Page 20 of Merciless Queen

When I do, he’ll understand what keeping the memory of myunused cuntreally entails.

The club’sname isPosol'stvo, which translates to The Embassy.

After months of stalking Vanessa Volkov, I know the ins and outs of her schedule, including her frequent Friday night trips to one of three preferred clubs. She dances, drinks, and pretends to be a mafia princess again, rather than the Pakhan. She’ll pick one unsuspecting fool to take home for the night, work out whatever sexual frustrations and anger she’s clinging to, before sending him on his way.

Two years of studying her, with eight of those months stalking her through Moscow, learning everything I can about her life; her property, her mansion, and the best ways to get close to her. When realizing her Friday night trips have a pattern, the answer became too obvious.

Getting inside the club will be simple, but getting to her side may be a bit trickier. When I do, all this time plotting and preparing will grant me the largest payday of life.

Ursin Volkov may no longer be around thanks to Erico Rossi, so it’s now Vanessa’s turn to pay for her father’s crimes. And he’s pissed off the wrong people: the Cosa Nostra.

From across the street, I watch and wait for the sun to dip well below the horizon. Eventually, clubgoers arrive in factions, some stumbling through the club’s front door, obviously having pre-drank before coming downtown.

The path inside is simple, involving a bouncer verifying IDs. Mine will check out because I’ve guaranteed it. All week, I’d taken separate trips to the three different clubs Vanessa typically goes to and entered as a guest, like everyone else that night. It was a test, to ensure my fake identification didn’t raise any flags, since I’m entering under a different name. Zeno Mancini might be recognized by the wrong people, but Lorenzo Mattel won’t be.

This club in particular is smaller than the rest, but hopefully that works to my advantage. There’s a VIP lounge that overlooks the main floor that Vanessa will be hanging out on. Only those invited are allowed to go up, which means I’ll need to get her to notice me. To be her prey for the night.

Until the time she becomes my prey. My captive. Mine to destroy.

I wait until the familiar black sedan pulls up to the club. It’s one I’d recognize anywhere, simply from stalking it for the past few weeks. An Aurus Senat, presumably decked out with bulletproof glass windows. At least, if she was wise, that’s what they’d be. The driver gets out and heads for the back, opening the door.

A woman steps out first, blonde waves bouncing down her bare back as she scans up and down the sidewalk and over the short line of people still waiting to enter the club. There’s only one person who ever joins Vanessa on her Friday night getaways, so this would be her best friend, Elite member, one of her Spies, deadly assassin, and renowned ballerina, AnastasiaPetrov. She might look delicate as glass but she is as sharp and as deadly as it too. She led the shift in changing the Bratva’s business from trafficking to brothels and manipulates her innocent disguise to take down any enemy.

Knowing what I’ll be up against is important for this job, so of course, I’ve studied the Bratva and anyone important Vanessa surrounds herself with, especially her three Elite members: Vanessa’s cousin and second-in-command, Dimitri Volkov, Anastasia, and her twin brother, Lev Petrov.

Anastasia steps to the side, waiting for the next person to exit the vehicle, and when the head of dark hair appears over the car, I smile. Vanessa nods toward her driver, a politeness I don’t expect from her knowing whose blood she shares, and walks toward the club’s entrance with Anastasia by her side.

Across the street, I step off the curb.

Let the games begin.

Everything changedwhen I became Pakhan.

Exactly like how walking through the front doors of my mansion became a new experience, a better one, so did visiting old haunts. When I was simply the daughter of Ursin Volkov, no door was closed to me. Nopublicdoor anyway; Papa certainly shut a lot in my face over the years.

Places likePosol'stvoonce catered to me through other means. As a rich woman, staff fell over themselves to ensure everything in the VIP areas were what I enjoyed because they feared pissing off my father. But now, it’s even more thrilling because they fearme. They fear the role I filled, the power I control, and the ease it’d be for me to shut down their entire operation.

Would it be simpler for Anastasia and me to spend our Friday nights at a Bratva-ran club? Sure. Two years ago, I avoided anything my father owned partly to annoy him, and partly to grow some distance from the organization’s restrictive binds I was shackled with as a female—all to his chagrin. Now, it’s a routine I’d rather not break. It’d be cheap to buyPosol'stvoand claim it as our property, but there’s a thrill in getting away. From immersing myself in public rather than being the boss who is checking out all my assets.

The club’s bouncer steps aside from the propped-open door, a wall of black behind him, making it appear like the door isn’t even open. He nods first at me, and then at Anastasia who comes up close behind.

“Evening, Miss Volkov. Miss Petrov.”

I throw him an acknowledging smile right before immersing myself into the pure chaotic peace. Chaotic because once through the doors and down the short hallway, the floor’s vibrating, the wall’s thumping with energy I can’t wait to fall into. It’s self-care at its finest, but more importantly, it’s also my freedom. My playtime.

The coat-check staff hover by the counter, two outright ignoring the line of guests practically throwing their outdoor items toward them, to watch Anastasia and me pass. Neither of us of have anything to hand over, and once by, they return to work.

At the edge of the main room, the stairs to the VIP lounge are to our immediate right, so I take them. The bouncer standing guard, ensuring only those on the list are granted entry, steps aside without checking his paperwork. We’re on the list. The permanent list.

At the top, I’m able to see down to the main floor, where people are packed tightly into one another on the dance floor. To the right, a crowd is surged around the bar, harassing the three busy bartenders rushing to appease everyone’s orders.

Behind us, there’s a much smaller bar, catering to the VIP section, so there will never be a crowd. Papa once advised to avoid large groups, since someone could take the quick and easy chance to rid him of his daughter. Useful advice, but now, for another reason.

Anastasia waves her hand at the crowd below, shouting in my ear, so I can hear over the music. Up here, we’re closer to the speakers so everything seems much louder. “You on the prowl tonight, or taking a day off?”

I laugh. “You say that like I’m some creep.” Playfully, I flick my hair over my shoulder. “No man’s ever mentioned being unsatisfied.”

“You’re too pretty to be a creep. Well, while you stand here and pick your next victim, I’ll get drinks.” She steps around me and heads to the bar.

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