Page 17 of Vendetta Crown

Potyomkin's eyebrows shoot up, genuine surprise flickering across his face. "You would ask me formymen?"

"You're asking me formyguns," I counter without hesitation.

The silence stretches for a heartbeat. Two. Then something unexpected happens.

Potyomkin throws his head back and laughs.

Not the cold, calculated chuckle I'd expect, but genuine, belly-deep laughter that fills the cavernous office.

"I see why Ruslan Vitalyevich married you," he says when he recovers, wiping at his eyes. "Very well. My men for your guns. Fair exchange."

He extends his hand across the desk, but I don't take it.

"One more thing," I say, feeling a strange power I've never experienced before.

Potyomkin, still riding his amusement, spreads his hands. "Name it."

"Vera comes with me."

His face darkens like a thundercloud, and I fight the urge to recoil.

"You have no right to take my wife from me," he growls, all trace of humor vanished.

I study Potyomkin carefully, feeling a dangerous calm settle over me despite the tension in the room.

"Is that so?" I say, letting my gaze drift to the men standing at attention behind his desk. "Because I noticed something interesting last night when your men burst in to save me."

Potyomkin's eyes narrow. "And what might that be?"

"A tattoo on one of your men's hand," I say. "One I've seen before."

The room grows impossibly still.

"The kind of tattoo found on Mikonov men," I continue, my voice steady despite my racing heart. "An interesting choice of personnel, Vyacheslav Petrovich."

His face hardens into granite. "You're mistaken."

"Maybe," I shrug, wincing slightly as the movement pulls at my bruised shoulder. "But what happens if word gets out that the lord of Las Vegas is in bed with Mikonov men? Do you think Gregor Belov would take kindly to that knowledge? Especially now, with everything that's happening?"

"Are you threatening me, girl?" His voice drops to a dangerous whisper.

"I'm stating facts," I reply. "TheVorimight be fracturing, but they're still together for now. And I imagine Gregor would be very interested in what you've been doing with your staffing choices."

Potyomkin leans forward, his massive hands flat on the desk. "I could kill you where you sit."

"You could," I agree, surprised by how calm I sound. "But then who inherits the Dragunov production company? One of Ruslan's nieces, perhaps? Under Semyon's control?" I tilt my head slightly. "That won't get you what you want either."

"You have much to lose, Aurora Markovna," he says, voice dangerously low. "Including your life."

"If my husband is truly dead, then I have nothing left to lose." I meet his gaze unflinchingly. "And there's nothing more dangerous than a woman with nothing left to lose."

The silence stretches between us, taut as a wire. I can hear Vera's shallow breathing beside him.

Finally, Potyomkin's mouth twists into a snarl. He thrusts his hand toward me. "You have a deal."

I reach out and grasp his hand, his massive palm swallowing mine completely.

"You're an able negotiator," he says grudgingly, "for an outsider."

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