by Miranda Kavi
Once she crossed the threshold, she struggled to maintain her composure. The inside was a supernova of light and sound. Stages lined the wall, massive structures with mirrored floors and walls. Within the mirrors were bright neon lights, some blinking and twinkling in rhythm with the pounding, loud music. The effect was so garish she had to blink her eyes against the sudden intrusion of brightness.
Women danced sinuously across the massive stages, swiveling in the haze of bright light. There must have been twenty, all of them insanely gorgeous, swaying with the music in various states of undress.
The beautiful flesh and lights and music were powerful, and she was drawn closer.
It was no wonder this place was world famous.
She tore her eyes away from the stage. Gold art-deco booths and gleaming tables with red, plush chairs filled the rest of the space. She spotted a small table next to a large group of women and slipped into it, hoping to blend in so she could gather her bearings.
A pretty cocktail waitress wearing a sequined mini dress took her drink order, then reappeared with a gimlet in short order. Sophia paid with cash. Russian merchants seemed to hate it when she used her credit card. She’d been reminded of that after a few dirty stares when she’d used her card to pay at restaurants or stores.
Once she had her cocktail in hand, she leaned back in her chair, put a haughty, disengaged expression on her face, and surveyed the other patrons.
As she suspected, money was here. Not only in the large-bill tips spilling from the hourglass shaped, large crystal jars in front of the stages, but the luxurious clothes of the patrons.
There were some couples—men in suits with beautiful young women decked in furs and sparkling jewels. There were also a couple of large groups of girls, like the group sitting at the table right next to her. But most of the patrons were men.
Men of all stripes. Men in suits. Men in long bisht robes. Men in kaftans.
She flicked her eyes up and noticed a second floor with balconies that overlooked the first floor. Darkened booths loomed in the distance, which her imagination filled with writhing couples. Small tables lined the open space, where men sat, ignoring the display of flesh, deep in conversation.
Bingo.
Those men. Those conversations were where they traded power, knowledge, and bargained dark deals over drinks. That’s where she needed to be.
But how?
She took another sip of her gimlet and snuck a glance around her. Several men were staring at her, not the strippers, with hungry eyes. She looked away, avoiding any eye contact. That was not the type of attention she wanted.
She drained her drink.
The noise, the lights, and the sexual charge in the air were getting to her. She flagged down the waitress who quickly answered her question and pointed out the restrooms to her.
She moved on quick feet, winding her way through the crowd with her eyes cast down.
The restroom had a heavy, mirrored door. She pushed it open and was welcomed with an unexpected stillness.
It was all darkness, very different from the light outside. Deep red couches lined the room she had stepped into, along with a line of lit mirrors and stools for touching up make-up. Black tiles led into another area with individual stalls with frosted glass doors.
The heavy door and thick couches muted the music of the club into a faint pounding. It was a welcome break from the intrusions of light and noise.
She plopped down in front of one of the mirrors and tugged a small comb through her hair. Now that she was here, she had no idea what to do.
Her solitude was interrupted with a heavy swing of the door. A tall, slim woman strode into the room. Her platinum blond hair tumbled down to her waist, her striking hazel eyes darting around the room. She was dressed to kill in a black leather, second-skin dress and tall, fuck-me black stilettos. Gold, gothic jewelry hung from her neck and ears and flashed on her slim fingers with long, bright-red nails.
Her eyes settled on Sophia, and a hint of a mocking smile appeared on her face. Sophia moved her eyes back to the mirror, ignoring the woman, hoping she would go away.
It didn’t work. She sank into the chair next to Sophia and pulled out a small, square leather purse covered with gold studs. “Not good place for nice tourist,” she said in English, her accent thick and lustrous.
Sophia tucked her comb back into her purse. “I’m not a tourist,” she answered in Russian. “And I’m not always nice.”
The girl’s eyes widened, and she laughed. “Very good Russian. Not native, but good enough.” She looked strangely pleased.
Sophia smiled and then pulled out her burgundy lipstick.
“American?” the girl asked. She had produced a cigarette case and lighter from her BDSM purse.
“Maybe,” Sophia answered.
“Relax. I not trying to bother you, okay?” said the woman in broken English. After she lit her cigarette, she extended her hand. “Tatiana. You?”
Sophia shook it. “Sophia.”
Tatiana smiled. It was mischievous, but genuine. Her eyes lit up. “What are you doing in a place like this without a man?” She was back to speaking in Russian now. Her smile slipped a bit and she became more serious. “This is not a good place for a young woman to be alone.” She turned her head to blow the smoke away from Sophia. “I saw you sitting alone, looking nervous. I came in to warn you.”
Sophia carefully applied her lipstick. It gave her a few minutes to think of a response. She was a stranger, and she found Tatiana’s curiosity a bit unsettling. “I am alone,” she finally answered.
Tatiana stubbed out her cigarette. “Then you must join my table.”
“That’s very kind of you, but—”
Tatiana cut her off with a wave of her hand. “Come. It is for the best. Trust me.” She stood up, tossing her white-blond hair behind her.
“Okay.” Sophia stood, too. She was half relieved to join a group, but half terrified of the strange woman beside her. “Thank you.”
She followed Tatiana’s bobbing blond hair and long legs back to her table. It was right next to her old one, and one of the girls had already pulled up a chair for her.
“This is Sophia,” Tatiana said when they arrived. The girls said nothing, but didn’t object when she sat down.
Tatiana jerked her head up, and the waitress appeared. “Top shelf vodka shots for the whole table,” she said. “Double for her.”
The waitress smiled and promptly returned with the shots. Tatiana grabbed the double shot and placed it in front of her. “Drink,” she said. “You look nervous.”
“Oh, I don’t—”
“Drink,” Tatiana said. The girls at the table began chanting, too: “Drink! Drink! Drink!”
Against her better judgment, Sophia tipped the glass back and drained it, slamming it back down on the table when she’d emptied it.
Tatiana clapped her hands and smiled. “Welcome to Russia,” she said.
DMITRI
Dmitri took a sip of his sake, ignoring Gram’s stares. They’d had a big meal. He had not been hungry for it, but refusing a meal in Japan was a massive insult, and Dmitri was not in the habit of insulting a potential business asset. He was interested in the future of Hitoshi’s business. East Asia was a tough market.
They’d settled into a darkened, empty restaurant down the street from the safe-house where they’d met Hitoshi. He sat across from them now, hands folded in front of him, bodyguards hovering in the background.
“I am listening,” Dmitri said.
Hitoshi glanced off to the side before answering. Dmitri read his movement as a lie or embarrassment. He wasn’t sure which one it was yet. “You can stop this,” Hitoshi said in a low voice, even though the restaurant was empty.
“I do not understand how that is possible,” Dmitri said. “I am not equipped nor inclined to fight the S-Triangle. It would not be good for business. This is not my war.”
Hitoshi cracked his knuckles. “There would be no n
eed for war.” He rested his hands on the table again. “They know you. They respect you. They would not be interested in fighting you.”
“This is true, but I do not understand what you want me to do here,” Dmitri said.
“If Naomi was already promised, then I can say no and it would be respected and honored. If she was promised to the right person, that is. One with money and power so they wouldn’t interfere. You are that person.”
Dmitri broke face. Shock washed over him and he knew his eyebrows were up. He glanced at Gram who had a similar look on his face.
It was Gram who spoke next. “Am I correct in my understanding that you are asking Dmitri to marry your daughter?” He guffawed, leaning back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest.
“No, no, no!” Hitoshi waved his hands. “Pretend. Pretend you are her boyfriend. That she is yours. That you have romantic intentions with her. They will back off.”
“For fuck’s sake, Hitoshi.” Dmitri pushed his empty plate away. “Why the fuck would I do that? Why?”
Hitoshi smiled. “It would be good for you, to save face. Rumors are swirling that your…involvement with a woman cost you dearly in America. Naomi makes sense. She is my daughter; we are in the same business. It could help you save face.”
Dmitri slammed his fist down, causing the glasses and dishes on the table to jump. “I do not need to save face,” he said in a controlled tone.
Hitoshi shrank back and his guards moved in. He held up his hand, and they stopped, throwing concerned glances at each other. “It was not my intention to insult you, dear friend. Only to explain.”
“No,” Dmitri said. “That is my answer.” He stood. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
“Wait!” Hitoshi said. “Please. You are my only hope.”
Dmitri paused, but did not speak. Silence was the most powerful negotiator.
Hitoshi shoulders sagged. “Five million. Four months of your services.”
Dmitri sat back down. “Make it ten, and I want ten percent of your revenue plus a future stake in your business. You need to do some succession planning.”
Hitoshi smiled. “You make a tough bargain.”
Dmitri smiled back. “I am a businessman.”
Hitoshi sighed. “I am well aware of your skills, Dmitri. I will give you what you have asked.”
Dmitri stood, bowed deeply, and left with Gram in tow. “What the fuck did I just agree to?” he said to Gram as they wove through the crowded streets of Tokyo.
“Your future in Asia. Brilliant,” Gram muttered.
Dmitri said nothing. He always let his thoughts process through his careful internal filter before he shared them.
He could not stomach the thought of pretending to be interested in another woman. Sophia had ripped him up inside in a way he dared not discuss or let on, not even to Gram.
They were back in their hotel twenty minutes later. They poured some more stiff drinks, sat on the balcony, and started planning their expansion into East Asia.
Chapter 3
SOPHIA
“Oh, God,” Sophia groaned. She rolled over in her hotel room bed. The movement made her dizzy.
She was hung over. Beyond hung over. The night before was a haze. Shots. Dancing. Flirting with men. More shots. Throwing money into the pretty jars for the strippers. Stumbling into the streets in the middle of the night. Drunk girls filling her hotel room. Ordering room service in the middle of the night.
She opened her eyes. She was still fully clothed in her little black dress. “Jeez,” Sophia said out loud. She sat up slowly. Glasses and plates were scattered around the floor and furniture. It smelled like stale cigarettes and booze.
She stood, stretching. A lean figure sat outside on her balcony, wrapped in her robe, smoking. A telltale splash of platinum blond hair was wrapped in a tight coil on top of her head.
Sophia pulled a sweater out of one of her drawers. Her purse was on its side, open on the bureau, wallet spilling out and open, too. She snatched it up, relieved to see her cards, ID, and cash were still inside.
She glanced around her room—everything looked a little rifled, like someone had searched it.
She sighed, her eyes traveling back to Tatiana outside. What was she up to?
She wrapped the sweater around her, shoved her feet into slippers, and joined Tatiana on the balcony.
“Morning, Miss America,” Tatiana drawled in Russian. She took a long drag of her cigarette.
“Morning.” Sophia collapsed in the chair next to her.
Tatiana pushed a steaming cup of coffee towards it. “Drink. I don’t like it. I made what you had in that little coffee maker.”
Sophia suppressed an eye roll and grabbed the mug. The coffee was the cheap variety that came in individual packets—she usually didn’t drink it—she preferred to order from the floor butler. She took a sip from the mug.
Tatiana stubbed out her cigarette in a makeshift ashtray that was one of the little white plates from her room.
“You went through my purse,” Sophia said.
Tatiana smiled. Her thick, black eyeliner had smeared down half her face, but she was still pretty. “I didn’t take anything.”
Sophia thought about that while she took another drink of the bitter coffee. “You were going to?”
Tatiana shrugged. “I like you, Miss America.” She smiled brightly. “You live here?”
Sophia glanced back to her patio door. “Yeah, I do for now.”
“Why?” Tatiana leaned forward, placing her slim fingers with bright red nails on the table. “Are you a hooker?”
Sophia laughed. “Hardly. Are you?”
Tatiana shrugged again. “If the price is right. Occasionally.”
Sophia dropped her head onto the table. “You’re a hooker? You sleep with men for money?”
Tatiana laughed again, throwing back her head. “Not very often. Only a few times a year. My boyfriend sometimes introduces me to rich men who want to sleep with me.”
Sophia raised her head. “That’s really fucked up.”
Tatiana shrugged. “If I want to make a little extra money, he can help, and he doesn’t mind.”
Sophia shook her head. “Still fucked up.”
Tatiana took the coffee back and took a sip. She was acting way too familiar. “And what is Miss America doing here? Living in a hotel? No job?”
Sophia stared at the coffee as Tatiana put it down and pushed it back towards her. “I’m looking for someone.”
Tatiana lit another cigarette, producing the cigarette and lighter from her robe. Sophia’s robe, actually. “A man?” she asked, blowing out smoke as she spoke.
“A man,” Sophia answered.
“What kind of man?” Tatiana leaned back in her chair, putting her still heel-clad feet on the table.
Sophia didn’t answer. She drained her coffee mug and set it on the table. She wasn’t sure about this strange woman with bright blond hair, who wanted to steal from her then didn’t, who occasionally prostituted herself to rich men. But she didn’t have any other options right now. All she had was Tatiana.
“A bad man,” Sophia said.
Tatiana took a long drag from her cigarette. “Lover? That is why you went to the club dressed like that? Looking for a bad man?” She pointed her finger at Sophia while she spoke.
“Looking for men who could find him.”
“I see.” Tatiana stubbed out her cigarette, grinding it back and forth in the plate until she’d smashed it to half of its original size. She switched back to English. “If you looking for bad men, you went to wrong club.”
“Where do I go? Can you help me?”
Tatiana smiled, showing her perfect straight teeth. “I’ll take you.”
DMITRI
Dmitri shoved the last of his things into his suitcase and slammed it shut. He was leaving Tokyo soon and taking Naomi with him. For better or worse, they were a couple.
She was on her way to his hotel, no doubt being watc
hed by the S-Triangle. The show started now.
A soft knock on the door pulled him out of his thoughts. Gram answered it, pulling the door open fully to let in his new “girlfriend.”
Fuck. He did not want to do this. He wanted the stake in the business and its future, but not a woman. Not another woman, even if it was not real. The ache at losing Sophia was too fresh in his mind.
Naomi strolled into the room, hands clutched to her sides. She was nice to look at, but she wasn’t Sophia. Where Sophia was all toned curves, full, heavy breasts, and hourglass hips, Naomi was slim with slight curves and small breasts. Where Sophia was full-lipped and soft features, Naomi’s were delicate and angular. Her long, thick, black hair fell down to her elbows.
“Dmitri,” she said softly. “It is nice to see you after so many years.”
She embraced him quickly, planting a cool kiss on his cheek. He returned it. “This is what you want to do?” he asked.
“Yes.” She gestured to the bellhop behind her. At her command, he deposited her suitcase and left. “The man that…wants me. He’s cruel. Sick. He wants to do sick things to me.” She dropped her eyes. “I would not be safe.”
“I understand,” Dmitri said. “When we are in public view, I will need to touch you, perhaps even kiss you. Do I have your permission?”
She met his eyes again, but hers were teary and sad. “Yes. We have to fool them. We must.”
“Good.” He nodded again, all business.
“Good,” she repeated. “How is this going to work?”
“If you were my girlfriend, my real girlfriend, I would keep you with me at all times to protect you. So, you will be coming with me.”
She pressed her lips together. “I understand. Where are we going?”
“Wherever I say.”
She didn’t say anything else, just sank into a chair. The flowing material of her pant suit made a swishing noise with her movement. She looked away, anywhere but Dmitri.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Dmitri said.
“I must,” she answered. “Thank you for asking, though. Many men do not care for my opinion.”
Gram stood off to the side, arms crossed over his chest. He hadn’t said a word, but stared at Naomi like she was a mirage.
