We strolled through the lavish penthouse I owned complete with an open entertaining area—although I never entertained—and sweeping balconies.
At The Plaza’s pinnacle, my nightclub sprawled. Adjacent to the rooftop infinity pool and just one level above my living quarters, the club’s—hell, the hotel’s—expensive atmosphere beat the fuck out of Russia not to mention the ratty rooms I’d first inhabited in this city.
At twenty-eight, I’d done well for myself. With Yasmin and the new Bratva forces I’d recruited, I’d cornered a substantial slice of the illegal arms trade, funneling weapons to less than savory entities in other countries. I’d also harnessed a piece of the cocaine pipeline from Colombia by way of West Africa.
The nightclub provided a legit business to launder my stacks of dirty money.
Only one financial market eluded me. Oil. The biggest money. And if I thought about the reason why, I’d be in a shit mood for the entire night.
“How is Daisy?” I mentioned Yasmin’s latest booty call that had turned into a long-term relationship so unlike her usual hook-up then cut-them-loose scenarios.
We’d always had our flagrant disregard for settling down in common until now.
As we entered the private elevator that would deliver us straight to my offices at the top of the club, Yas regarded me. “She’s so sweet and American-apple-pie she’ll make your teeth ache.” A wicked gleam fell across her eyes. “But she gives good tribbing.”
Yas was as coarse and crude as they came. She didn’t care who she rubbed the wrong way. And she was a one hundred percent confirmed lesbian.
I didn’t even blink, asking instead, “When is her visa up?”
Something painful crossed Yas’s lean features. “Never. If I can bribe a few officials.”
Ah.So it was like that.
The woman who acted so hard on the outside had finally been snared. I’d figured she’d be heartbroken when Daisy’s student pass expired but hadn’t known Yas had gotten it through her thick skull yet.
Apparently she had.
Seeking to lighten the sudden subdued mood, I knocked against her shoulder. “I could take care of any officials for you.”
The idea gave me a sick thrill.
I enjoyed a good stealth mission that included murder as much as the next mafia man. I rarely used my soldiers to do the dirtiest work, preferring to exercise my particular skillset, all in the name of staying sharp, of course.
Chuckling, Yasmin patted her gun hidden beneath the cloth of a tight jacket. “I could do it myself. Unfortunately, a kill like that might just end up with me behind bars for good.”
“There are other ways to motivate. A little kidnapping? Some blackmail? Everyone has a secret they don’t want to see the light of day.” I grinned maliciously.
The elevator dinged, delivering us to the nightclub I’d aptly named The Lykos. It sounded exotic, appropriate for Dubai. More importantly, lykos meant wolf in Greek, and wolf was symbolic of my last name . . . in Russian.
I was Aris Volkov.
Konstantin, my underboss and fellow Russian expat, greeted us as we stepped out.
“Busy tonight but no signs of trouble so far,” he reported.
I hooked an eyebrow up. “Are we expecting trouble?”
He chuckled without humor. “Aren’t we always?”
“Da. Probably,” I answered.
His gaze slid to Yasmin. “Are you still playing for the other team?”
She gave him a playful stare.
Playful as in a Pitbull just toying with the prey it was about to tear apart with its jaws. “I’ll let you know when you finally admit you wanna suck my dick, Connie.”
I laughed outright. And Konstantin bumped her hand.
She left the area with him following along, no bent feelings at all because they understood one another implicitly and enjoyed the ribbing and razzing.
They had their specific duties to attend to, making sure the black-market businesses thrived as my own personal kingdom expanded.
I helped myself to a glass of frigidly cold vodka before lighting a smoke. Then I ambled across to the secluded viewing point that overlooked my multilevel nightclub. Behind me, through endless windows, Dubai spread out in all its shiny nighttime glory.
In front of me and below, Lykos’s multilevel tiers held a maximum number of patrons, all set for hours of clubbing and prepared to spend chunks of cold hard cash on expensive cocktails.
Soldiers doubled as bouncers, staying vigilant to any danger before that danger Konstantin had mentioned could erupt. We didn’t deal blow on the premises. In fact, we didn’t even dole out the nose candy in the city. We were very choosy when it came to our cocaine clientele, selling only in massive quantities to other smaller syndicates.
I adhered to most of the rigorous rules governing this Arabian city. Unless those rules infringed on my money-making opportunities. But that didn’t mean my mafia wasn’t on the radar of other similar criminal organizations, and bloodbaths had been known to breakout.
Out in the club, the music pulsed—a reverberation beneath the soles of my shoes—while the multicolor lightshow dazzled. Clubbers reveled the night away, and I allowed myself a moment to savor my accomplishments.
I swigged the vodka. Blew out rings of cigarette smoke. I gave no thought to joining the frenetic club scene below; I didn’t mix well with civilians. Besides, from my vantage point, I was able to keep track of my men and all comings and goings.
I glanced at the heaving dancefloor one level down then immediately froze. Standing straighter, I stabbed out my cigarette and glared into the crush of dancers.
Blyad.