Chapter 137 Chapter 137 Turning 21
You would think turning twenty-one is a big deal. Not to me. Maybe it’s because I’ve been drinking since I was fifteen. Or maybe it’s because I just got off the merry-go-round and I’m still dizzy, still trying to find my balance. My life has been one long roller coaster, all sharp turns and sudden drops, and I feel like I have no one to blame but myself.
I agreed to this birthday party because I know I need to start living again. Not just existing, not just surviving from one day to the next. That doesn’t mean I’m done grieving him—God, no. I will miss Nick for the rest of my life. And I know my friends think we—I—made it worse by dating him, by letting it become more than friendship. But they’re wrong. I would feel this loss just as deeply even if we never crossed that line. Before anything else, he was my friend. My person.
I miss you, Nick.
I drove myself.
Stanislav and Ivan are opening the Vegas club—Vortex. It’s off the south end of the Strip. From the outside, it looks like another warehouse—industrial, unassuming. Multi-level parking wraps around it, valet stationed right out front. I pull up, cut the engine, and sit there for a second, gripping the steering wheel.
Breathe.
I step out, handing my keys to the valet. He gives me a polite smile, passes me a ticket. I slide it into my bag without really looking and step up onto the curb.
I’m wearing a plain white silk dress. Simple, clean. Gray sparkly heels. My hair is down—I cut it recently. It was too long before, too heavy. Now it rests just above my ass. When I looked at myself in the mirror earlier, I barely recognized the girl staring back. Hollow eyes, sharper features.
Maybe staring at yourself for twenty minutes isn’t healthy.
My fingers brush the necklace around my neck—the one Ivan gave me on my eighteenth birthday. I don’t know why I’m wearing it. I don’t want him to think it means anything.
But I love it.
I step inside—and stop.
Shock hits me instantly.
The interior looks like a wide alley. Brick walls stretch on either side, dumpsters lined up along one wall, spotless but still… dumpsters. On the other side, food trucks—at least ten of them—each one lit up, clean, styled, giving off this curated urban vibe.
Where the hell is the club?
I stand there for a second, frozen, trying to make sense of it, until I spot Stanislav coming out of a set of double doors tucked between two dumpsters.
“Cousin!” he calls, smiling softly as he approaches.
“What is this?” I ask, gesturing around.
“There are five clubs,” he explains. “All the entrances are on this side. Come, I’ll show you. The girls are waiting for you.”
I follow him inside—and my breath catches.
The first club is… Ivan.
It screams him.
Black everywhere—deep, glossy black—with accents of silver and white. Booths line the walls, sleek and curved. A long bar stretches to the left, polished to perfection. A few small tables sit in front of the booths, more intimate than their previous club. Above the dance floor, crystal chandeliers hover, refracting light like shards of ice.
German rap pulses through the space—sharp, aggressive, controlled.
My eyes find him instantly.
Ivan sits in a booth, dressed entirely in black—suit, shirt, tie, all of it. Dimitri is beside him in the same uniform, like a mirror. Vladimira, Miroslav, Yulia, and others fill the booth. Next to them, the Pavlov boys. Then my other cousins. The royals—Roman, Romeo, Oliver—my sister among them.
Fuck me.
I scan the room further.
Vince. Matt. Andreas—that asshole.
Mia. Yesenia.
Gemma, Alek… and Sergey.
Fuck me.
Mason. Grant. The rest of their crew.
Every part of my life. All in one room. I want to turn around and walk out.
Arms wrap around me from behind.
Tish. Erika.
“You are not allowed to take off,” Tish says firmly.
I lift my head—and my eyes collide with Ivan’s.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t swallow past the knot forming in my throat.
My hand goes to the necklace automatically, sliding the small gun charm back and forth along the chain. My gaze drifts to Dimitri. He’s watching me too.
“They look like they were made for you,” Erika murmurs.
I choke out a laugh.
“Stanislav,” I say quickly, forcing composure, “you said five clubs. Let’s see the rest. This one is… stuffy.”
He doesn’t argue. Just nods and leads the way out, Tiana slipping her arm through his. They look good together. Solid. Happy.
Something warm flickers in my chest.
We enter the next club.
Completely different.
Punk energy. Dim lighting. Wooden floors. A brick bar. More open space, bodies packed closer together. A live band plays on stage.
The song hits something in me.
Soft and hard at the same time.
Familiar.
My eyes lift—and lock onto the stage.
James.
Of course.
He notices me instantly and winks.
“Mia said you like this band,” Stanislav says casually.
I laugh under my breath.
“Stan,” Tiana cuts in, grinning, “Elle had a thing with the lead singer.”
He shakes his head. “Next one.”
We move on.
The third club looks like another alley—graffiti-covered walls, loud rap vibrating through the space. The lighting is harsh, unapologetic. Bartenders in streetwear. Bodies grinding together on the dance floor, messy and raw.
We step back out into the main alley.
Ivan is walking toward us now.
Dimitri right behind him.
“What’s next, cuz?” I say quickly, cutting off whatever is about to happen.
We move into the fourth club.
Europe.
That’s the only way to describe it.
Warehouse vibes, turquoise and pink lights slicing through smoke. The bass is heavy, bouncing off the walls. A DJ spins at the front, remixing tracks that blend into one another seamlessly. Girls dance in cages above the crowd, dressed in barely-there outfits.
Everything is loud. Alive.
Too alive.
Back into the alley.
I glance around.
Ivan and Dimitri are gone.
Where—
We enter the last club.
And I stop.
My body freezes like I’ve slammed into a wall.
Pain floods through me—sharp, sudden, overwhelming.
This place… Havana.
Warm tones. Tropical energy. Latin music pouring through the space. People dancing—spinning, grinding, laughing.
It hits too close.
Too familiar.
Too much like him.
Nick.
My chest tightens painfully.
I turn and walk out, fast, like I’m escaping something. I lean against the wall outside, trying to breathe, trying to steady myself.
My hand digs into my bag. I pull out a joint, light it with shaking fingers. I inhale deeply, holding the smoke in my lungs like it might anchor me, then exhale slowly, watching it disappear.
“Is that weed?” a deep, velvety voice asks behind me.
My entire body stiffens.
My nipples pebble instantly, betraying me before I can even turn around.