Page 66 of Under His Control
Wrapped in his embrace, warmth settling deep in my bones, I close my eyes again. For now, there are no questions, no fears—just the soft, steady heartbeat of a man who holds me like he means it.
CHAPTER 25
ANATOLY
The glass wall behind my desk catches the first, soft pink blush of dawn over the Strip. I’m thinking about the meeting I had with Ivan earlier this morning for the cash drop when the door flings open hard enough to hit the wall.
Damas strides in, six-feet-two-inches of barely leashed temper, cobalt suit coat unbuttoned, tie askew. He slams the door closed and plants both hands on my desk. A vein pulses at his temple.
“What the hell is going on?” he snaps. “Mrs. B wakes me up at 5:30 a.m., saying Smirnov somehow got an executive keycard. Since when do Bratva thugs ride our private lift?”
I set my pen down and interlace my fingers. “Since someone handed Ivan a master pass. Sit, brother.”
“I’ll stand.” He paces a tight circle instead. “You’re launching an internal inquiry, and I find out from her, not you?”
“You were at the foundation dinner,” I remind him.
His eyes flash. “Off-property but not unreachable.” He clutches his phone. “If you’d called?—”
“I didn’t need backup. I needed containment.”
He stops pacing, shoving a hand through his blond hair. “Then let me help contain.”
“Help how?” I rise slowly, matching his volume. “By yelling at staff? By leaning on pit bosses you haven’t met? I’m handling it.”
Damas’s nostrils flare. “You always handle it. When do I get a say? Father left both of us assets, Anatoly.”
“And theHospitiumwasn’t one of them. You turned down operational control, remember? Said you preferred passive income.”
“Maybe I’ve changed my mind.”
The statement hangs between us. I stride over to the wet bar, pour sparkling water into a tumbler, and hand it over. “You’re angry, I get it. Sit down, drink.”
He ignores the glass. “Do you think I’m incapable? Is that why you freeze me out?”
I meet his gaze. “I think a single chain of command saves lives in a crisis. That’s not a judgment on competence.”
His shoulders drop a fraction, but the resentment doesn’t leave his eyes. Without another word, he turns and stalks toward the door, pulling it open and stepping out. The slam reverberates like a rifle shot.
I exhale through clenched teeth. Damas being furious is nothing new. Damas coveting the hotel is.
Our parents’ will gave him the Tahoe estate and half the downtown skyline. Why eye my crown jewel now?
A dark thought worms its way into my brain.
Is heplotting against me?
If his finances nosedived due to bad investments, gambling, God knows what else, selling me out to Ivan would be a quick payday. But he’s cash-rich; I’ve been reviewing quarterly statements ever since auditors flagged minor inconsistencies three years ago. Nothing too catastrophic. Unless the books I’ve seen were sanitized.
I rub my jaw. One more mystery on two hours’ sleep.
Mrs. B buzzes: “Mr. Charles Weatherford to see you.”
“Send him in.”
Charles enters with the unhurried gait of a man who’s seen too much to rush. He wears a dove-gray suit, his gentle, wise eyes warmly gazing at me behind wire rims.
I clasp his hand. “Thank you for coming up.”
