Page 114 of Sweet Animosity

I nodded, but didn’t say a word.

Serg placed a heavy hand on the judge’s shoulder, causing him to flinch. “The judge here owes us just over two hundred thousand dollars, thanks to an unlucky run at the tables three months ago.”

Not only was running a private gambling club an exceptional front for money laundering, but it also served up blackmail opportunities on a silver platter.

Adjusting my cuffs through the sleeves of my Armani tuxedo, I raised an eyebrow as I gave the quivering judge a onceover. “Does he now?”

Serg nodded. “Unfortunately, the honorable judge has neglected to make all the payments we so generously agreed to instead of shooting him in the head and then collecting the double-indemnity insurance money from his clueless wife.”

The judge turned to Serg and raised his intertwined hands. “Please, don’t tell my wife! She’ll kill me.”

Serg wagged his finger. “You’re not listening closely enough, judge-y boy. We’ll also kill you, except way more painfully and piece by piece.”

I shook my head slowly. “Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s bad form not to honor your debt to the ruthless, cold-blooded Russian Mafia?”

Serg frowned. “I know. I feel like that should be taught in schools here in America like it is in Russia. It’s a far better life lesson than algebra.”

“Agreed.” I placed an arm around the judge’s shoulders and led him into the living room. “So, judge. Let me explain what you’re about to do for me, and more important, why you’ll be taking your life in your hands if you say no.”

CHAPTER 39

VIVIAN

It was a wedding dress.

A freaking wedding dress.

No, not one.

Several.

I pushed the hangers along the brass porter rack.

There was something especially twisted about forcing me to choose my own wedding gown. As if I were choosing to get married.

As if I were choosing Var as my husband.

How had agreeing to paint a few lousy, knock-off Mona Lisas fucked up my life so quickly and so spectacularly badly?

Married was forever.

A life sentence.

Even if I’d been caught by the Feds for the forgery, the most I would have gotten was maybe five years.

My gaze traveled to the landline by the bed.

Was it too late to call the police? The FBI? The national guard?

I sighed, already knowing the answer was yes. I’d seen enough of Var’s far-reaching influence not to trust any of those organizations.

I wandered into the attached bathroom. My makeup and hair dryer and hot rollers had been moved in there. It was almost creepy how quietly efficient the Four Monks’ staff were.

With a resigned sigh, I sat on the plush vanity stool before the mirror and pulled the towel off my head. My scalp burned as I yanked the brush through the wet tangles a little too vigorously. I dried my hair as I stared at my reflection, lost in thought.

By the time my hair was dry, I still didn’t have a plan on how to get out of this mess.

Selecting a section of hair, I rolled a heated roller and pinned it in place. As if on autopilot, I methodically put all the rollers into my hair.

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