Page 8 of Devil’s Reign

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” the redhead asks, her voice smooth as honey.

“Mel.” I glance at Jack for backup, but he’s deeply focused on a spot on the wall.

“I don’t remember seeing you here before. You must be new at Zvezda.” This time it’s the blonde. I meet her gaze and dip my head in confirmation.

“You’ll do very well here,” the dark-haired woman says, nodding. “With a face like that.” She whistles softly, and all three of them chuckle.

The redhead finally turns her attention back to Jack, breaking whatever spell they’ve woven. “So,” she purrs, “what special offerings do you have for us tonight?”

He steps forward quickly, a polite smile fixed on his face. “We have a limited run of Cristal Rosé magnum tonight. It’s been popular with our VIPs.” They discuss their elaborate drink order with Jack for several more minutes while I stand there, trying to process what just happened. After what feels like forever, we leave the lounge, and I practically gulp the air—I hadn’t realized their perfumes were that strong until I’m free of their cloying grip.

“What was that?” My voice comes out slightly breathless as I shake off the lingering scent. Jack adjusts his bow tie—the male uniform includes one—his face looking a bit flushed.

“They’re… special clients.”

No shit. I hold back my eye roll, but barely, because I need the information he obviously has. “Special how?”

“They’re successful women in a… a beautiful relationship with each other,” he says as he heads towards the bar to prepare their drinks.

My steps falter slightly as the implication registers, but I quickly recover and keep pace with him. So they’re in some sort of poly relationship. My heart does a weird little flip. I’ve read about this—devoured books featuring complicated, beautiful love between multiple people—but I’ve never actually seen it in real life. I glance towards their lounge door, my lips tugging into a proud smile. Good for them. I love seeing women thriving in male-dominated spaces.

“Sometimes,” Jack adds casually, “they invite people back to their hotel suite with them. They seemed to really like you.”

That makes me stop short. “What?” An open poly relationship. Scandalous. My cheeks flush hot for some reason, and of course, Jack looks over right then.

His lips quirk up. “If you’re not comfortable going back, I can go alone.”

“You said they’re pretty tame compared to what you usually get here at Zvezda. Do I even want to know what the usual clientele is like?”

Jack’s smile widens. “Yeah. See, because of Zvezda’s exclusivity and strict security and privacy protocols, powerful people come here to relax and wind down. They feel secure knowing they won’t find themselves splashed across tabloid covers the next morning. That’s why servers aren’t allowed to clock in with their phones.” Ah, so that’s why mine was confiscated the moment I arrived.

I glance around the main floor at the wealthy patrons scattered across booths and tables, voices kept low beneath the sultry music. What are their stories? What secrets are they hiding? I’ve never seen this many rich people in one place. I hadn’t reached the age to attend any of my father's work parties before he stole from the don and we had to flee. The memory drifts in uninvited, darkening my mood and reminding me why I’m here—not to work or marvel at the intriguing lives of the rich and bored. So when Jack asks if I want to join him to serve the drinks, I politely decline, feigning being overwhelmed.

“You said they like me, but I’m not into that sort of thing. I’d hate to make a mistake with VIP clients on my very first night.”

He nods in understanding, accepting my excuse at face value. “That’s fair. You can take a quick break in the employee restroom before we attend to the next clients on my list.”

“Sounds good.” I latch onto the chance gratefully.

The employee restroom is just down the hall from the stairs leading to Ivan Petrov’s office. If anyone catches me, I can claim I got lost. It is my first night here, after all, and this place is massive; it’s a plausible enough excuse.

The logical side of my brain is screaming at me to take a step back. To stick with gathering intel tonight and wait until I can plan everything out before I make a bold move. But the logical side of my brain hasn’t gotten me anywhere. And something about this place feeds my wilder side.

The only way I’m going to get shit done is if I take risks. I wipe my sweaty palms on my skirt and glance around the bar area. That’s when I spot it—an expensive bottle of cognac sitting on the counter, the same Armenian brandy Nadia carried to the Petrov brothers earlier. I pick it up carefully and tuck it under my arm as camouflage, just in case I run into someone the restroom excuse won’t work on.

I glance around again, but none of the other servers or bartenders are even looking in my direction. Nadia doesn’t seem to be on the main floor either. Guess it’s now or never.

With my heart thundering in my ears, I edge my way towards the forbidden staircase. I half expect someone to stop me—the scary-looking bouncers, the other servers, anyone—but no one bats an eye. I slip into the dim stairwell, schooling my steps into something that passes for casual, and nearly jump out of my skin when brighter lights suddenly flick on overhead.

“Just motion sensors, you idiot,” I mutter under my breath, forcing myself to keep moving. As I climb, I take note of the cameras and try my absolute best to look as innocent and lost as possible.

The stairs open onto a wall of floor-to-ceiling glass. From this height, I can see every possible angle of the club below, even the balconies of VIP lounges. A perfect vantage point for the owner.

I spot Nadia emerging onto the main floor, her head swiveling like she’s searching for someone. Is she looking for me? Panic jolts me into action, and I turn to face the only door on this level. An intimidating, imposing door made from what looks like black lacquered wood. In place of a normal handle, there’s a numeric keypad and a small button below it.

Shit. Of course there’s a code. Did I really think it would be that easy? That I could just waltz into the office of a Bratva enforcer without security measures? The Petrovs aren’t stupid. I swallow the sudden lump growing in my throat at the thought of failing. No. Failure is not an option. Not when Luciano’s life might depend on what I find.

I press my ear against the door, straining to hear any sound from inside. But even if people were having a screaming match in there, I wouldn’t know. The door is too thick; it’s probably soundproof like the VIP lounges.