CHAPTER 1
Leon
The red carpet thuds under my feet as they carry me out of my downstairs office. My fingers work to unbutton the top two buttons of my shirt, the collar suddenly too tight around my neck. I make my way through the dark hallway to the elevator, which arrives just as I reach it.
Finally, some good luck.
When the door starts to close, a large, calloused hand sneaks inside, and the door opens again.
“Boss, do you…?” Dominik, my right-hand man, says, but I lift my palm to stop him. He wears his uniform suit, custom-made to fit his enormous frame, while the sharp angles of his face are set in a permanent frown.
“Not now, Dom. Just… not now. I’m heading upstairs to have a drink, and I’m asking you to act like you don’t know me for the rest of the night.”
His mouth parts in surprise, but he quickly closes it, dipping his head. Message received. Good. Still, he enters the elevator and stands beside me.
He’s my detail, after all.
Restless energy emanates from him, making my stress levels rise higher than they already are. The elevator pings as we reachthe ground floor, and I inhale sharply, desperate for a break. But the first thing I encounter is another employee of mine.
“Boss, do you have a chance to…”
In my peripheral vision, I see Dom shaking his head profusely.
“Not your boss tonight,” I say and continue forward, passing the door to my upstairs office without a second glance.
Dom falls behind to clarify my words, and I use the second of freedom to press a finger to the scanner and open the door, stepping onto the casino floor.
The room is a sensory overload, which I welcome with open arms. Machines beep, glasses clink, and dice roll, making enough noise to drown out the sound of my thoughts. The opulence of the room leaves me breathless, no matter how many times I’ve seen it. Of the eight casinos I own, this one is my favorite. Knowing I’m going to be spending most of my time here made it easier to drop so much cash into it. When the designer first proposed the sketch, it felt like too much. But it does its job of screaming luxury to everyone who enters. Roman columns adorn the corners, with massive archways at the entrance. Granite covers the floors, and the playing tables are made of marble, each table embellished by an extravagant chandelier above it.
The bar top is also marble and my current priority as I make my way through the sea of people until I reach the velvet barstool. I rarely spend time upstairs, but the walls of my office started closing in. My finger lifts to signal I need a drink to the bartender. He doesn’t ask a thing. Instead, he extracts an unlabeled bottle from under the bar and tops off a shot glass.
My guess is Dominik, the efficient bastard, already informed the staff to steer clear from me. It’s not something I often do, but when the time comes, they know it’s safer to give me space to breathe. I down the glass in one smooth swallow,rakiaburning its way down my throat.
How did it all go to shit?
Just a few months back, I was a successful business owner and the heir to a flourishing mafia family. I’m still a successfulbusiness owner, but my father is now dead, the family business is in shambles, and my brother is missing.
It all started when the Russians, threatened by the rise of our family, poached Landers, the guy who oversaw our finances. Thanks to Landers, the Russians knew to intercept an important delivery Father was making. They hadn’t stolen the merch, but they left a trail of dead bodies, including Father’s. It was a message to keep us in our lane. A message to show us who’s boss. They didn’t like the way our legal business grew rapidly, my casinos popping up in different cities. That didn’t interfere with their main business of producing and selling top-shelf vodka, but the less legal side, distributing drugs and arms, surely did. We were earning new clients, poaching more and more of their business. So they hit us where it hurt most. Family.
We retaliated the same way, by kidnapping Landers’ daughter. Our plan was to force a reaction. Any father would try to save his daughter, right? But for months, he made no contact. Unfortunately, it was enough time for Luka, my brother, to grow enamored with her.
Now it’s been three days and three nights. Three sleepless nights since I found our uncle dead, my brother missing, along with the girl we kidnapped, and the message from the Russians saying we were too slow to give her back. Three days of trying to pick up the pieces of a broken crystal glass that is currently my life, with no success. Three days that shit has been thrown at me nonstop.
So tonight, I don’t want to hear about business, the failed drop-offs, the men pissed off because Uncle is dead, or the men whispering around about how Luka got himself kidnapped. I don’t want to think about the fact that he might be dead or tortured right now, let alone at the hands of the girl he thought he loved. I don’t want to remember that the last conversation we had was a fight. A fight that suffered more bad words than any last conversationshould.
Fuck.
The bartender is smart enough to top off my drink, and I down it in one sip before getting up from the stool.
What do I feel like playing?
I look around the room, trying to pick my poison. The dice roll on the craps table. Too much chance, not much to think about. The dealer spins the roulette wheel and launches an ivory ball in the opposite direction. Same thing, not much to occupy my brain. Black-jack. Too fast for my exhausted mind. Ultimately, my gaze lands on the poker table. Two players are at the table, one of them just having won a decent-sized pot. Perfect. Some Texas Hold’em is just what I need to engage my mind.
I make my way to the poker table, sitting at the far right of it. From inside my suit jacket, I grab two stacks of bills and drop them onto the table. I pretend I don’t notice my opponents’ eyes widening. The dealer exchanges my money for chips, and I stack them neatly in front of me.
Three hands in my chip stack is visibly lower. I would worry if that wasn’t my strategy from the beginning. I like to start by losing, which, combined with my big stack, makes others see me as a cash cow. Only when their opinions of me drop, just like their defenses, do I strike with my full knowledge of the game.
The balding man next to me rubs his palms under the table, happy with his chances, and I know it’s my time to strike.
