“Only what I’ve been able to look up. Your name is popular with the authorities, Mr. Orlov. Rumor has it that you’re connected to the Russian Mob.”
“Lies,” I say as I take another drink. “Stories told to scare the children of Russian immigrants into behaving. Mere fairy tales. You don’t strike me as the kind of person who believes in fairy tales, Ms. Lorenzo.”
She sighs and crosses her arms. “Can we cut the bullshit, Mr. Orlov? I’m not in the business of cavorting with criminals. I like to stay on the right side of the law when it comes to every aspect of my life. That being said, if you and your Bratva buddies are coming in, I’ll be stepping out. I don’t want any part of your activities.”
She looks at me with her chin up and I smile. This is clearly a bluff. It’s admirable. A little short-sighted, but admirable. “You know, you really turned this place around,” I say. “Mr. Stanislov tells me that by the end of the year, this club could potentially clear a million thanks to the changes that you made. You have a real head for business.”
“Thank you,” she says stiffly.
“You’re very welcome. Seems a little strange that you worked this hard to build this place up only to announce to me that you plan to walk away. Over a fairy tale, no less.”
She shifts from one foot to the other uncertainly. “I have morals, Mr. Orlov. I’m not going to compromise them for any amount of money. I might be good at this job, but at the end of the day, it’s just a job. No more, no less. I can get another.”
“Uh-huh. That’s why you’re working here with your high morals,” I challenge. “Instead of running your own club.”
Her smile’s gone and now she’s glaring at me. “Owning a club is different from managing one.”
“I see. Well, if it’s a skillset that you’re missing, I could help you out there. That is,ifI decide to keep this place open.”
She tilts her head. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
We stare at one another for a long few seconds, then she shakes her head slowly. “You can’t do that. This is Omar’s club.”
“It’smyclub,milaya,” I tell her.
She stares, trying to figure out whether I’m lying or not. When she can’t find the lie, she sighs and shakes her head. “Fuck,” she says.
I down my drink and close the gap between us. She smells like heaven. As she turns her eyes up to me, I feel her energy change and bend toward me easily. Naturally. She might seem tough, but right now, that ice in her eyes is melting.
“Leave if you want,” I tell her. “But it’s a cold world out there. Wouldn’t you rather work under my tutelage than struggle on your own?”
I can see the wheels turning behind those tourmaline eyes. The struggle between the light she’s undoubtedly been raised in and being drawn to my darkness.
“Y–You assume a lot about me,” she stammers. She tries to break my gaze but fails. Her eyes are locked with mine.
“Tell you what,” I say. “I’ll give you until the end of the work day tomorrow to decide what you want to do.” I step away from herand finish my drink, throwing the bartender a hundred-dollar tip. “You’ve got my number, Ms. Lorenzo.”
I take a second to seek out Ares. He’s talking to one of the dancers, but I catch his eye. He says his goodbyes and joins me as we walk out of the club. I don’t look back, but I feel her eyes following me. One way or another, she’ll call.
5
EMBER
Natasha nearly chokes on her drink as she laughs. The mix of vodka and cranberry comes splattering out of her mouth before she covers it with her hand.
“Jeez,” I say as I grab the tea towel from the coffee table and hand it to her. The night’s over and we’re sitting on the couch in my humble little apartment having a few drinks. Lucky for me, she lives in the apartment down the hall from me because after tonight and that sizzling conversation with Roman Orlov, I haven’t been able to sleep.
She gets herself together, wiping the drink off her faded, oversized metal band T-shirt. “Wow,” she says, a residual cough emitting from her mouth.
“What? Did he call me a bitch or something? What’s so funny?”
“It’s not funny, it’s just…” She takes a moment and sips her drink again. “Milayameans sweetheart or darling, but not, like, in a friend way, you know?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know, actually. Is it in a threatening way?”
“No, no. It’s like a term of endearment. You know. Like how you might refer to a boyfriend or a lover.”
