His Queen of Clubs (Vegas Underground 6)

“Volgograd!” I shout.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Vlad immediately rips the tablet away from me, holding it high in the air and ending the call.

“No,” I sob as the tablet goes silent. “Wait—please. I’m sorry.”

I suddenly care less about being found than I do about just seeing my family. Talking to them. Letting them know I’m okay. I saw the dark circles under Junior’s eyes. The deeper lines. He should be on a honeymoon right now, not frantic over me.

“Now you lose privileges.” Vlad takes a menacing step in my direction. His face is hard. I swear, he’s more annoyed with me now than he was when I stabbed him.

“Let me talk to them. Please. Or just let me see them. Mute my side, I won’t say a word.”

“Nyet.”

“Please. No Italian. No funny business—I swear.” Tears fall down my cheeks. I can’t stop them. I’m suddenly so homesick. So alone.

The tablet rings again.

Vlad points at the bed. “Sit.”

I sit where he tells me, giving him big begging puppy eyes. The white pumps drop from my feet.

Vlad answers the call. “You may have noticed your sister’s bridal gown. Today we married. I am so pleased to make this alliance with American mafia,” he says, like he’s giving a toast at our reception. “You can count on me to treat her well so long as you wire me the funds to keep her in the style she’s accustomed to.”

I hear one of my brothers curse under his breath in Italian.

“Six million. One million for each of my men you killed, paid over twenty-four months. That’s a quarter million a month. I will text you the routing and account numbers. First payment is due in four hours.” He looks at his watch.

“We send it all now and Alessia comes home,” Junior growls.

“Nyet. She’s my bride. She stays with me. Twenty-four months. How she’s treated depends on you.”

Another Italian curse. Sounds like Stefano.

“Let us see her again.” It’s Nico’s voice now. “We need to know you haven’t harmed her.”

Vlad glances over at me, then back at the screen. “You speak Italian, I end the call. How do you say it—capiche?”

“Understood,” Stefano says.

I sit up straighter, wiping my eyes as Vlad sits beside me and holds the screen in front of us.

“What did you do to her?” Junior explodes, noting my tears.

I shake my head. “He didn’t hurt me.” I wipe the rest of the moisture from my eyes. “I’m just being a baby. It’s good to see you guys.”

“Lessie,” Stefano says softly, with so much sympathy in his voice, I tear up again.

“I’m fine.” I sniff. “Just homesick. Tell Ma I’m okay. And send the money. It goes to the boy Junior orphaned when he shot all the Russians.”

Junior goes still.

Vlad takes the tablet and stands up. “Da. Send the money. You have four hours.” He ends the video call and regards me. The planes of his face fall in harsh lines. He’s irritated, maybe even angry, it’s hard to tell. Even though he’s been decent to me, I see the danger in him—coiled potential right there below the surface.

I grip the edge of the bed with both hands. Butterflies flit in my tummy.

Now you lose privileges.

Which ones? Clothing privileges? What will my punishment be? Will he strip me naked and tie me to the bed again? Spank me?

The memory of the last spanking he gave me, holding me in place with his thumb against my anus floods my mind.

My pussy clenches even as my palms sweat.

But “It’s hard to stay angry with you,” is all he says as he walks to the door. “There are clothes in the dresser. Basics. Tomorrow we can buy whatever you need.” He shuts the door and I hear a key turn in the lock.

I run for it and try the handle. Bang on the wood. “Vlad!” I shout.

I don’t know why I’m so panicky—I should be happy I’m not tied up. I’m just locked in a bedroom. And a very luxurious one at that. But I don’t like it. Loneliness claws at my chest like desperation.

“Vlad!” I scream.

“Easy, zaika.” The key scrapes in the lock again and the door opens a few inches. Vlad leans against the doorframe, his face close to mine. “You lost your freedom for tonight. You have to stay in the room. Tomorrow we can try again—if you’re a good girl, I’ll let you out.”

My throat bobs, but I can’t quite swallow. “Are you coming back?” I quaver.

It’s pathetic. Am I really begging for his company?

Yes, I am.

I don’t want to be alone tonight. I’m in a foreign country, thousands of miles from my big, noisy Italian family. With no hope of seeing them any time soon.

I’m desperate for human interaction of any kind. And I’m growing used to—if not fond of—his company, in particular.

His expression softens and he studies me for a moment.