Page 26 of Victor's Lethal Desire
I push away from the bar and head toward the exit, moving through the casino floor with the same easy confidence I arrived with. The doorman opens the door, and I step back into the sun over the Mediterranean.
My driver is waiting at the curb, and I approach as he opens my door.
"Hotel," I say and slide in.
He nods. "Yes, Mr. Radovic. Also, I get ticket from front desk," he says, pointing past me.
I turn to the empty seat next to me as he shuts my door.
I see my alias, Stefan Radovic, embossed on the heavy cardstock envelope. I tear it open. One VIP ticket to tomorrow night's gala.
I smile as my driver pulls into traffic.
I lean back against the leather, letting my eyes close for a moment.
Tomorrow night, when the gala is over and the blood has been spilled, I'll walk away with everything I came for.
And she'll finally understand that she should have killed me when she had the chance.
10
DANIKA
The upper-level balconies overlook everything.
From up here, I can see the entire VIP floor sprawled below me. Crystal chandeliers cast light down on women in expensive gowns as they drift past men in tuxedos who smell like old money and Cuban cigars. The air hums with conversation in many different languages, French, Italian, Russian, English, all blending into a single mumble that's almost charming.
I hate all of it.
Give me a dark alley. A sniper perch. A floor stained with blood. That's honest work. This? This is all bullshit. It's just wealthy people masquerading around like they care, just waiting for you to stop talking so they can insert the next thing they bought or the money they made on a recent sale.
At least when men beg for their lives, it's genuine.
I shift my weight in my high heels, adjusting the champagne flute in my hand. The glass is cold and filled with sparkling water. The bubbles catch the light as I raise it to my lips, takinga small sip that does nothing to settle the tension coiling in my stomach.
The red gown I'm wearing is stunning. I'll admit that much. Backless, with a high slit that runs dangerously close to my hip. The fabric clings to every curve, and when I move, the slit reveals the lean muscle of my thigh. It's the kind of dress that makes men stop mid-sentence, their eyes following the line of exposed skin like they've forgotten how to think.
Which is exactly the point.
But what they don't see is the thin dagger strapped high on my inner thigh, pressed against my skin so tightly that even the skintight fabric doesn't betray its presence. It's custom-made, razor-sharp, and light enough that I barely feel it. No gun, though. The dress wouldn't allow it. Things men never have to worry about.
I lean against the ornate railing, letting my fingers trace the wrought-iron work, and scan the room below until I find him again.
Dimitri Volkov stands near the center of the VIP floor, surrounded by a small crowd of European elite.
He's in a black tux, but all I see are those three big gold rings he always wears, and save for his short stature and weight, he looks a lot like Ivan.
He's laughing at something an Italian politician said, his voice booming above everyone else. Four bodyguards flank him, massive men in dark suits who scan the room with the kind of hyper-vigilance I recognize in myself. They don't relax or even blink. They're just waiting for a threat. In a twisted sense, they're waiting for someone like me.
I take another sip of my sparkling water, staring at him.
I still can't believe I'm here. That I'm supposed to spy on Ivan's brother.
Nonetheless, I've done my recon and discovered my huge problems, and every job has them.
Dimitri has left his tablet in his penthouse suite, which is reinforced with a high-tech security system that I was not expecting. It's got reinforced locks, motion sensors, cameras, the works. It's an in-house setup, I'm sure. I suppose high-end casinos keep a room like that for the type of people they host.
And while that's an issue, the alternative is also a problem. If he had the tablet with him, stealing it to access it out in the open, surrounded by armed guards and the 20-plus casino security and private contractors, is a death sentence.
