VIDAL

TWO

Enzo easily spotted Ivan Andreev's table in the heart of the lavishly designed Imperiya Casino. The casino sprawled across several floors, with towering crystal chandeliers casting a warm glow over the marble floors, gold accents gleaming from every corner.

The opulence was almost suffocating—every inch of the place screamed wealth and excess. The casino had become a haven for the city's elite, its halls filled with the constant chime of slot machines, the shuffle of cards, and the soft murmur of high-stakes bets being placed behind velvet ropes.

But for Enzo, it wasn't the casino's grandeur that held his attention. It was the man seated at the center of it all.

Ivan Andreev sat at a prime table in the middle of the action, surrounded by a coterie of men, each of them watching his every move with a mix of fear and admiration.

Enzo knew Ivan's family history well. The Andreevs had owned Imperiya since its inception in the 1970s, when it had started as a modest, underground poker den hidden away in the dark basements of the city.

Back then, the games had been small, the stakes manageable.

But Ivan's father had had ambition. And that ambition had turned Imperiya into a juggernaut, transforming it into one of the most exclusive casinos in the country.

It was now a glittering empire that attracted everyone—from hedge fund managers to international arms dealers. The casino itself was merely the facade of Ivan's true power. The real wealth hadn't come from gamblers' pockets alone.

No, Ivan had built his fortune by extending a helping hand to those drowning in debt. He played the role of savior, offering generous loans to those who had lost more than they could afford.

He let them believe he was their salvation, saving their homes, their families—only for them to discover the loan was a poisoned gift.

When they couldn't pay it back, he took everything. And Ivan was smart about who he trapped in his web: judges, politicians, business leaders.

He didn't just want their money; he wanted their power. And when their usefulness ran out, they ended up like Paul.

As Enzo approached the table, Ivan's face lit up in recognition.

"Vidal!" Ivan boomed, his voice thick with his Russian accent, the sound of Enzo's name twisted in a way that made it sound like something out of a Dracula novel.

Enzo gave a tight smile, knowing the game well enough to play along. Ivan stood, his gaunt frame unfolding from the chair as he extended a hand. Enzo took it, two firm shakes before releasing.

"If you're here, I assume my request has been fulfilled?" Ivan asked, his voice carrying an air of casual menace, like he already knew the answer.

Enzo nodded. "I'm here for the rest of my payment."

Ivan chuckled, a sound that barely reached his cold, calculating eyes. He turned to the men at the table, warning them not to peek at his cards in his absence before he gestured for Enzo to follow. Together, they made their way across the casino floor.

As they walked, Ivan played the part of the affable owner, nodding warmly at patrons, greeting them by name, offering words of encouragement or a brief pat on the back.

To the untrained eye, Ivan Andreev was the benevolent king of this glittering kingdom, beloved by all. But Enzo knew better. Every smile was a mask, every handshake a potential trap.

They reached Ivan's private office, a quiet space tucked away from the noise and spectacle of the casino.

The moment the heavy doors closed behind them, Ivan's cheerful facade fell away like a discarded cloak.

The room was bare compared to the opulence outside—just a few pieces of dark wooden furniture, a large safe built into the wall, and a small bar stocked with top-shelf liquor.

"I have several people on the floor now that you'll soon meet," Ivan said as he moved to unlock the wooden chest in the corner. He knelt before the safe, his fingers deftly typing in the code.

Ivan was a lean man, almost unnaturally so. His face was mousy, his pale skin stretched tight over sharp cheekbones. His clothes, always meticulously tailored, seemed to hang from his frame like they belonged to someone larger, and the thin fabric of his button-up shirt did little to conceal the white tank top beneath it. He looked like a skeleton wrapped in expensive silk.

When he stood, he held a thick stack of cash in one hand, a large sum that he passed through his money counter. The sound of the bills flipping through the machine filled the quiet room.

Finally, Ivan turned, a stack of neatly bound hundred-dollar bills in hand.

"I have another request for you," he said smoothly, handing Enzo the ten thousand dollars—his remaining payment.

Enzo took the money without a word, his fingers curling around the cash. He knew Ivan well enough to expect another job, even though he had just finished the last one. If Ivan had it his way, Enzo would be working seven days a week, each job more dangerous than the last.

Before Enzo could open his mouth to decline, Ivan handed him another stack—larger this time, at least twenty thousand. The weight of it was heavier, not just because of the money, but because of the unspoken threat that came with it.

"Before you say no, I insist," Ivan said, his voice smooth but sharp.

Enzo's jaw tightened, but he took the money. It wasn't about the cash. It never was. It was about control—Ivan's control over everyone around him.

"What's the job?" Enzo asked.

Ivan smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "My son's birthday is this weekend. I insist on your attendance."

Enzo's eyes narrowed. "Aleks or Boris?"

"Boris," Ivan replied, his voice softening ever so slightly. "My youngest. It will be at my estate in the Hamptons."

Enzo raised an eyebrow. "Bit chilly for the Hamptons this time of year, isn't it?"

Ivan waved a hand dismissively. "That is not my concern. My boy gets what he wants. You will be there."

Enzo felt the weight of the money in his jacket pocket, as heavy as the unspoken threat behind Ivan's words.

"Si," Enzo replied quietly, knowing there was no real choice.

Ivan clapped him on the back as he escorted him to the door. "Good. It will be a night to remember."

Enzo stepped out into the casino once more, the weight of Ivan's words lingering like a cloud over his head.

~*~

Camilla stifled another yawn behind her hand, hoping no one would notice. She scribbled furiously in her notebook, her wrist aching from the speed at which she was writing.

Kevin, her boss, always insisted on handwritten notes during meetings, a quirk that frustrated her to no end.

Typing, of course, would have been faster and more efficient, but Kevin claimed it distracted him.

Camilla wasn't sure how a laptop in the corner of the room was more distracting than the palpable tension hanging in the air, but she wasn't in any position to argue.

Kevin's attention was fully locked on the new client sitting across from him, and this deal was too important for her to push back on his methods.

Aleks, their client, had finally signed with Kevin's firm earlier in the week, a massive coup that had all but secured Kevin's ascension to partner.

Camilla had worked just as hard as Kevin to land this client, though she doubted he'd ever acknowledge that.

Aleks was a hard man to pin down, insisting on late-night meetings at his private lounge, dragging out negotiations well beyond business hours.

Camilla had lost count of how many nights she'd been kept well past closing, her sleep schedule in shambles.

Still, the overtime pay was adding up, and with it, the possibility of catching up on her rent—a small silver lining to the exhaustion weighing her down.

Tonight, however, was different. It was the first time Aleks had come to the office, bringing with him a group of men who looked more like bodyguards than business associates.

They all wore dark, tailored suits, their faces blank, expressions unreadable.

Aleks, with his blonde hair slicked back and dressed in casual clothes, stood out among them. His grin was more of a smirk, a glimmer of something dangerous lurking behind his eyes.

His companions, however, remained stone-faced, their thick Russian accents filling the room when they spoke.

From the moment Aleks had arrived, the mood in the room had shifted. The usual banter that Kevin relied on to charm his clients fell flat, as if the men sitting across from him were immune to his charisma.

Camilla felt the weight of their presence pressing down on the room, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

"You do understand that out of all the attorneys in the city, I chose you, right?" Konstantin said, his voice laced with an edge that wasn't present earlier. He leaned back in his chair, his brow raised as he watched Kevin closely.

Kevin, clearly unnerved, forced a smile. "I understand that, Mr. Andreev. But the law is the law. I am your lawyer, and I have to work within those constraints."

This was the third time Kevin had tried to explain the situation, but Konstantin didn't seem to care.

His brother's assets had been frozen due to a recent criminal investigation, and Konstantin had been demanding that Kevin secure his release on bail. But, as Kevin had been trying to emphasize, it wasn't that simple.

"We cannot use unfounded funds to post bail," Kevin said carefully, wiping his brow. "The district attorney will be looking into any method of payment immediately—especially with the charges of money laundering on the table."

Aleks' laughter was dry, almost mocking. "Are you accusing my brother of something illegal?"

Kevin paled visibly. "No, no, of course not. I'm just advising you on the risks involved." In all the time Camilla had worked for him, she had never seen Kevin so flustered.

Normally, he was smooth and confident, but fear had crept into his voice. Aleks wasn't a client like the others—they both knew that. He was dangerous, and the men surrounding him made it clear this was more than just business.

Konstantin sighed, leaning forward over the table. His gaze suddenly shifted to Camilla, who had been furiously writing, pretending not to hear the threat woven into his words. When their eyes met, she forced an awkward smile, her heart skipping a beat.

"You can stop writing for a moment," he said, his tone soft but commanding.

Camilla's hand froze.

She glanced at Kevin, unsure, but he gave her a quick nod. Reluctantly, she set down her pen and folded her hands in her lap, trying to appear composed.

Aleks turned his attention back to Kevin, his voice dropping into a more conversational tone, though the menace remained.

"I paid you a very generous sign-on bonus, Kevin. We've shared meals, you've visited my headquarters, and we've begun what I thought would be a productive relationship. These are not things I do for just anyone. So, you can understand why I am... disappointed."

Kevin nodded slowly, swallowing hard. "I understand."

Aleks' grin widened as he turned to the man seated next to him and barked a command in Russian.

The man, stoic and bespectacled, adjusted his glasses before pulling out a tablet and typing rapidly.

A moment later, Kevin's phone buzzed with a notification. He pulled it from his pocket, his face blanching as he read whatever had just been sent to him.

"Mr. Kechov... I—"

"The courts close in three hours," Aleks interrupted smoothly, rising from his seat. His men mirrored his movement in unison. "My mother is hosting a celebration for my brother's return, so I suggest you hurry if you want to post bail in time."

Kevin stammered, but before he could respond, Konstantin clapped him on the shoulder. "I expect both of you to attend the party. I'll take it as a sign of good faith that you are committed to our arrangement."

He turned to Camilla, his smile sharp as a knife. "I'll see you there."

And with a wink, he swept out of the room, his entourage following closely behind.

The door clicked shut, leaving Camilla and Kevin alone in the silence of the conference room. Kevin turned to her, rubbing his temples.

"Why don't you cut out early? We've got a party to attend."

Camilla stared at him, incredulous. "I've been doing overtime all week, Kevin. There's nothing in my contract about attending mobster parties. That's not work."

Kevin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Triple time and a half. Just for tonight."

Camilla clenched her jaw. She needed the money. Desperately. It might be the boost she needed to leave this life behind for good.

Since her mother passed, she had been stuck in survival mode, working herself to the bone just to get by. New York was bleeding her dry, and she'd promised herself she wouldn't end up like her mother—fighting a losing battle against the city until it killed her.

"Fine," she said at last, her voice tight. "But I'm not staying past the last train."

Kevin gave her a relieved smile. "Deal."