Page 44 of Stricken

The admission costs me, each word feeling like a betrayal of the confidence I've worked so hard to project.

"Go on," he says after a long pause, his voice neutral. But his eyes aren't calm at all. His gaze makes me shiver all over.

I draw a deep breath, choosing my next words carefully. "The Armenians. We had a falling out because of some money my cousin owes them, but the deal I made fell through because someone stole our shipment. They're pushing for faster payments, getting... physical. I'm out of options here."

Vlad's jaw tightens, but he remains silent, waiting.

"There's more," I continue. "I think La Alianza might be involved. They seem to be behind the stolen shipment that's causing issues."

The change is instantaneous. Vlad's face hardens, his eyes turning to chips of ice. It's like watching a steel shutter slam down, blocking out any warmth.

"La Alianza?" he repeats. "Are you sure?"

I nod, a chill running down my spine at his reaction. "Not entirely, but the signs are there. Toro was definitely behind the heist. My FBI contacts confirmed it. I have my people confirming as we speak. I just... I'm not sure how to handle this situation with the Armenians without someone getting killed. And I know you have a great working relationship with David and Vartan. I could use some help."

The silence between us becomes thick and oppressive. I've crossed a line, I realize. I find myself holding my breath, waiting for his response.

"I don't typically involve myself in... external matters," Vlad says finally. He runs a hand through his hair, a rare display of uncertainty. "I wouldn't help. But La Alianza... Let's just say we have unfinished business."

I lean in, intrigued by this glimpse into Vlad's past. "What kind of business?"

He shoots me a sharp look. "The kind that's better left buried, Nico. Suffice to say, if they're involved, things are more complicated than you realize." Vlad's gaze drifts to the horizon, his mind clearly elsewhere. When he turns back to me, his jaw is set with determination. "Anything to screw with their plans. What's the favor you were going to ask?"

Relief floods through me. "Could you talk to David? Ask him to give us more time to come up with the money and ensure our next shipment is arriving as scheduled. Vartan won't listen to reason."

Vlad catches my hand, his grip firm. "I can't guarantee the outcome. David is unpredictable and his decision will still depend on Vartan's whispers in the old man's ear."

"Even if you put in a good word for me, I would be grateful. I just need a bit of room to get this sorted."

"Don't thank me yet. This temporary alliance of ours... it's not a business deal. It's a fragile thing. One wrong move and it all comes crashing down. You understand?"

"I understand."

Vlad releases my hand and turns back to the car. "We should part ways here for now. I'll be in touch when I have something."

My eyes follow him leaving, my mind racing with possibilities. Did I make the right decision asking Vlad for help? Or was it a carefully laid-out trap all along, the kind of trap Uncle Tony warned me about? And now I owe favors to half of Vegas.

CHAPTER13

VLAD

I don't do favors for anyone who doesn't offer something substantial in return.

And sex isn't that.

But for some dumb reason I agreed to vouch for Nicola Morelli and now that I enter the private dining room ofRodnoi Kavkaz, I'm not so sure this is the best thing for my own relationship with the Armenians. The air here is thick with secrecy, sudden tension, and spices—black pepper, cumin, paprika, mahleb. Ivan follows close behind, his presence a silent reassurance. But he is just one person against Vartan's personal army that's outside these walls. My eyes scan the space, landing on Vartan seated at a corner table, indulging in a red caviar sandwich. He's been waiting.

With a confident stride, I approach him, our gazes locking in a brief nod of acknowledgment—a ritual born from our long-standing history. I take a seat across from Vartan without any further invitation.

"I'd shake your hand, but..." Vartan holds up his fingers, glistening with traces of caviar.

"It's okay." I motion at the dishes in front of him. "Please don't mind me."

A wry smile plays on Vartan's lips. "Care to share?" He nudges the plate with dolma in my direction.

"No, I'm good," I reply with a dismissive wave. "Already ate." The half-truth rolls off my tongue. I simply can't afford to get distracted by food right now.

"Suit yourself, boy." Vartan studies me for a moment, his eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and amusement. "So, Vladimir," he begins, wiping his hands on the white cloth while leaning back in his chair, "what brings you here today? I assume it's not just for the pleasure of my company."

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