Chapter 34 Tit for Tat
❄︎ Viktor ❄︎
Vodka wasn’t helping.
I exerted a great deal of control to prevent myself from making a mistake. That killing Orlov was a mistake rubbed me the wrong way.
“You can’t keep me here, and I won’t give you any information. So why exactly am I here?” the pampered prick asked.
“I have your partner in my custody. He’s pissed to hear that you’re walking free while he tastes metal every day.”
He didn’t look surprised or bothered. His gaze flicked over the skin of the pole dancer in the middle of the room, dim lights accentuating his obvious lust.
“You won’t get anything from him.”
“Is that so?” I fixed my cuff.
He smirked. “Cause he won’t fucking talk. He wouldn’t dare.”
I rolled a sip of drink in my mouth. The Contis had something on Primo, which explained how they got him to antagonize me, and why he wouldn’t talk.
“You’re trying to distract me from something bigger, aren’t you?” I leaned forward, ignoring the burn of protest from my charred back. “The Heiress.”
He leaned back, resting his studious gaze on mine.
“You want her.”
When I didn’t respond, he laughed, slapping his knee in amusement.
Giancarlo Conti traded flesh and women, boasting contacts of the most depraved individuals who could afford to pay for their sick fantasies to come to life. My father had been in on it with him. George Marlow had let most of it happen in the Grand Marlow Hotel.
My thoughts? They’re all sick individuals who deserve the worst deaths. Darko and George had gotten the easy way out, a bullet to the head, but I wasn’t going to let Giancarlo escape with a less brutal fate.
We all coveted the power to erase and expose, to blackmail and withhold. And the Heiress conveniently guarded the gateway to these desires.
The man to slip a ring on her finger would legally be the winner, and would be able to access the hotel’s extensive archives of surveillance information.
Ninety-five percent of businessmen, kingpins, dons, and politicians alike in New York had damning video and audio evidence captured of them during their times in The Grand Marlow hotel. Evidence that could lock them up for life, earn them the death penalty, or be used to blackmail them dry.
George Marlow had single-handedly pressed his boot heel into the necks of some very powerful people. And Darko, my father, had blackmailed him into giving it up by signing that marriage contract.
Knowing my father, he must have proposed to marry Rosalind himself, but George loved his daughter too much to resign her to a life with a sicko like Darko.
Her choice could decide the fate of millions, yet she does nothing with her power, choosing instead to roll in the pit with the rest of us.
“If you have nothing else to accuse me of, I’ll take my leave.”
Orlov pulled out a couple of bills, slapped them on the stripper’s ass, and headed for the door. Adrian blocked it, gun in hand.
Orlov looked back at me, and after a tense staredown, I nodded to Adrian, who stepped aside to let him pass.
The nude stripper, silver stars taped on her nipples and pubic area, prowled toward me.
Hips moving in slow motion, she stretched red-clawed fingers toward my chest.
“Don’t touch me,” I growled.
Her confidence faltered, but she continued to dance, dutifully maintaining a safe distance.
“She’s here,” Adrian announced after a while, hand raised to his earpiece.
No sense of self-preservation.
My men, disguised, surrounded the club in case she came in with soldatos in an attempt to rescue Dante.
“Let her in.”
“She brought a friend. Looks like the cousin from Boston.”
Unless the cousin was a trained assassin or something, that wasn’t very smart.
“Just her.”
Adrian left the room.
The stripper in front of me bent over, her wax job on full display. My cock twitched, growing hard, but not from the sight in front of me. I disassociated, reliving the memory of a certain dark-haired storm on her knees, in my shirt, my fingers threading her hair.
Rosalind entered, Adrian behind her.
I didn’t miss the repulsion on her face at the scene in front of her.
“Leave,” I ordered.
The stripper straightened, smirking at Rosa as she walked past. Before the door slid shut, I caught a glimpse of another woman in heeled boots just outside.
We stared each other down.
I swept my gaze over her lazily. She glowed, but that might just be the vodka in my system.
She dressed to run or fight, without sacrificing her allure. A cross bag I knew held a weapon rested on her curvy hip.
Nipples pushed against the thick material of her hoodie, pitch-black hair framed a face that haunted my dreams. I purposely avoided looking at her lips for too long, but my cock twitched in memory regardless.
“Have a seat,” I invited, sweeping a hand over the chair opposite me.
“I’m fine right here.” Haughty, stubborn, sexy. Her hand grazed the cross bag.
I rose abruptly, causing her to pull out a tiny pistol, shaky hands aiming at me.
Without a word, I approached her, then took a turn toward the minibar of the VIP room. I heard her inhale a shaky, relieved breath.
After pouring two shots, I turned back around to see the gun resting at her side.
I handed her one. She took it, but didn’t drink. My finger buzzed where hers had brushed it. I rubbed my lip with it, inhaling her soft scent.
“This is all just a misunderstanding…” she began.
“Oh? Is it?” I cut in. “I have burns on my back that suggest more than a misunderstanding.”
“I escaped, yes, but only because I thought my men had come to rescue me. How was I supposed to know you had beef with Mexicans as well?”
“You jumped into a vehicle unsure of its affiliation.”
“I had to get away from you.”
I cocked a brow.
“You tied me up for hours!” she yelled, exasperated.
I swirled my shot. I couldn’t afford to wait for her to decide whether to sell or pick a man. Too many players littered the field. And just maybe, if she made a choice, the killer would reveal themself.
“Where’s Dante?” she asked.
Ah. The damsel in distress.
“In my basement.”
“You skinned him,” she accused, her voice cracking on the word skinned.
Her eyes searched mine for something I wasn’t willing to give.
Yes, I skinned him. And I enjoyed it.
She should be glad I took out my anger on him and not her.
“Now we’re even.”
She went silent. Steeled her face.
That angry resolve I craved shone through.
“Which means you can give him back.”
I took a step forward, noting the way her breathing hitched at the proximity. My finger twirled a dark strand beside her cheek.
I thought I wanted her life. I realize I still do, just not in the way I expected.
I wanted her, and I wanted the hotel. I wanted to eat my cake and have it.
Shimmering hazel pools stared up at me, stoking a fire I wasn’t sure I could contain.
“Marry me. Or else, he dies.”
Tit for tat.