Page 93 of The Bratva King

“No. I’m fine.”

Another security guard jogs over. They’re talking into their radios, calling it in.

“I’m okay,” I say again. “I don’t need the police. I just… I want to go home.”

“We need to make a report.”

“He got my purse,” I murmur. My ID. My money.

The key fob for my new Mercedes is still in my hand. My phone is in my pocket. My tips are gone. That would have been devastating a month ago, but I don’t have rent to pay or groceries to buy.

I’m listening to the first security guard talking to someone. Mina from the bar got jumped last week. They took her phone and her tips.

Vegas.

“I’ve got to go,” I say when I hear the guard talking to what I assume is the police dispatcher. I cannot talk with police.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m good. Thanks.”

I look at the shattered glass and scattered roses. “Sorry,” I murmur and rush toward the shiny new car.

I slide into the seat, lock the doors, and grip the steering wheel with both hands.

It was just a mugging. Random. Wrong place, wrong time.

But my hands won’t stop shaking.

I pull out of the garage with the AC blasting. I’m sweaty. And cold. Traffic is thick on the Strip. Tourists are everywhere, oblivious to anything but their next meal or show or spin of the roulette wheel.

I grip the steering wheel.

It was random. Some junkie looking for cash. That’s what it was.

Greg always told me paranoia makes you see threats everywhere. Makes you forget that sometimes, bad things just happen.

This is Vegas. Crime happens.

I turn onto the road that leads to Nikolai’s estate. The gates open as I pull up. Security knows my car.

I park in the garage and sit there for another minute, trying to pull myself together. Luke cannot see me like this. He picks up on everything. If I walk in there shaking and pale, he’ll know something’s wrong.

I take three deep breaths. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.

I get out of the car and head for the door that leads into the house. My legs still feel unsteady, but I can fake it. I’ve been faking it for five years.

22

Nikolai

I walk through the front entrance of the casino, my mind still on the Henderson property. We just toured the location, and it is perfect. The demographics are exactly what we need. Pasha’s running the numbers, but I know they’ll work. They always do.

I head toward the security office out of habit. Make sure nothing’s gone sideways while I was gone.

Connor is at the desk when I walk in. He looks up from his monitors.

“Anything I need to know about?” I ask.