Page 3 of Vendetta Crown

An hour later, Kristofer takes the exit ramp, the car slowing as we merge onto the road that leads straight to the Strip. The lights of Vegas glow on the horizon, a false beacon of hope in the darkness.

I close my eyes, trying to calm my racing heart. There must be someone,anyone, in Vegas who can help me escape this nightmare.

"You better have that resting bitch face fixed by the time we get there," Kristofer growls, glancing sideways at me. "I want you smiling for our wedding."

Then a memory strikes me.

At my wedding—myrealwedding—Gregor Belov pointed to a severe-looking man with a permanent scowl etched into his face and his young wife with shoulders curved inward like a wilting flower.

"Vyacheslav Potyomkin," Gregor whispers in my memory. "The lord of Las Vegas."

The name surfaces in my mind like a buoy in a storm-tossed sea, throwing me a lifeline when I thought all hope was gone.

I stare out the window as the neon lights of Vegas grow closer, the casinos on the Strip silhouetted against the night sky, as thoughts turn in my head.

Vyacheslav might help me.

Not out of kindness, I'm not naïve enough to believe that, but out of respect. I'm still Ruslan Dragunov's wife. I'm still a pakhan's wife.

That has to count for something in this world.

Anything's better than being chained to Kristofer.

The car slows as more cars start appearing.

Vyacheslav would own businesses in Vegas, I'm sure of it. Hotels. Casinos. Clubs. But which ones? And how do I find him without tipping Kristofer off?

My heart hammers in my chest as I formulate a plan.

"Kristofer, dear?" I turn to him, forcing myself to sound meek. "Can I use your phone?"

His eyes narrow with suspicion. "Why?"

I swallow hard. "I want to look for hotels. Find the one with the prettiest views." I force a small smile that makes my bruised cheek throb. "Ones that we can look at together while you make love to me."

The words taste like acid in my mouth. But I have to say them.

I have to make him believe me.

His expression softens slightly, but he's not completely convinced. "You're not trying to call anyone?"

"Who would I call?" I laugh, a hollow, broken sound. "Everyone I care about is dead."

This seems to satisfy him. He pulls out his phone, unlocks it with his thumbprint, and hands it to me.

"No funny business," he warns, eyes flicking between me and the road. "Just hotel websites."

I nod, already opening the browser on incognito mode. My fingers tremble as I type:Vyacheslav Potyomkin Las Vegas

The search results load, and there it is. The first link:Potyomkin Enterprises: Luxury Hospitality Group. I click through, scanning the page.

A portfolio of high-end properties across Las Vegas. I check one after another, looking for one on the Strip.

Neva Gardens Hotel, Winter Palace Club, Siberian Oasis, Czarina's Retreat.

There!

The Hermitage Casino & Resort.

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