Page 29 of The Devil's Thorn
I nearly laugh at that. “Define dangerous.”
She looks at me then—just once. And I see it in her eyes.
She already knows there are people in this building who would tear someone apart for blinking wrong.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ve met worse.”
Her heels click to a stop outside a service door, and she opens it with a scan of her wristband.
The world beyond it is velvet and gold and shadows.
The casino.
The air hums with low music, soft laughter, and something darker beneath the surface—greed. Power. Secrets sliding across glass tabletops and whispered deals tucked behind the clink of ice in crystal tumblers.
It’s beautiful in the way a loaded gun is beautiful.
Everything glitters. Everything threatens.
I step inside, letting the door close behind me, and for a second, I justfeelit. The heat of it. The weight. The shift.
Like the floor beneath me knows I don’t belong—but it’s going to let me pretend anyway.
The woman turns back to me, her voice quieter now. “You’ll start on the east lounge. Keep moving. Stay invisible.”
I nod once.
But before she can say anything else, I feel the air change.
Someone approaches.
Footsteps—sharp, precise, unhurried.
And then?—
“She’s been reassigned.”
I turn.
Nikolai.
Same black suit. Same cold eyes. Same quiet control laced through every syllable like a threat. He looks at the woman, not me.
“She’ll be working the western floor. Table thirteen.”
The woman hesitates, unsure. “That’s?—”
“Yes,” he says flatly.
She nods quickly, stepping back without another word.
My mouth is dry.
I find my voice. “What’s table thirteen?”
Nikolai’s eyes shift to me, and for the first time, theyhold.
“Mr. Romanov’s table.”
