The Imposter

Chapter One

"I'm confident in my knowledge of fairy tales," I reassured my cousin. "And there's a creature residing in that lair." Ben and I were positioned on the expansive patio of the Calydon Casino's penthouse, gazing up at an even more elevated observation deck. We were already so high, I felt as if we could reach up and graze the full moon.

“You’re calling Nikolai Romanov a beast now?” Ben appeared to be entertained, with his smiling eyes of deep blue providing a striking contrast to his dark brown hair. Like my sister and myself, he received his coloring from my dad’s side of the family. “Even though you’ve never met him?”

“Yep.” The Romanovs’ magnificent party was in full swing—music blasted and hundreds of revelers swarmed inside the vast four-suite penthouse—yet Nikolai had secluded himself up on the terrace, obviously on his worst behavior. Ben inquired if, akin to the tales of fairy, I intended to offer up this young maiden as a sacrifice. He requested that I proceed to gather information on the belligerent individual.

“That’s crazy talk. Everybody knows you’re not a maiden.”

I punched his arm. “Funny," I remarked, sensing my own naivety like that of someone new to the world. My three previous conquests had not lived up to expectations.

"And trust me Nikolai isn't a monster," he went on, adding. “Much. Hardly at all.”

Ben understood all there was to know about the Romanov family. Well, anything a grifter could find out given select sources. As the casino’s VIP host, he catered to the demands of his affluent high rollers—our very own inside guy.

I didn’t know how much juice he’d had to spend to grab his prized job, but for weeks, we’d targeted the Calydon’s degenerate whales, mostly for blackmail.

A curl escaped my up-do, and the warm August air made it dart about my face. "Throughout my observations, it has become evident that Nikolai has been strongly critical and dismissive towards a dozen women." He informed me

Another batch of aspirants had risen a few seconds earlier. Every girl on the Strip seems to have heard about this party—free food, free drinks, and an eligible millionaire in attendance.

Ben shrugged his buff shoulders. I was certain that he was still growing even at the age of thirty. “I’m not asking you to run a game”—work a con—“on Nikolai. Just give me your opinion before we let the Romanov team free for good.”

Half talent manager, half con coach, Ben had positioned me and my sister in the VIP lounge as cocktail servers/honey traps.

Toe the line, lads, or you’ll feel the sting.

Unfortunately, the three brothers, two wives, and one tagalong buddy were toeing the line.

They didn’t beg for drugs, and their preferences didn’t veer toward the unlawful or immoral. Both of the married couples were committed. In reality, the middle brother and his wife came here to commemorate their four-year wedding anniversary.

No filth, no dinero; no sins, no in.

“Besides, you gotta get a look at Nikolai,” Ben replied. "He would be the most stunning man you've ever seen," my sister Natalie also proclaimed the same thing. She’d served the group drinks in the lounge the previous night.

“Even finer than his brothers?” I had encountered them in the penthouse – two well-built, black-haired attractive men who were deeply committed to their breathtaking partners. When Ben was asked about them, he feigned innocence and said, "much more attractive. Believe me."

“Believe you?” Despite our circumstances, we had to share a giggle. I could make my eyes guileless too, having learnt that technique before I could even read with them.

Grated words erupted from the deck above as Nikolai chewed out the latest girls who’d dared to enter his lair.

Not long later, a swarm of girls in v****a-length gowns flounced down the stairs. They all spoke at once. “What a prick!” "I don't care how handsome he may be, who speaks in such an inappropriate manner?" “Could he have been hotter? Or more insulting?”

I recognized Kimberly, a bottle-service lady who resided in my apartment complex. The curvaceous blonde was familiar with the world of con artists herself.

Champagne glass in hand, she beckoned her pals to continue toward the bar, then sashayed up to us; with each every stride, her strapless red dress bravely battled to conceal her rack.

She raised on her toes to kiss my cousin’s face and muttered with fondness, “Beny Three Times.”

Grifter nicknames can seem cliché, but Ben’s was spot-on. He was so skilled he could scam you twice more, even if you caught him the first time. Also known as Re-Ben.

I’d received the moniker Vice as a baby. I’d acquired my hard-as-stone reputation through my family’s stock-investment scams.

For years, we’d identified guys who wanted something for nothing, so we’d sold them nothing for something.

But those days have passed. . . .

Ben easily added, “Kimberly, you’re looking fabulous as ever.”

“Charmer.” She brushed her hair, giving me a once-over. “Great dress, Vice. All classy.”

“Thank you, darling." I had crafted this elegant, white, single-shoulder draped garment a couple of months back for a specific job. Tonight, my appearance was seductive good-girl, a contrast from my typical racy/alternative. My black nails were suddenly nude, my glam makeup neutral. I’d swapped my spike earrings for diamond—read cubic zirconia—studs and put my long hair into an exquisite knot. I opted for ankle-strap d'Orsay pumps instead of platform heels.

Kimberly sipped her flute. “You dress up for that Comanov gull?” A gullible, anybody outside the grift.

“It’s actually with an R,” Ben remarked. “Ro-ma-nov.” Details were our job.

Kimberly shrugged, her dress hanging on dangerously. Her enlarged boobs dwarfed my 30Cs; she could genuinely handle beverages without a tray.

I always viewed her balancing martinis on her mammaries with circus music teed up. “No, not for him. I had a high roller on the line.” Wardrobe was crucial in cons, and this appearance played to wealthier people. My mark, Nick, had approved. Until he’d abruptly abandoned me in the Caly lobby a short time ago. “Well things with my mark didn't go as expected, so Ben invited me to this here.” To dig. These days, I wasn’t good for much else.

This honey trap could be stingless.

“Seems like you're having a tough week," Kimberly responded. “I saw an eviction notice on your door.”

I dropped my voice to remark, “I forgot my neck brace one freaking time.”

Ben’s blond brows rose. I hadn’t informed him about my eviction, not with all my other recent failures.

“Happens to the best of us.” Kimberly finished her champagne. “Disregard it, it's just two tears in a bucket.”

I smiled. “I will never stop saying that.”

“How’d you hear about this party?” Ben asked her.

“A certain wild girl named Anabelle or Anastasia, or something along those lines, invited the entire Strip, sharing with everyone her intentions of hooking up with a wealthy and influential person. I came here to harpoon said whale. No dice. He literally informed me, ‘I have a lady in mind for myself, and you are not her.’ Russians suck.”

Ben and I exchanged a glance. We had a Russian KA, a known acquaintance, who was like our grandpa.

“I’m gonna go find some real action. "Bye, babies," Kimberly said, blowing air kisses as she joined her friends. Just as they stepped inside, she screamed over her shoulder to Nikolai, “Go f**k yourself, Russo!”

When a diatribe of Russian roared out from above, I lifted my brows at Ben. “Maybe he’s not interested in women. If Natalie bombed with this man . . .” Yesterday evening, he completely disregarded my breathtaking sister as though she were entirely unnoticed. “Maybe Nikolai’s gay.”

“I should be so lucky,” Ben murmured, a melancholy tinge to his voice. “If I had to deal with a guy like that, I wouldn't hesitate to set up a honey trap," he remarked.

"It's not as simple as it seems, boss," I replied, speaking from experience. I was supposed to have conducted my first badger game tonight. In a badger, a honey trap would coax a married target into a compromising position while an accomplice shot photographs and filmed video.

Voilà, blackmail.

Nick had been my perfect man—a hitched skirt-chaser with a cheating provision in his prenup, wandering hands, and a tan line on his ring finger. Tonight the older man’s watery eyes had shone at the sight of me—right up until the moment he’d checked his phone, sputtered at whatever he’d read, then all almost departed the casino.

My sixth busted con in a row. I was as superstitious as the next grifter and understood what this streak represented. “Ben, I’m pretty sure I’m jinxed.” And yet I would drag myself back to the VIP lounge tomorrow to troll for yet another sleazebag. It’d taken me three double-backs—sixteen-hour sessions in stilettos—to scare up Nick.

Ben suggested, “Perhaps it's the badger that's causing you difficulty, especially considering it's your first encounter with one.”

“You’re making me sound like a noob.” Sure, every grifter had a specialty—mine had been the pump-and-dump stock cons—but a great confidence artist was adaptable.

“While you are getting comfortable, please consider assisting Natalie with her child another night or two a week so that she can concentrate on closing more deals, at least until we clear the debt.”

I blinked in amazement. “We’re in the middle of a crisis, and you want me to babysit?” Not to mention, Mom and Dad would probably fight me like caged fighters if I tried to limit their time with their grandbaby.

Ben wiped a palm over his gorgeous face. “Nick should’ve been . . . well, he should’ve been a low-hanging fruit.” In a resentful tone, he gave it to me straight: “Natalie could’ve run him in her sleep.”

Ouch. Though one could obviously tell we were sisters, I was like a small, less-endowed indie version of her. At twenty-eight, she was all long-legged elegance, confidence, and easy s*x-appeal; with guys, if I didn’t focus, I might come off as standoffish—a kiss of death for a honey trap.

Ben raced to exclaim, “You’re an ace at cards, and your grift sense is the most honed of anybody I know. Your insights in those stock schemes kept the lights on for the whole family. But stocks are out forever.”

We’d duped the wrong people, and they wanted their money back—plus interest. “The deadline is only twenty days away, and you're putting me on the sidelines?” No wonder everyone had sent me encouragement tonight! Yet I’d neglected to grab the low-hanging fruit.

“It’s because the deadline’s on us.” He exhaled. “"You're squandering opportunities that Natalie could seal," he said. During the past couple of weeks, she has handled numerous potential marks. She even had a two-timing congressman lined up for tomorrow.

I hadn’t received a mark anywhere near our hidden-camera prop home.

Natalie was my dearest friend, yet sometimes I felt like shouting, “Lucia, Lucia, Lucia!”

In a calmer tone, Ben replied, “All you need is a little brushing up on your, you know, s****l manipulation skills, but we don’t have time right now.”

Sexual manipulation skills? Really? How did he suppose I got all those lowlifes to invest in our fraudulent stock deals?

By making sure they read my cleavage instead of the words on the wall!

“Once you're less tired, you'll see things from my point of view," remarked Ben. "Why don't you skip Nikolai and take some rest?"

My eyes widened with awareness. “You’ve already decided to cut the Romanovs! My ‘assignment’ to dig . . . it’s busy work, isn’t it?” To help me feel better about Nick!

After a time, Ben lifted his hands.

Busy job and childcare. If he sidelined me, I’d go insane in the following three weeks. How could I not be out fighting for my loved ones?

I burned to show my usefulness and assist when they needed me most. My eyes flew higher, resting on a beast’s lair. I started uttering words, "Guess what? You’re not going to sideline me. Because I’m going to run a game on the juiciest mark of them all— Nikolai Romanov.”