A man's voice pleads for something, but I can't make out the words. It sounds like he’s terrified, and he's speaking Serbian or maybe Ukrainian. I can't tell which.
I stay frozen against the wall with my cigarette burning down between my fingers. Instinct tells me to stay quiet and hidden behind a dumpster that blocks most of the view, but my heartbeat picks up speed and thuds against ribs. The footsteps stop, and I hear shuffling before I see a bit of movement. I'm hidden in a dark shadow, and they're in the light, so I doubt they see me, but I watch as two men drag a third man into view and press him face first against the wall.
The man in the middle is sobbing and his legs buckle, but the other two hold him upright by his arms. One is tall with broad shoulders that strain against his jacket and the other is shorter with a shaved head that gleams under dim light. The man they're holding sags between them and his head hangs forward.
Both of them speak harshly in whatever language it is, and I can tell something bad is about to happen. My gut tells me to run, but I can't peel my eyes away from it.
The tall one pulls a gun from inside his jacket and presses the barrel against the back of the other man's skull. The metal gleams in the overhead light, and my breath stops completely in my chest. My lungs burn from holding the air trapped inside, but I can't make myself exhale because any sound might giveme away. My cigarette falls from my fingers and lands on the concrete near my feet, but I don't dare move to stamp it out.
After more shouting, a gunshot cracks through the alley and the sound bounces off the walls surrounding us. The man's head snaps forward, and blood sprays across the brick in front of him before his body goes completely limp. The two men holding him let go, and he crumples to the ground in a heap while blood starts to pool around his body.
My stomach lurches and bile rises in my throat, but I swallow it back down and press my body flat against the brick wall behind me.
The tall one slides his gun back into his jacket and both men turn away from the body. They walk quickly toward the far end of the alley where streetlights don't reach, and their footsteps fade into the distance.
But I stay pressed against the wall with my heart hammering. I just watched two men kill someone and I saw their faces. My legs won't move and my fingers dig into the rough brick until the edges bite into my skin and draw blood from beneath my nails.
His body lies motionless on the ground ten feet away from where I'm standing as blood pools under his head and spreads across the concrete in a dark stain that looks black. His face is turned away from me, but I can see his hand stretched out beside him with his fingers curled inward toward his palm. A gold ring glints on his fourth finger, and his sleeve is pushed up past his wrist to reveal a tattoo of a bird in flight.
I don't know how long I stand there staring at him before my brain finally sends a signal to move. My knees unlock, and I take one step backward toward the door and then another. I feelclumsy and uncoordinated as I stumble toward the entrance. The door handle is cold, which helps pull me out of my shock a little, but I pull it open so hard, it slams against the exterior of the building before I dart inside and suck in a breath of cooler air.
The hallway is empty and silent except for the sound of my breathing that comes too fast and too shallow. It's not a good sign. I'm totally alone back here. If those men heard the door slam open, they may realize someone was watching them. They may come after me next.
I pull the door shut behind me and lean against it while I try to force air back into lungs. My hands are shaking so violently that I have to press them flat against my thighs to make them stop.
The image of the man's body hitting the ground plays over and over in my mind, and I can't make it stop no matter how hard I squeeze my eyes shut.
What the fuck just happened? And do I really want to stick around to find out what happens next if they know what I saw?
3
DIMITRI
The casino floor finally quiets down around three in the morning when most of the high rollers cash out and stumble toward the exits. I take the private elevator up to my penthouse office, and the doors slide open to reveal my panoramic view overlooking the Vegas lights. My desk sits along the far wall where I have privacy but still get to admire the view, and I drop into the leather chair behind it while loosening my tie. The fabric pulls against my neck, and I yank it free completely before tossing it onto the desk.
My fingers find the keyboard, and I pull up the security feeds from earlier tonight where Tatiana’s section appears on my screen. I scroll back through the footage until I find her serving drinks at the baccarat table in that damn flouncy skirt that turns me on so much. She weaves between players with that tray balanced perfectly on one hand and her hips swaying so much, it makes my cock twitch even now. I lean forward and rest my elbows on the desk while I watch her reject some drunk's advance with a scowl that could cut glass.
That defiance does things to me that no amount of submission from other women ever has. I've had plenty of women throw themselves at me over the years because of my last name or my money or both. They all want something and they're willing to spread their legs to get it, but Tatiana's resistance makes me want to ruin her and own her.
I replay the moment from earlier when my hand slid up her thigh under her skirt, and I watch the expression on her face tighten. Her skin was warm and smooth under my palm and she tensed the second I touched her, but she didn't scream or make a scene. She handled it with that same cold control she uses to manage every drunk asshole on the floor. But I watched her pulse racing along her throat when I squeezed her leg and I know she's not as unaffected as she pretends to be.
I want to break through those walls she's built around herself and make her admit that she feels this pull between us. And I want her under me in my bed with her legs wrapped around my waist and her nails digging into my back while she begs me for more… hear my name on her lips when she comes apart. And fuck, do I want to see that defiant fire in her eyes turn into desperate need. She'll submit to me eventually because they all do once I decide I want them.
The feed shows her stepping outside for a smoke break, and I watch her move toward the employee entrance, but there's no direct camera feed on the outside of the building where I can see her. She works too hard for too little money and she deserves better than serving drinks to men who don't appreciate what's standing right in front of them.
I could give her everything she needs if she'd let me.
I could move her into this penthouse and dress her in silk and diamonds and make sure she never has to serve another drunk bastard for the rest of her life. All she has to do is stop fighting me and accept that this thing between us is inevitable. But she won't make it easy. I'm not usually wrong when I read a person this well. She'll fight me tooth and nail, and it'll come down to her needing something from me before she breaks.
Doesn't mean I can't pull some strings to cultivate an environment where she finds it necessary to come to me, but I won't go there just yet. We'll see how she does when she's working directly for me.
I switch off the feeds and lean back in my chair while running both hands through my hair.
My phone sits on the desk next to a half empty glass of vodka, and I pick it up to dial my brother's number. Yuri answers on the second ring and his voice sounds rough from too many cigarettes and too little sleep.
"You're calling late," he grumbles, though I know he hasn't slept more than an hour at a time since we were just teenagers. "What do you want?" Ever the brooding curmudgeon….
"I wanted to check in about Vadim." I lift the glass of vodka and knock it back in one swallow.
