Page 28 of Immaculate Corruption (Romanoff Bratva)

“I’m so sorry,” I say, shoving one chip down the front of my dress. “Mind if I take one as a ‘thank you’ for helping?”

He eyes my chest suspiciously, obviously wanting his chip back, but not desperate enough to reach down my dress and assault me for it. I feel bad for him, for the situation I’m putting him in.

But there’s no time for that emotion right now.

“Ma’am, I think it’s time you cashed out and made your way home,” the dealer says. “Or I’m going to call security.”

He threatens me with security as if I’m not already being watched already. I know there’s a camera behind his head. Over the top of the table and hanging from the rafters every ten feet apart. My breakdown is being observed from multiple angles in 4K resolution in some back room somewhere.

Security knows all about me.

“What is there to cash out?” I laugh, the sound turning into a choked sob halfway out. “I’m broke. There’s nothing left. My ex was right; I never should have gotten down from the pole. That’s where the real money is.”

I stand up and plant one foot on top of my chair like Captain Morgan. My dress is short and riding high up on my thigh. I know the man and his wife are getting a nice close-up of my panties. The shock on the woman’s face confirms it.

“I thought I’d come here and try to make myself some money with my mind, but Gary was fucking right. I’m not worth anything more than the cash that gets shoved down the front of my g-string during an act.”

The wife is now trying to shield her husband’s eyes, which are darting from my crotch to his winnings and back again.

I can hear the dealer saying something into a headset. I know they’re coming for me now.

It’s time to kick it up a notch.

I step up onto the chair and throw my arms in the air. “Ladies and Gentleman, back for a special one-night engagement, may I present Jazzy Jack-Off!”

Someone nearby cackles in obvious amusement. I smile in that direction while, at the same time, I slide down the strapless top of my dress and let my boobs fall out.

I catch the phone before it falls, holding it in my hand like it’s nothing more than my cell phone. Not important. Not a secret. Just a plain old phone, hiding in plain sight.

The wife gasps and turns away, the dealer is shaking his head in disappointment, and somewhere, a camera flash goes off.

Voice slurred, movement unsteady, I start beatboxing my own dance music and shake my chest back and forth. A few drunk men whistle and catcall from the bar.

Just like Dima requested, every single eye is on me.

Which is why I’m the only one who sees the broad-shouldered, well-dressed man slip into the lobby, past security, and down a “Staff Only” hallway.

Just as Dima disappears down the hallway, a large security guard wraps his arms around my knees, picks me up off the table, and throws me over his shoulder.

I give a loud rebel yell and throw up a peace sign. “Jazzy Jack-Off, signing off!”

Mission accomplished.

10

Dima

Arya is quite the actress.

All I can hear on the phone are the muffled sounds of her conversation and her slurred voice, but it’s obvious she’s putting on a show and people are buying it.

At least, I hope people are buying it.

I assured Arya before she left that everything would go to plan, but I’m not convinced myself. There are still so many unknowns in this scheme. So many places where I could make a mistake or be caught or be recognized.

Or maybe Arya won’t simply be kicked out of the casino. Maybe she’ll be taken to a back room where she’ll be identified and interrogated.

Regrets surface the longer I sit and wait. I shouldn’t have brought Arya into this. I shouldn’t have involved her. I could have done the reconnaissance myself. I could have formulated another distraction.

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