“No,” he says immediately. His voice is thick and gruff.
“No?” I laugh to cover my embarrassment. I’d pretty much promised Alex I could get us in. “Why not?”
“Natasha, those games are for serious betters. Not you.”
“Maybe I want to seriously bet.” Now I’m just annoyed. What is with this guy anyway? My mission morphs from being for Alex to proving I’m not a total loser.
“No.” His voice sounds even harder.
“Well, can I come and just watch?” Call me persistent. I adjust the sheet. “Roll over, please.”
Dima rolls over.
“Please?” I say in my sweetest voice. I don’t know why I can’t take no for an answer. I personally have no interest in the game, and it’s not like I’m trying to impress Alex. I actually don’t think we have a future. He feels more brotherly than boyfriend. I think I’m just hurt that Dima told me no, and that, combined with his refusal to act on his obvious interest in me, makes me rather desperate for a win.
“Natasha…” He scrubs a hand over his face. “I can’t believe you’re asking me.”
I pump some oil into my hands and rub his shoulder from the top. “Are there, like, strippers there or something?”
Dima snorts. “No strippers.”
“Drugs?”
“No drugs.”
“Can I just come and check it out? Just once? Please?”
Dima groans and closes his eyes. A moment later, he peeks and catches me watching his face. “Ugn. Fine. Yes, you can come. I’ll text you the address.”
“Yay! Thank you. I’ll be good, I promise.” Now I’m flirting again.
Dima cracks one eye, and the sheet tents between his legs.
My heart trips over itself like I’m running down a hill.
Now is when I should tell him I’m bringing Alex. I should definitely tell him now.
Gah. Why don’t I want to tell him?
And then I realize the ridiculous truth. The whole reason I agreed to ask Dima if we could go to this game was not to please Alex. It was to show up with Alex and make Dima jealous. Maybe spur him into taking action with me.
I ignore the little prickle at the back of my neck that tells me this is totally going to backfire.
2
Dima
“You did what?” Nikolai’s head nearly spins off his neck.
I’m set up in my corner of the luxury Chicago hotel suite where tonight’s poker game will be held. Nikolai’s the bookie. The games are his operation. I’m here to track the bets, vet the players digitally, and run security footage.
Oleg, our bratva cell’s enforcer, is here as muscle. He sits in the opposite corner, near the door.
“I gave Natasha the address. She wanted to come,” I repeat.
“What. The actual. Fuck?” Nikolai gapes at me. “Seriously. What were you thinking?”
Oleg glances up, but doesn’t comment, which isn’t unusual. He’s mute, and while we’ve all been learning sign language to understand him, he still doesn’t have much to say, except to Story, his girlfriend.
I close my eyes and shove my fingers through my hair. “I know. I tried to refuse her, but she kept begging. I don’t know why she wants to come, but she does.”
“Her mother will kill us both—and Ravil,” he says, mentioning our pakhan, the boss of the Chicago bratva. “You know that woman is not afraid of any of us.”
“Svetlana is fierce,” I agree. “But she’s in Russia at the moment. That’s probably why Natasha timed her request now.”
“It’s not going to work,” Nikolai says. “She’ll ruin the vibe. I’m not letting her in.”
I grit my teeth. Nikolai and I are both generally easy-going, but I’ve been on edge the last month, and it has everything to do with the little strawberry blonde vixen putting those oiled hands all over my body.
I can’t sleep at night. I can’t think of anything but stalking her during the days.
“You’re letting her in.” I give him a hard stare to make sure he sees I mean it.
There’s not much I put my foot down about, but anything to do with Natasha makes me cranky. And Nikolai denying her entrance somewhere she wants to be? Not gonna happen.
A muscle twitches in Nikolai’s jaw. “You are such a mudak. How many months have you been stringing this girl along? You won’t even ask her out. That’s why she asked to come to this game. She’s trying to get past your resistance. Are you so fucking blind you can’t see it?”
My fingers clench in a fist over my keyboard. The thin band of Alyona’s ring bites into my skin on my little finger, the reminder of why I will never ask Natasha out. I want to throw something at my brother.
I refuse to even consider whether he’s right.
Natasha and I are not going to happen.
Ever.
I made a promise to Alyona, and I don’t break my promises.
“I’m not letting her in,” Nikolai repeats stubbornly.
I stand from my workstation. Oleg shifts forward in his chair like he’s ready to break up a fight if we throw down over a woman who’s not even my girlfriend. “She’s already in. I invited her. End of fucking story.”
Nikolai frowns at me, nostrils flaring. “Fine,” he says after a moment. “But when I give you the signal, you get her the fuck out of here. Understood?”
I hesitate. Of course, I know Nikolai’s right. Natasha is the opposite of the kind of player we want. She will turn our serious high-stakes poker game into something low-stakes and frivolous. We won’t make any money. Worse, the regulars will be pissed at the interruption of the usual vibe.
I nod. “Da.”
Oleg sits back in his chair again.
“You think this is weird, right?” Nikolai asks Oleg. We’re doing a better job including him in conversations these days, now that his girlfriend, Story, has forced him to interact more.
Oleg shrugs, but nods, shooting me an apologetic look.
“Yeah, I know,” I concede.
Nikolai switches on the background music. A tap sounds at the door, and Oleg opens it, letting Adrian, one of our soldiers in. He’s been serving as bartender since Pavel decided to move to L.A. to be with his girl.
Adrian gets to work, unpacking and arranging bottles of liquor on the table provided by the hotel. When Cari, the woman Nikolai hires to deal the cards shows up, I’m reminded of why Natasha shouldn’t be welcome here.
Cari is great. Smart, keeps her mouth shut and is a great dealer. But she’s in a slinky leopard-print dress with cut-outs on both sides.
Natasha will probably show up in her jeans and a fitted t-shirt. She has the quintessential American teen look, even though she’s not American or a teen.
I settle into my work station—the place I’m most comfortable. If I had it my way—I’d never have to interact with the outside world. I’d just stay in the Kremlin, operating from a keyboard and a screen to manipulate my environment.
Within a half an hour, the knocks start coming on the door.
Zane shows up first. He’s a douchy twenty-one-year-old college student. Smart kid, goes to Northwestern. He has a lot of talent. Last year he paid his entire year’s tuition with his gambling winnings. But now he’s lost his edge. One of our mudak players introduced him to the wonders of strip clubs and blow, and now the guy has lost focus.