finder’s fee, right?”
He looks over and grins. “Since you’re family, I’ll give you a discount.”
He pulls up to the back of his gym. It’s a legitimate boxing gym. He sells memberships and personal training packages. There’s a juice bar that sells smoothies because it’s LA and smoothies are a food group.
Roman has built the perfect shell. Money moves through the front, but the real money moves underneath it. The fights. The supplements are another revenue stream.
A valet steps out of the shadows and takes the keys. Roman punches a code into a keypad, and the back door opens. He leads me through a storage room to another secured door.
And then we’re pushing through an unmarked steel door. Two men stand on the other side of it. Big. Armed under their jackets. They nod at Roman and don’t look at me twice.
The hallway opens up and I step out onto the floor of Roman’s real business. The cage sits in the center of the room under a rig of industrial lights.
Around it, the crowd is packed shoulder to shoulder. Men in suits. Women in dresses. Servers circulate the space taking drink orders while people mingle.
The VIP box is directly in front of the cage, with two smaller ones on either side. Leather couches. A private bar. A girl stocking ice who keeps her eyes down and leaves the moment Roman waves a hand at her.
I’ve been here once before with my brothers.
The private server pours two glasses of vodka before slipping away. I know she’ll be somewhere nearby, watching our glasses. The second it looks like we might run dry, she’ll appear.
“How’s business?” I ask.
Roman drops into the chair beside me and exhales through his nose. “Business is good.”
“How good?”
“Better every month,” he replies.
“I’m surprised you don’t have problems with the other businesses.”
“I’m not trying to run drugs, women, or weapons,” Roman says with a shrug. “I’m not competition.”
“Smart.”
“Although, I had a fighter drop dead last week.”
I look at him. He keeps his eyes on the cage.
“Heart attack. Mid-prep, not even in the cage. He was on the table in the back room waiting for his hands to get wrapped and he just—” Roman snaps his fingers once. “Down. Gone before the doc got to him.”
“How old?”
“Thirty-one.”
“That’s young for a heart.”
He drags a hand down his face. “He was on the program. Had been for eight months. I can’t prove it was the gear. Guy wasn’t in great health to begin with—bad diet, smoked like a chimney. Doc said his heart was a bomb waiting for a match. But the gear doesn’t help. We both know that.”
“Does anyone else know?” I ask.
“No.”
“Where’s the body?”
“County. I got a guy inside the coroner’s office.”
“Is it a problem?”
“Nah. Just one of those statistics.”
He’s quiet. I can see him thinking. He’s saying it’s fine but it’s not.
“The dead one has a brother,” Roman says. “He’s making some noise. The guy lives out of state but he’s threatening to show up.”
“Is he going to be a problem?”
“It will be handled. Discreetly.”
Roman isn't like my brothers and me. He doesn't have a personal graveyard in the Nevada desert or a dumping ground in the Atlantic. He keeps his hands cleaner.
“Enough of that. You didn’t fly here to listen to my problems. I want you to see this guy. Trust me, you’re going to want to get him to Vegas. You know the game out there.”
“We’ll see what you’ve got,” I say. “And you’ll call if there’s a situation you need help with. I owe you.”
Roman shakes his head. “You don’t owe me shit. Luke’s family. Glad we could be there to help.”
I smile.
He's wrong.
I owe him.
And something tells me Roman is going to need us before this is over.