Page 27 of Immaculate Corruption (Romanoff Bratva)

“Somebody pre-gamed,” the waitress comments a minute later as she hands it over. I’m slumped forward on the table, my makeup purposefully smeared under my eyes.

I hiss at her and take my drink. The husband and wife next to me scoot closer together and further from me.

Eyes are definitely beginning to turn in my direction. Time to start dialing that up a little more with every passing second.

I play another two rounds, losing significant money in each, and slam my fist on the table.

“Tonight is not my night,” I say, nudging the woman next to me with my elbow. “Mind kissing me for luck?”

The white woman has a middle-aged mom haircut and her shirt collar couldn’t be any tighter around her neck if she tried. I doubt she’s the type to be sexually fluid.

She grimaces at me and grabs her husband’s arm. He pats her leg, but otherwise keeps his eyes on the table, eager for the next hand.

“Will anyone kiss me for luck?” I yell, throwing my arms up. “I could really use the luck.”

“Ma’am.” The dealer catches my attention and shakes his head. “Keep it down.”

I waggle my brows at him. “Are you interested?”

He sighs and shuffles the cards with skilled hands. I’m sure he has dealt with his fair share of drunk gamblers, but I’m about to cement a permanent place in his memory.Just give me fifteen minutes.

The drink is warming my belly. Taking the edge off my prickling nerves and relaxing me.

The burner phone shoved in the side of my dress, on the other hand, feels like a third arm. I’m positive everyone is looking at it. At me. Like there’s a spotlight aimed in my direction and the big neon sign out front says, “Aryana Georgeovich Is Here To Help Dima Romanoff Kill A Man.”

Shut up, brain,I scold myself.Focus.

In the third round at the table, the man and wife win again. She claps politely in celebration. I take the opportunity to topple my chair over with a frustrated scream.

The woman freezes, the man pauses, arms wrapped around his winnings, and the people at the tables next to us gasp and turn.

Usually, the casino is a din of noise and bells and chatter and music. But right now, it feels deathly silent.

“I always lose!” I yell, angling my head towards the phone just in case the speaker on it isn’t very good.

I always lose.Those are the code words.

Which means, in three minutes, Dima will take the first steps towards a murder.

Suddenly, I panic. I wonder if the phone died. Maybe Dima can’t hear me. Maybe this whole plan will be for nothing.

If the phone is dead and I cause a huge scene, I won’t be able to come back here. After what I plan to do in just a second, I’ll probably be banned for life. The last few nights will have been for nothing.

“Calm down, honey,” the winner says, tucking his wife safely behind him. “If you don’t have any more to lose, then don’t play. Just walk away.”

I lean forward and bark out a laugh in his face. “That’s what everybody does. Walks away. I’m not like everybody. I don’t just give up when the going gets hard.”

“No, you just throw a fit and ruin everyone else’s night.” The man’s wife is confident now that her husband is a human shield between the two of us.

I pout out my lower lip at her. “Oh no, am I ruining your date night with my petty little problems? How fucking dare I! Attention, everyone: the world revolves around this woman and we all need to keep our problems to ourselves.”

Her husband stands up, his chest puffed out. “Hey now, don’t talk to my wife that way. We didn’t cause your problems. Don’t put it on the rest of us.”

“No, you just stole my money and refused to kiss me good luck. Screw you, bitch.”

I make a big show of struggling to pick up my chair, spilling my drink on the floor in the process. Then I stumble over the leg of the chair, catch myself on the edge of the table, and send everyone’s stacks of chips flying.

The man next to me hurries to gather his fallen chips. I drop to my knees to help.

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