Page 20 of Ripping the Odds

Signaling Jake, the bartender, I ordered another vodka tonic then moved to the end of the bar where Mak and Kas were deep in conversation. Their hushed voices instantly cut off when I approached. If there was one thing I despised, it was being kept in the dark.

Bringing the lowball to my lips, I held their gaze and simply stated, “There are no secrets between us,” then took a hefty sip. Most people would’ve heard the unspoken threat in my words, but my brothers––the ones I chose, not the ones born into the position––were unfazed.

“No one is hiding anything from you, your majesty.” Makari rolled his eyes. “We’re doing what we’re paid to do.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Something was off. “What’s going on?”

“We have a thief,” Kas answered plainly.

“Who?”

“If we knew that, they’d be in the basement already.”

“Or disposed of,” Mak added.

“How much have they taken?” I ground out.

“Whoever it is, they’re smart.” Mak looked around the room before continuing quietly. “They took small sums over an extended period of time, not enough to draw attention.”

“What’s happened since then?”

He cracked his knuckles. “A hundred thousand dollars has turned up missing over one weekend. A little here, a little there might slip through the cracks, but a hundred K in three days? Not a chance in hell that goes unnoticed. Someone’s getting greedy.”

“Or they wanted us to see.” Storm clouds swirled in my mind. “I don’t believe any of this is a coincidence. Whoever’s behind the theft is probably the same person that was pulling Machail’s strings. Find them. Now. Make them bleed. Also I need you to look into someone for me.”

Over the next twenty-eight days, we exchanged a total of twenty-three letters between us. I’ll admit, the majority were written by me. I’d never been a patient man, so I hadn’t waited for her response before I began writing the next.

My brothers called me obsessed. They weren’t wrong.

Moya koroleva,

I told you I’d tell you the meaning of moya koroleva one day, well the time has come. It means, my queen. Take a deep breath, Pru. I’m not professing my love on this damn piece of paper. Those words will come when you're ready to hear them. Not a minute before. But you should know, I’m all in, so be prepared to be showered with attention. Romantic dinners, trips to the theatre, the whole nine yards. Think about what you want to do first. Whatever it is, if I have the power to make it happen, we’ll do it.

There’s one final thing I want to tell you about. Kas, Mak, Dimi, and I have worked tirelessly over the past ten years to flip all of the Vlascheko family holdings into legal businesses. Opening The Four Kings was the last step toward distancing ourselves from the Bratva. Unfortunately, the connection will never be fully severed. We hold too much power along the East Coast. That power is part of the reason you were taken. It’s also why we have to maintain what we have. To lose even a sliver means the other families would circle like vultures. Everything and everyone we love would be at risk. There is very real danger in my world which is why I tried to keep you out of it. Since that is no longer possible, I’ll do whatever it takes to make certain you are protected.

Whatever it takes.

In other news, Daria is settling in nicely. I’m sure it’ll be nice to have your sister so close. The office is an absolute mess without you there. All the staff miss you terribly. I do too.

Six more days.

Always yours,

Zak

In forty-eight hours, I’d have her in my arms. If I had my way, I’d move her in with me immediately, but I preferred having my balls attached to my dick. It would happen eventually, which was why the day after our return, I hired a contractor to make modifications to my house. It was a large Victorian nestled on an acre and a half of prime oceanfront property located south of Atlantic City in Margate City. Three years ago when I bought it, ease of security had been the selling point. It still was, but on top of that, I wanted to create a home, a place to find refuge when the world became too much. Not just for Pru, for both of us.

The remodel started with my home gym in the basement. Since physical therapy was Daria’s area of expertise, I asked for her help. Every piece of specialized equipment she chose was specific to Pru’s recovery. Next, an elevator was put in to make it easier to get between floors. Lastly, two ramps were built at the front and back entrances. Normally a project of this caliber would have taken months to complete, but with the right financial incentive, the contractor finished in twenty-seven days.

Meanwhile, the outside also got a facelift. In several of Pru’s letters, she mentioned sitting outside watching the waves roll in with the tide. There was a dirt trail leading to a ridge overlooking the Atlantic on the east side of the property. Unfortunately, it was wild and overgrown from years of being ignored. I hired a team to clear it out and smooth the path to make it accessible by wheelchair. The landscaper was given carte blanche with the design of the garden. My only request was that she planted a cornucopia of flowers, at least one of every color. The space would be Pru’s, after all, and I wanted it to be as beautiful as she was.

Daria found me there two days later, staring out over the water.

“It’s gorgeous here,” she said, running her hand over the safety railing I had installed at the cliff’s edge.

“Mmm.”

“She’s going to love it.”