Page 71 of Violent Pawn

Five days later, and one out from the Bratva’s engagement party, I’m spending the evening within one of the brothels. Though each has management I once handpicked, I still prefer to cycle through them and ensure everything is up to standards. It’s not only business that’s at stake here, but my employees’ well-being.

Most of the girls on staff are new hires, but a small handful remain from Ursin’s reign when their futures were much worse. They’re the ones I monitor the closest. A visual sweep of the room counts two currently working. After enduring what they had with Ursin, they chose to turn captivity into employment.

My cell rings with one of the bouncers’ names flashing on my screen, so I answer it immediately, hoping tonight will be easy and they’re not contacting me with any issues. Instead, he says, “A man calling himself Nero Amato is requesting to see you.”

Nero’s here—now? I push off the railing, heart pounding with all the same feelings that urged last week’s progress when I allowed him to touch me and became submissive beneath his fingers while ignoring the ghosts from my past. Since then, our texts have been brief and simple and only once mentioned the night we spent together.

“Let him in. Have the front staff lead him to my office.”

A moment later, he appears at the lip of the darkened hallway, gaze sweeping clinically over the room. He passes over scantily-clad women in all stages of undress and performing acts with men, some in the open while others are hidden in specially designed alcoves. Nothing holds his attention. My staff points at the staircase at the room’s farthest end, and then at me on the balcony that connects to the manager’s office and overlooks the room.

All that clinical scanning breaks with a wide, charming grin as long strides cross the room, weaving around the bar and by the guests and unoccupied women—some of whom turn to offer themselves to him. He bypasses them all, reaches the stairs, and jogs up them until he’s standing on the second-to-final step.

Hair darkened by the falling snow outside is plastered to his cheeks. They melt onto his shoulders, and my gaze follows one in particular as it travels to his dark wash jeans.

“Permission to approach, Signorina Petrov?”

Playing along, I dip my head while my teeth sink into my bottom lip to hide my smirk. “Permission granted.”

He moves into my vicinity until Nero is all I smell, all I feel. His scent replaces the heavy perfume and musk of the club. He leans down to press a kiss to the corner of my mouth as his palm, warm despite the frosty temperatures outside, cups my other cheek.

“I’ve missed you.”

For once, I think a man is telling the truth.

“What are you doing here?”

“Again, I’ve missed you. You’re all I thought about this week. This mouth”—his thumb dips to press into my bottom lip—“the moans you imprinted in my room. You…everything about you. Why wouldn’t I be here?”

“Because this isn’t my house or studio.” I cast a pointed glance to the room below. “Besides, shouldn’t you be with Zeno and the others at the mansion?”

“I’ve seen you in your home, your studio, on stage, and in a nightclub. I’ve been able to see all your sides, except one. I want to see you in your element.” He pauses, lowering his hand to the railing beside mine. “Since Van’s takeover, we’ve been watching you guys. We knew what you did to the trafficking rings, saving and letting all those people go. We know you opened up these clubs to replace the kind of money the rings were bringing in. We also know you single-handedly did most of the legwork to save the women and get these places up and running.” He brings his other arm on top of the railing, linking his fingers together as he leans over to scan the room. “Be proud, Anastasia. Five minutes in this place, and I am.”

My heart cracks—or are those my boundaries?

The distinct shrill notification that comes from my phone cuts into the risky direction my thoughts were dipping to. A notification that sends me upright as I spot my manager, Sasha, running for the private back rooms.

In my drive to make these the safest places possible for the staff, Lev’s brilliance coded an entire app connected to the panic buttons in each of the back rooms. An app installed on the bouncers’ and managers’ work phones, specific to each club.

I shove away from the railing, practically pushing Nero aside in my rush. “Sorry, I have to deal with something.”

Without checking his reaction, I take off down the stairs. No man will ever distract me from the terrifying fact that a woman needs help or is in danger. I’m so fucking done having women hurt in the Bratva’s name.

Nero remains on my heels as I rush down the hallway of the private rooms, catching the last door on the right opening as Sasha and a bouncer slips inside.

At the same time, a woman clutching lacy lingerie streaks from the room and straight into Sasha’s arms. “I-I…he⁠—”

The redheaded woman, Irina, gasps when spotting me coming up behind them. She barely spares Nero a glance, but I still shift to block him from view for her comfort while demanding, “What happened?” Who am I hurting?

“He…” She trails off, swallowing, turning her head into Sasha’s shoulder. “He didn’t pay for—he tried⁠—”

“He tried things he didn’t pay for,” I summarize, not wanting her to recount the trauma unless necessary.

Her chin jerks in a rough nod. “He tried to pin me down. I managed to kick him and reach the panic button before he caught me again.”

“You did good.” I share a look with Sasha, confirming our thoughts are the same. It could have been worse if she didn’t reach the button. “Take her upstairs. You know what to do. I’ll deal with him.”

Sasha’s always taken care of the girls—now and then. There’s a reason she’s become manager of this place after staying on. She’s one of the strongest women I’ve come to know, and her care for the girls makes this job manageable.