A few minutes pass. When I finally look up, the man is gone. I don’t know if I’m relieved or disappointed. I finish my drink, the glass empty but still heavy in my hand, and for some reason, I don’t want to stay at the table any longer. The restof the booth is still overflowing with alcohol, but I don’t want to drink anymore. I stand up, slipping my phone back into my purse, and decide to head to the bar for a juice. Something simple, something light.
The crowd is a blur as I move through them, the pulse of the music vibrating against my chest. I weave through the dancers and the chattering patrons, all of them lost in their own worlds. I reach the bar, but all the servers are busy, so I wait.
“Nice dress.”
I turn instinctively, and my eyes meet the gaze of another man—this one younger, with tousled dark hair and a grin that’s far too charming for my liking. He’s clearly tipsy, his words slurring just a bit, but his eyes are focused on me with a clear intent. He’s flirtatious, the kind of man who can’t keep himself from throwing out compliments, probably to anyone who crosses his path to catch them.
“Thanks,” I reply, forcing a polite smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. I’m not interested. Not in the slightest. But I know how to play the game—be polite, keep it civil, move on.
As I try to step away, I feel it again—the unmistakable sensation of someone watching me. My heart kicks into a faster rhythm, an instinctive reaction that I can’t ignore. I glance over my shoulder, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling with unease.
There he is again—in a different section of the bar is the virile man from earlier. From here, I can’t tell what color his eyes are—but they’re dark and cold. He’s sitting and even at that, he’s still taller than me.
“Can we step outside for a bit?” The boy in front of me touches my arm. “It’s noisy here, and I can make it worth your while.”
“No,” I answer firmly. “Move on. I’m not interested.”
He tries to touch me again, but I slide him a glance hot enough to boil water. He raises his arms and disappears. I can still feel those cold eyes on me, and it makes me uncomfortable, so I hurry toward the door, sending a quick text to Maria.
“Something came up. I’ll see you tomorrow. I promise.”
Chapter Two - Lukin
I sit back in the shadows of my private booth, my glass half full but barely touched. The amber liquid swirls lazily as I turn it in my fingers, but my mind isn’t on the drink. It’s on the business at hand. There’s always business to handle, deals to be made, debts to be collected. The Bratva doesn’t run itself, and I’m not the kind of man who waits for things to happen. I make them happen.
The main deal tonight is with a contact from Eastern Europe, Chris Warlock. A man who thinks he can outplay me, thinks he can back out of a profitable alliance because he has other connections. He doesn’t understand how the Bratva works—loyalty isn’t something we throw around like coins. It’s everything. And if you betray us, the price is high. A mistake he’ll soon regret.
Then there’s the matter of another rival, a smaller faction out of the city, the Dmitri family. They’ve been eyeing my territory, trying to carve out a piece of what’s mine. They think they can slip under my radar, steal from me while I’m distracted. They don’t know the first thing about running this empire. They think they can be clever, make a quick buck, but I’ll make sure they understand exactly what happens to men who try to steal from Lukin Rusnak. They’ll learn the hard way.
My mood is lethal tonight, and I’m not in the mood for distractions.
The club around me buzzes with the usual noise—clinking glasses, the low murmur of conversations, the occasional burst of laughter. But all of it sounds distant. My men are around me, some lounging, some standing nearby, discussing the usual Bratva business—the kind of talk that doesn’t concern anyoneoutside of this world. Deals that require careful negotiation, debts that need collecting, new alliances to be tested. They speak in low voices, in thick Russian, a language I don’t need to focus on anymore. It’s all routine, and I find my mind drifting in and out of the conversation. I could shut them up with a simple word if I wanted, but I don’t.
We’re all here to relax a bit before our night truly starts because a few hours from now, I’ll rain fire on the Dmitri faction; they’ll beg for death and not find it. But for now, let’s have a few drinks.
I scan the crowd, the usual mix of wealthy patrons, local hangers-on, and opportunists. The club is busy tonight, but what I need is a woman. A soft, willing body to spend the next hour with, until it’s time to unleash the violence curled in my belly. I’ve found that nothing makes me happier than a quick fuck before I take someone out of this cruel world.
My gaze drifts lazily across the crowd. The usual faces flicker by—men in suits, women draped in jewels, all pretending to be someone they’re not. Then, I see her.
She’s already seated at a booth, alone, nursing a drink. I don’t know what catches my attention first—her sexy, unruly auburn curls that frame her face perfectly, the fact that she’s isolated in the midst of the crowded chaos, or the way she looks like she doesn’t belong here.
Even though the table is overflowing with expensive drinks and bottles, her posture is too stiff, too cautious. There’s no ease to the way she holds herself, no certainty in the way she moves. She’s out of place, standing out like a sore thumb in a room full of perfect facades.
Her curvy figure is wrapped in a maroon dress, fitting her form in a way that should draw admiration, but she doesn’t seem to care for the attention. She’s not engaging with the crowd.Instead, she stares into her drink, her fingers fidgeting with the glass as if she’s trying to escape something. She’s too soft for this world. Too fragile.
I take her in, my eyes narrowing as I study her. There’s a hesitation in the way she sits, a tension in her body like she’s waiting for something, but not sure what. She doesn’t belong here, not in a place like this. But there’s something else that draws me in—something about her that reminds me of things I’d rather not remember. She looks too much like someone who’s been lost, someone who’s afraid of standing out, even though she already does.
The more I look at her, the more my curiosity grows. Why is she here? What is she doing in this world that doesn’t care for softness, for vulnerability? I can’t help but watch her, as if I’m trying to piece together the story she’s hiding behind those wide eyes and that tentative smile.
She’s not like the others. I can tell that much already. The women here know what they want. They know how to play the game. But this one… she’s different. And that’s what catches my attention.
I shift slightly in my seat, my gaze still fixed on her. The others around me keep talking, but I’m no longer listening. My focus is entirely on the woman at the booth.
I’m still watching her when she suddenly looks up, and for a split second, our gazes lock. Hers widen, the surprise flitting across her face for just a moment—before something unexpected happens. She rolls her eyes at me, sharp and deliberate, as if she’s had enough of my silent scrutiny. The action catches me off guard, but I can’t look away.
Without missing a beat, she turns her head, quickly diverting her attention to her phone as if to bury herself in it, her fingers pressing the screen a little too urgently. She might thinkshe’s distracting herself, but I see through the charade. She’s trying to act unaffected, trying to pretend that my gaze doesn’t have an effect on her.
I lean back slightly in my seat, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. I didn’t expect that reaction. Most women, especially in a place like this, would shy away, maybe fluster, but not her. She met my eyes, held them for just a moment, then rolled her eyes—bold, unbothered. It’s almost… refreshing.
