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Raizo rubs his forefinger and thumb together as he turns around and paces across the room. “Don’t think I didn’t see your little chat with LVPD the other day.”
Martin. Of course. “Belligerent house guests tend to stir up trouble.”In more ways than one…“Being a public figure like I am, I have to deal with LVPD on a fairly regular basis. You understand.”
“I understand how easy it would be for you to arrange the auction as a, shall we say, ‘public performance.’” He turns on his heel to face me. “You are not reconsidering our deal, are you?”
“Of course not.”
“Good. Because let me make something exceptionally clear to you, Mr. Zakrevsky.” Raizo remains calm, but his fury crackles in the air as he offers a wolfish smile. “If you fuck me over in this, we won’t just be through as business partners. I will rain down upon you the full fury of the Yakuza until all that remains of youand your precious Bratva are distant memories collecting dust in the police archives.”
I cock a brow. “You seem to forget where you are, Mr. Watanabe.”
His smile widens as he sweeps an arm around us. “Home base. I know. Which is why I am here, to give you the full sincerity of my words. I do not threaten someone within their own home; I make promises I fully intend to keep.”
“The Yakuza?—”
“Has been eyeing Las Vegas for many years now. My sector, small as it is, has been extremely profitable, most especially with the skin trade. Do you think any of the other clans will allow some Russian bastard and his band of bleeding hearts to stand in their way?”
I scoff. And then, on second thought, I outright laugh. “Come, Raizo. All this from what, bad timing?” I usher him toward the back door of the study, the one that leads to a direct path to the secondary courtyard. The one that nobody, least of all Clara or Willow, ever visits. “I think we both need a good drink. This auction has us on edge.”
Raizo is not as easily misdirected. He peers at me, seems to think something over, then follows me with a terse nod.
I send a quick text to the household group chat for a bartender to be ready and waiting by the entertainment pool. I don’t care who it is; I just need to get Raizo tipsy enough to ease off and fuck off.
“Let’s talk details. I just confirmed this morning that the entire hotel has been reserved for the event. The last thing either of usneeds is some honeymooning couple crashing the wrong room, right?”
I wanted to grind my teeth to powder when Bambi ran the numbers for the hotel accommodations for Raizo’s auction. Hundreds of rooms that ought to be going for thousands per night means millions of dollars that won’t end up in my pocket. And that’s just the hotel fees; I don’t even want to think about the ballroom rental, catering, waitstaff, decor…
“What’s your average selling rate per artifact?” I casually ask Raizo as we settle into the outdoor bar.
He chuckles as he gestures to the bartender to bring him an imported beer. “Don’t worry, my friend; I’ll make sure you’re more than compensated for your efforts.”
“Call me curious.” I nod to Gary, the bartender on duty, to just bring me the whole bottle of bourbon and a glass of ice. I’m going to need it.
Raizo snorts. “You should. Average sale per woman is anywhere from one point five to seven.Million.”
Figures like that should have me excited. Curious for a taste, even.
I don’t know why the liquor suddenly turns to ash in my stomach.
“Times how many per auction?”
“Depends on the reaping and culling.” He sees my swift, sharp glance at him and he holds up a hand. “My elite clientele buys the cream of the crop. The others, we sell at a discount price and they end up… well, you’ve seen the edge of town.”
I have. I prefer to avoid those areas: the outer rim, the backside of the Strip, the Red Light District. It’s not a place you go for a repeat trip.
Raizo studies my face. “If you’re concerned about your particular contribution to the auction, don’t be.”
I’m not. I tell myself I’m not every time his texts pop up on my phone. So I repeat the mantra out loud for both our benefits. “Why would I be concerned? You’re doing me a favor.”
“Am I?”
I take a long, deep swig of bourbon. “If you think I’m going to blow up our treaty over some whiny, petulant woman I can’t wait to get rid of… well, my friend, you’re out of your damn mind.”
Raizo doesn’t join my laughter nor does he stop peering at me over his bottle. “She didn’t tell you, did she?”
I pause. Something sinks inside me, but I don’t let him see how his words get to me. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
He thinks about it. Then sighs with a nod. “Fair enough. I don’t imagine anyone would want to brag about their ties to the Yakuza.”
