22. Chapter 22

twenty-two

Leonid

" A ll funds in the safe house,” Maksim reports, his voice crackling through the phone.

Three hundred and ninety million for the “Blood of the Nile.” It’s a staggering amount, even for me. The stone is rare, sure, but I didn’t expect it to fetch quite that much.

“Perfect,” I answer, a smile pulling at my lips. “Any signs of trouble? Ludis or his men?”

There’s a pause, and I can almost hear Maksim’s shrug. “ Nyet , Pakhan . It’s been quiet. Almost too quiet, if you ask me.”

I frown, a flicker of unease passing through me. He’s right. It’s been too smooth, too easy. And in my experience, that usually means something’s about to go very wrong.

“Stop worrying like a dedushka .” Maksim chuckles as if reading my thoughts. “We got the money. It’s a good day.”

I snort, shaking my head. “Since when are you such an optimist?”

“Since I got laid last night,” he retorts, and I can hear the grin in his voice. “You should try it sometime, boss. Might loosen you up a bit.”

“ Mudak ,” I mutter. “Just get your ass over to The Aerie. We need to celebrate.”

“You got it, boss. Be there in 20.”

The line goes dead, and I toss the phone onto the bar. The auction’s done, the money’s in the pocket. But instead of satisfaction, all I feel is a vague sense of restlessness.

“Nika, another vodka,” I call out, my eyes sliding over to the robot bartender.

She’s a beauty with sleek white synthetic skin and platinum hair. The latest model from our robotics venture with the Yakuza. Her green LED eyes flicker as she processes my request, her full lips curving into a coquettish smile.

“Right away, Mr. Kuznetsov,” she purrs. Her voice, rough yet seductive, drips with a deliberately programmed Russian accent—designed to ensnare the senses of any man who listens.

I watch as she pours the clear liquid, her movements precise and graceful. She’s a marvel of engineering, no doubt. But as lifelike as she is, there’s still something unsettlingly artificial about her. Something cold and empty behind those glowing eyes.

She slides the glass over to me, her fingers brushing mine as I take it.

The auction’s done, and I’m already over it.

I down the vodka in one gulp, the warmth in my throat a welcome distraction from the emptiness gnawing at my gut. I turn back to the view; the city sprawls out before me like a glittering whore begging to be fucked.

“Leonid, my man!” Clint’s booming voice cuts through the music. “This place is sick! You sure know how to throw a party.” He slaps me on the back, his hand heavy. “Hell, yeah! And that auction? Woo-wee! You really know how to rake in the dough.”

This touchy-feely American suka is pushing his luck. It takes all my control not to snap his hand off. Still, allies are better than enemies in this game—for now.

I turn, pasting on a grin. “Clint. Enjoying yourself?”

Zhang sidles up, his dragon mask glinting. “Impressive turn-out, Pakhan . And an even more impressive venue.”

I shrug, playing it cool. “The Aerie’s just one of my toys. Wait till you see The Labyrinth.”

Jackson’s eyes go wide. “The Labyrinth? Shit, I heard about that place. Isn’t that where you have to sign a waiver just to get in?”

I smirk. “Something like that.”

The DJ shifts tracks, the beat dropping heavy and dirty. The dance floor writhes, bodies grinding in a mass of sweat and glitter.

I let my gaze drift, taking in the details of my domain. The smoky glass floor pulsing with hidden LEDs. The dark vines snaking up the blackened pillars. The robot bartenders, slinging drinks with mechanical precision.

It’s all so fucking perfect. So carefully curated to project an image of danger, of raw, uninhibited hedonism.

But underneath the glossy veneer, it’s all just another illusion. Another empty distraction from the yawning void inside me.

“Mr. Kuznetsov,” Nika’s sultry voice husks in my ear. “Your guests are asking for you in the VIP lounge.”

I nod, knocking back the rest of my drink. “Duty calls, gentlemen. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

I stride off, Nika falling into step beside me. She’s a symphony of sharp curves, her body doing the talking with a tight waist and swinging hips.

“Shall I prepare a private room for you, sir?” she murmurs, her LED eyes flickering. “I’m programmed with a wide variety of… skills.”

I snort. “Not tonight, sweetheart. I’ve got business to attend to.”

She pouts, but there’s no real disappointment in her expression. Just a blank, artificial sweetness.

I enter the VIP lounge, the sound dampening instantly. The lighting’s even lower here, with intimate shadows and private alcoves.

Sabrina’s draped across a velvet chaise, her dress riding high on her thighs. She looks up as I approach, her eyes heavy-lidded with promise.

“ Pakhan ,” she coos, holding out a hand. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me.”

I take her hand, brushing a kiss across her knuckles. “How could I forget a face like yours?”

She laughs, low and throaty. “Or an ass like mine?”

I smirk. “That, too.”

But even as I sit down beside her, letting her trail her fingers up my thigh, I feel nothing. No spark of desire, no rush of anticipation.

Inside, I’m numb. I’ve played this too many times.

Sabrina leans in, her lips brushing my ear. “Let’s celebrate, Pakhan ,” she whispers, her hand sliding higher, coming to rest on my chest. “After all, I think I deserve a little reward for my hard work tonight.”

I raise an eyebrow, a smirk playing on my lips. “Is that so?”

She nods, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Two percent of the total sale. That’s our deal, isn’t it? And I’d say I earned every penny, wouldn’t you?”

I chuckle, running a finger along her jawline. She’s not wrong. Sabrina worked the crowd like a master tonight, coaxing and cajoling, driving the bids higher and higher.

She’s not just a pretty face, this one. She’s got brains to match her beauty and a ruthless streak a mile wide.

I know what she’s aiming for; she’ll be a perfect trophy wife.

But I’m not into commitments. Although I never say no to a bit of fun fucking.

“I suppose you did,” I murmur, letting my hand drift down to her waist. “Perhaps a bonus is in order.”

She shivers under my touch, her pupils dilating with desire. “I like the sound of that,” she breathes, her fingers playing with the buttons of my shirt. “What did you have in mind, Pakhan Kuznetsov?”

But before I can respond, a voice cuts through the humid air.

“Sorry to break up the party,” it purrs. “But I’ve got unfinished business with Pakhan Kuznetsov.”

I look up, my heart stuttering in my chest.

There, standing at the entrance of the VIP lounge is a woman in a gold dress. A gold mask obscures her features, but I’d know that voice anywhere.

It’s her.

And just catching sight of her, my cock gives an involuntary twitch.