I'd usually scold my best friend for poisoning my child with junk food, but not tonight. Willow needed to forget what we just went through, and Roxy knew exactly how to make that happen. She's been making it happen for me since we were kids.

"You okay?" Roxy lowered her voice as she glanced around for my bags. "You should call in. Pack your things and come with us."

I shook my head. "I need the money. I know Martin wasn't holding his end well, but it was still more than I can do on my own. Plus... I could use the distraction. The normalcy."

"Right."

Reluctant as she was, Roxy respected my decision to go to work as if everything was normal. I made sure to grab the old, dented coffee can Martin never paid attention to before I locked up the house and tucked it under my arm as we made our way to the SUV.

She cocked a brow at my choice of luggage. "Isn't that a bit small for a weekender bag?"

I managed a genuine, albeit small, laugh. "It's enough to buy me a weekender bag."

Her eyes widened when I opened the lid once we were safely buckled inside her car. "Holy freaking shit."

"Language!" Willow scolded from her booster in the backseat.

Roxy snorted. "Sorry, Wills. But really, Clara... what...?"

I shrugged and pulled a few bills from the thick wad nestled inside the can. "I may have only told Martin about... half of my tips."

Which is how I ended up walking The Strip to work in a sexy cocktail dress with almost every penny I had tucked inside my strapless bra.

I left the rest with Roxy in case she needed anything for Willow, despite her protests and reassurances that there's no way a tiny girl could rack up a huge pizza bill. I knew that, but what I didn't know was how Martin would react when he returned home to find it empty. I left my car there, my things there, but it wouldn't take long for him to figure out we were gone.

And if anything happens to me, I need to know Willow is going to be okay.

Which brought me to the front of the casino.

I've walked past The Meridian a dozen times since taking on this second night job, but this was the first time I'd ever paused to actually look at it. I don't know why I did this time. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was foolishness.

Maybe it was simply because the golden lights matched my dress.

The Meridian Casino & Hotel is one of those places that makes it clear that it caters to an elite clientele-crystal chandeliers, marble balustrades, and amber lights enveloping every square inch of Strip-facing architecture in a way that manages to pull you in without blinding you. It's open to anyone who wants to try their luck at the slots and tables, but I've always dismissed it as one of those places a peasant like me would never be able to afford to even breathe in.

Nothing had changed about my financial situation, that was certain.

What changed was the fact that I literally had nothing to lose.

A handsome executive in a sharply tailored tuxedo stepped out of a car behind me, nearly clipping me with his door. He didn't seem to notice-he certainly didn't bother apologizing-but he was very attentive to the gorgeous woman who draped herself on his arm the second she slid out of the vehicle. They looked like celebrities walking the red carpet as they made their way into the casino.

Something tugged me in their slipstream, down that same rich carpet leading to the front doors of The Meridian. I watched the couple nod to the attendants who scurried to open the doors for them.

And as I watched, something in my heart ached.

I've never desired wealth or status, but in that moment, I wanted so much for a taste of that world. Just a taste.

And tonight, I could afford it, because I had nothing to lose.

I quickly changed from my flats to my heels and tried my best to make my bag look like it was part of my ensemble. The attendants smiled, nodded, greeted me with "good evenings," and opened the doors for me just as they had for the couple before me.

I felt like Dorothy entering the Emerald City for the very first time. Everything shimmered and glowed and dinged and tinkled. Even the staff had an inner shine. As if they were part of the architecture, brought to life by the setting sun and the neon lights, their veins flush with absinthe and dreams.

Table games scared me. The leers, the scowls, the desperate men hunched over hands of cards with menace in their eyes. I don't know much about slots, either, but they seemed easier to handle. Push a button and pray-that was more my style.

I don't remember walking across the floor, through the pit, or really moving anywhere at all. But I must have, because I somehow found myself at a cluster of slot machines tucked into a corner.

An older woman in a garish pink tracksuit huffed in frustration and stood from her stool at the machine closest to the pit. She grumbled something about "gone cold" and shuffled her way over to a different row of the same game.

I stared at that stool.

Why not?

That was the question burning on my mind as I sat down and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill from my bra.

This is insane.

I need this money.

But my hands moved like they couldn't hear what I was thinking.

I didn't know how the game played, or what it paid out, or what all the connecting arrows on a super complicated chart meant. I just watched a few people nearby feed their money to their machine, press the big, glowing button, and wait.

So I fed this machine my hundred-dollar bill, pressed the big, glowing button, and waited.

Things spun. Lights flashed. Buttons whirred. And then, a seven-letter word popped up to change the course of my life.

Jackpot.

The sound comes rushing back in now. The vacuum punctures and the world hammers at my eardrums.

Which means I can very clearly hear the bells and whistles screaming at me that I've won.

A small slip of paper spits out of the machine, and I take it. It's oddly underwhelming. I thought it would start spewing gold coins and I could dive into my newfound money jacuzzi like Scrooge McDuck, but I guess not. Nothing but a small little ticket, single ply paper, fading ink. "SEE CASHIER FOR WINNINGS" is printed in bold across the top.

So neat.

So simple.

So mundane.

Like my whole damn life didn't just change.

My lungs are finally working again, though, and they suck in a deep breath. Then I cry out as loud as I can, "YES!"

I leap to my feet with victory fists punching the air. I've escaped hell and won my way into heaven. Roxy, Willow, and I are going to take the first private jet out of Nevada. We're going to find somewhere warm and quiet and we're going to wear matching coconut bikinis and drink mocktails on the beach. We're going to be okay.

We're going to be okay.

But, as I realize a moment too late, my victory fist is on a crash course with a nearby server just as she rounds the corner bearing an overloaded tray of hot coffees and watered-down vodka cranberries.

I turn in horror. It's too late to stop it. My hand keeps going. Up and up, until it collides with the waitress's tray...

Everything after that happens in slow motion.

First, I see the girl's mascara-encrusted eyes go wide as saucers. I'm sure mine are doing the same.

Then the tray tips. Coffee sloshes over the rim of the highest mug in the stack. It becomes a murky brown waterfall, then intermingles with the vodka crans until it all looks like sewage. The whole nasty mess flies through the air, a tidal wave of the stuff, and sends it surging down...

All over a gorgeous man in a sharply tailored tuxedo.

Glass shatters. People scream. The man, though, just turns to glare at me full-on.

Champagne drips from his nose and hair. He's gorgeous; there's no denying that. I don't know if he's an avenging angel or a fallen one, but he's carved from the same marble as this palatial room and he's breathtaking.

And all I can think is, ... Jackpot?

DEMYEN

TWENTY MINUTES EARLIER

"Don't forget, you have a 10 A.M. tomorrow with Stevenson."

I don't bother tearing my gaze from the window. "Postpone it."

I was bored the moment I stepped into the town car, and I'm not going to pretend I'm interested in anything now. Certainly not meeting with Edwin fucking Stevenson, the most boring man in Las Vegas.

Bambi arches an elegant brow but doesn't look up from her tablet. It's her quietly respectful way of questioning my judgment.

"This will be the third time we've rescheduled, Demyen."

"Fine." I lean back in the leather seat with a sigh and a matching grimace. "Order a spread for brunch. I don't care as long as I can kick him out once my hangover outweighs my patience."

Her other brow joins the first. "Anticipating an exciting night? Or a rough one?"

Maybe it's more accurate to say that I'm not bored as much as I'm drained. Thoroughly and irrevocably drained. What I need is a drink, so I can scrub the day's events from memory.

Today was my older brother Tolya's scheduled appearance at the Court of Appeals to plead new developments in his case. New witnesses are willing to come forward and testify, and we're getting closer to tracking down the location of the false witness whose testimony condemned him to a life sentence. I hired the best legal defense team in the state of Nevada, a squad of fucking sharks with J.D.s, and we marched into that courtroom with a bulletproof case for appeal.

It was denied.

It seems the opinion of Judge Andrew Cartwell is that, without the retraction of the key eyewitness's testimony, my brother will spend the rest of his life behind bars for a murder he didn't commit.

Too bad the key eyewitness is nowhere to be found.

The hard part wasn't facing down the judge, or forcing myself to remain calm when the idiot banged the gavel against the blatantly obvious, or keeping my hands in my pockets so I didn't strangle every last one of those preening motherfuckers.

The hard part was watching Tolya get dragged away, yet again, bound in cuffs and reassuring me over his shoulder that it's okay. It's all going to be okay.

I was a helpless teenager all over again. Unable to protect my own brother. Unable to stand up for him.

I waited until I returned to my penthouse and stepped into the private gym, before I let the rage and despair loose. I didn't even bother changing out of the suit and into workout gear. I needed to punch things, to throw things. Feeling priceless seams rip only added to the rush.

Bambi offered to send in some "extra relief," but I turned her down. I don't believe in dipping one's pen inside the company's ink. And with the way I'm feeling, it's better for women to stay out of my way and out of my bed.

Now, I'm drained, and yet the night's just begun. I tried sleeping through the afternoon to get some of my energy back, but I just need something to jumpstart my willpower.

Nothing a few shots of bourbon and a successful night of burying myself in work can't fix.

The town car pulls to a stop in front of the casino. Even through the tinted windows, The Meridian's lights sparkle over my arm in a twinkling promise of guaranteed good fortune to come.

Well... good fortune for me, at least. Seeing as how I own the place.

"What's the headcount for tonight?"

She taps the screen of her tablet and puckers her lips as she runs through a few calculations. "Twenty-one escorts working the Main Floor, seven men and fourteen women. Although we do have a few from the new pool of recruits waiting in the wings.

Would you like me to⁠-"

"Just one. Add them to the Main Floor and make sure we incorporate more tomorrow. For tonight, I like the numbers as they are."

I tell the press I'm not a superstitious person, but that's a boldfaced lie.

I don't fuck with Lady Luck.

The giveaway is the elegant statue of the goddess herself carved over the archway of The Meridian, welcoming gamblers to my establishment. I prefer the high rollers. Nothing like a rich fool with money to lose. But I do take a certain sort of secret delight at seeing the average Joe rejoice in a win now and then.

Bambi's roster of escorts isn't simply an additional service we offer. It's also our way of keeping tabs. When you know what your big spenders like, it becomes very easy to tempt them into doing it on camera. And when they know that you know... well, safe to say their business will remain ours for as long as they live.

It's almost shocking how many powerful men have very particular tastes they'd never breathe to their closest friends or, heaven forbid, their innocent wives.

And not just corrupt politicians-athletes, too, and tech whizzes, and bad men with businesses almost as depraved as mine.

Also-federal judges.

Now, that was an unexpected surprise.

"Add a few more security personnel to the High Roller Lounge." I tap a finger on my chin as I think. "Make sure they're wired. And let's extend VIP hospitality to Mr. Cartwell. Keep him happy and keep him rolling. Just make sure every word he breathes is recorded and transcribed."

I open the door and step out onto the plush crimson carpet of The Meridian's main entrance. It's a bit of an old Hollywood touch I wasn't sure about at first, but after seeing people stop and take selfies and follow it inside to try their luck at the slots, I decided to keep it. I did make sure the material wouldn't catch on any stiletto heels-the last thing I need is a personal injury lawsuit splashed all over the headlines.

Good thing, too, because I don't see the woman standing next to the car. The door nearly slams into her, but she manages to stumble backward without falling.

I ignore her. No harm, no foul, and not my fault or my problem.

But I do catch a glimpse of her in the corner of my eye. As I do, some faint spark of recognition ignites in the back of my mind.

"Is she one of ours?" I murmur to Bambi as I help her out of the car.

Bambi steals a quick glance and shakes her head. "Not on our roster." "Hm."

"Want me to look into it?" She loops her arm through mine and leans in close so it looks like we're sharing an intimate secret.

"Don't bother. Just thought I recognized her."

Bambi looks like she wants to press further, but she lets it go. Instead, she smiles cordially at the attendants as they open the glass doors for us and smooths a hand over her silk jumpsuit with a sigh. "Ready?"

I don't answer. I simply lead us into the Main Floor and let the cacophony of the casino envelop us.

Time to get to work.

DEMYEN

It's a busy night-as it should be, given that it's Friday. Payday for the rank-and-file means the slots are fuller and the money is flowing from their hands to the machines to my pocket. Just the way I like it.

"Mr. Zakrevsky."

"Good evening, Mr. Zakrevsky."

"Good evening, sir."

My name fills the air as I meander through the casino. My payroll is rife with people in every line of work imaginable. Not just escorts, but cocktail waitresses, bartenders, attendants, concierges, and the like. People who know better than to ask questions.

People who have nothing to do with the Zakrevsky Bratva.

"What can I start you off with tonight, Mr. Zakrevsky?" The bartender, Mike, flashes me a genuine smile and preps a tumbler with ice. He already knows what I'm about to order, but he always gives me the chance to surprise him.

I don't. "Bourbon. On the rocks. Make it a double."

The drink is already in my hand before I finish the sentence.

Bambi scrunches her freckled nose as I toss it back and savor the syrupy burn down my throat. "I'll take mine neat," she tells Mike. "Room temp. Like a normal person."

I chuckle and set the empty tumbler down. "Judge me all you want. We live in a fucking desert. Ice is a blessing."

As I wait for her to finish her drink, I take the moment to lean back and scan the room. I'm not looking for anything or anyone in particular. Sometimes, it's just nice to enjoy the sights and sounds of the empire I rule over.

The same empire that should have been my brother's.

We're about to leave the bar and head for the office suite when a woman's voice reaches my ears. "... No, thanks. Really."

It's the way her words tremble that pulls my attention.

"C'mon, baby." Some guy in a dark leather jacket with too much gel in his hair rubs her waist as she tries to slide off the stool. When she leans away, his fingers tighten. "I got a room upstairs. We can have a real nice time⁠-"

She musters a quivering smile and tries to maneuver from his grasp. "Really. It's okay. I'm good." "But I bought you that drink!"

"I didn't ask you to." There's fear in her eyes, but she's trying so hard to be polite.

The bartender starts to move in their direction, but I give him a subtle signal to back down.

I'll handle this.

Bambi sits back and orders another drink, this time something pink with a fancy straw. She knows how I operate. She's ready to enjoy the show.

"Good evening." I saunter up to the tangled pair, my most brilliant host's smile plastered on my face. "How are you two doing tonight?"

"We're fine, man. Everything's fine." The man waves me off with an irritated flick of his hand.

I loft a brow. "Is it?" My gaze slides to the woman. She looks shaken, but she forces a smile of her own.

"I was just leaving," she mumbles, grabbing her clutch.

"Please-stay." I gesture to her barstool but still give her wide enough berth to run if she feels the need. She doesn't know who I am, but her eyes do a quick once-over and something eases just a bit in her posture.

Before she does decide to run, I gesture for the bartender. "Mike."

He slides over, his face serious even as his eyes glint with mischief. We love this game. "Yeah, boss?" "What is this beautiful young lady drinking?"

Mike cocks his head at the empty glass on the countertop. "Well rum and coke."

I click my tongue in mock admonishment. "Oh, no, no, no. We can do better than that."

The gropey man huffs and holds a hand up to interrupt me, but I ignore it. Right now, he doesn't exist. And when I do decide to turn my attention to him, he'll long for the days when I didn't know him from a fucking hole in the ground.

I lean against the counter and focus my attention on the woman. "What's your poison? Anything under the sun. Name it and it's yours."

"Listen, buddy-" The man grabs my arm. And then he yelps when he's immediately ripped away by my security.

I stay focused on the woman. She blushes and settles back onto the stool. She is pretty, I'll give her that. Definitely a tourist, and given the tan line on her ring finger, I'd guess a recent divorcee.

"Um, I don't know..." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. The ends are frayed and her roots haven't been touched in months. It doesn't take long for me to piece together the story of someone scrimping by just to survive an ordeal. This is probably her one chance at a break before she's back to cold, hard reality. "Vodka? Maybe?"

My smile broadens. "Have you ever tasted Russo-Baltique vodka?"

The man stiffens behind me. He instantly stops struggling with my guards when he hears my native accent slip out.

She blushes more and shakes her head. "Hell no. That stuff is... No, safe to say I have never, ever tried million-dollar vodka. As you can tell, my luck here hasn't been that great."

I nod to Mike, who is already pouring a shot glass from the diamond-encrusted bottle we keep in the refrigerated safe under the bar.

"Are... are you serious?" she balks.

I nod. "On the house."

Mike slides me another shot glass, and I hold it up for her to clink. "To new beginnings."

Again, her eyes widen, but she tosses it back at the same time I do. We both hiss at the afterburn. It's like drinking glacier water.

I glance over to Bambi. She's wearing her amused smile. "Let's get our beautiful guest set up with some VIP treatment, hm?"

"On it." Bambi taps a few things on her phone, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Want me to include The Celestial?"

"Absolutely."

"Done."

It's not even a full minute before one of our concierges appears at the woman's elbow. He offers her a warm smile and a slight bow. "If you'll come with me, madam?"

She glances between the three of us, then settles her perplexed stare on me. "What's going on?"

I set my shot glass back on the counter. "I'm guessing your luck hasn't been great for a while. That's why you came out here, isn't it?"

Her eyes dart down and away. She nods mutely.

"Well, then, time for a change." I straighten my jacket, give her one final nod, then turn to deal with the other loose end.

Behind me, the concierge escorts the woman down a nearby side hall toward the spa. When she's out of sight, I signal for security to bring the man along.

He and I are going in a slightly different direction.