Page 70 of Vicious Addictions

“We’re not exactly at home playing chess, Mina. This game has higher stakes.”

“All games have risks,” she murmurs, sipping her champagne. “You should know that by now,cowboy.”

I smirk despite myself.

For a moment, I seeheragain.MyMina. My friend. The one I need to keep safe.

Felix never should’ve brought her into this. He should never have persuaded Crane to allow Mina to accompany me tonight. I could’ve handled it alone.

I sure as fuck would have done a better job without her gorgeous smile distracting me every other second.

“Stop,” she mutters, catching onto my thoughts.

“You can read my mind now?” I arch a brow.

“Oh, honey,” she coos, using the same endearment I had earlier. “I’vealways been able to read you like a book.”

I fucking hope not.

Once the dancers return to the stage, we fall back into our respective roles. I keep my arm draped over Mina’s shoulders, pretending we’re just another couple out on the town enjoying a show. However, I will keep my sights on the club’s owner this time.

I take notice of another goon entering the club and walking straight over to Pavlin. He leans into his ear and whispers something. Pavlin barely reacts and just gives a slow nod. Minutes later, I watch him pull something out of his pocket—a sleek gold cardholder by the looks of it. My suspicions are confirmed when he pulls a card out and scribbles something on it before handing it over to the bodyguard to his left.

A moment later, that same bodyguard approaches our table, placing the card in front of us.

“Mr. Pavlin has invited you to his home for a private party after the show,” he informs in a thick Russian accent.

Mina picks up the note, skimming the address on the back with the pad of her finger. She then flashes the bodyguard a charming smile. “Well, how could we possibly say no?”

I don’t react to her playful tone, my gaze focused on Pavlin’s goon.

That fucking Russian accent.

Mina was right.

We’re not just dealing with some street-level dealer.

We’ve just walked straight into aBratva’sden.

And I dragged Mina in with me.

A few hours later, we step into Anton Pavlin’s lavish Soho penthouse. The place is packed with his most distinguished guests, all gathered for his exclusive after-show soirée. Music pulses through the space, glasses clink in celebration, and a low hum of conversation fills the air.

Mina and I slip inside without drawing too much attention to ourselves, pretending to be just two more guests in a sea of well-dressed strangers.

“So, what’s the play?” Mina murmurs, scanning the crowd with sharp, assessing eyes.

“The play is not to get us killed. Think you can handle that?”

The brat has the audacity to roll her eyes.

“Don’t freeze me out of this. This stakeout is just as important to me as it is to you.”

“Fine.” I sigh. “Just remember that we’re here for intel, nothing more.”

“Intel. Got it.”

With that, she unhooks her arm from mine and effortlessly melts into the crowd. Years of navigating high society have made her a natural, and she plays the part to perfection, laughing at the right jokes and sharing just enough anecdotes to keep everyone intrigued. No one would dare think she’s still a teenager when she carries herself with the sophistication of a woman twice her age.

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