Page 63 of The Bratva Sinner

“They’re going to try and shut you down,” I warn him.

“They can try, but Vegas is mine. The sooner they accept that, the easier their lives will be.”

17

Lila

I stand in the middle of Bal Harbour Shops, staring at storefronts with names I can barely pronounce. Gucci. Prada. Versace. The price tags make me laugh. Who pays three thousand dollars for a shirt? Ten grand for a purse. It seems ridiculous. I think of the thousands of things I could do with that kind of money.

I wouldn’t be buying a purse.

“Mrs. Sokolova, where would you like to start?”

Mike, one of Maksim’s guards, hovers near me. He’s built like a tank and has been following me around since we left the house. Another one I’ve declared as George because his real name is a mouthful, is here, too, standing a few feet away and scanning the crowd like someone might jump out and attack me.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I’ve never been to a mall.”

Mike’s eyebrows rise slightly. “Never?”

“Never.” I feel heat creep up my neck. “We didn’t have money for this kind of thing.”

“Mr. Sokolov said to take you wherever you want. Buy whatever you want.” He gestures at the stores. “No limit.”

No limit.The words sound fake. I’ve never had “no limit” on anything in my life. Every purchase has always been calculated. Can I afford it? Do I need it? Will I have enough left over for food if I buy it?

“I don’t need much,” I say. “Maybe just a few things. Jeans. Some T-shirts.”

Mike looks pained. “Mrs. Sokolova, Mr. Sokolov specifically said to have you buy a new wardrobe. “

“I know what he said, but I don’t need designer clothes.” I look around at the fancy storefronts. “Isn’t there like a Wal-Mart or something?”

“Wal-Mart,” Mike repeats like I’ve just suggested we go dumpster diving.

“Or a thrift store. I love thrift stores.”

George smirks. “Boss said you might say that. He said to tell you that you’re representing him now. People will know who you are. You need to look the part.”

I want to argue, but I remember what Ava said by the pool. Maksim has a reputation to maintain. Apparently, I’m part of that now.

“Fine,” I mutter. “But I’m not going to spend a fortune on a purse.”

We start with a store that looks slightly less intimidating than the others. The saleswoman zeroes in on us—or more specifically, on my bodyguards. They might as well put a flashing light over my head and announce that I’m someone worth guarding. Nobody notices girls like me.

“Can I help you?” Her tone is polite, but I can tell she’s wondering who let the trash in. She’s trying to figure out if I’m someone important or just a kid who wandered in by mistake.

“I need clothes,” I say. “Jeans. Shirts. Normal stuff.”

“Of course.” Her smile brightens. “What’s your budget?”

I glance back at Mike. He shakes his head. No budget.

“Um, I don’t really have one.”

Her smile lights up the whole damn place. “Wonderful. Let’s get you set up in a fitting room.”

For the next hour, she brings me clothes. Jeans that fit properly instead of hanging off my hips. Shirts that aren’t stained or faded. The fabrics are soft, and there aren’t any holes. A leather jacket that makes me feel like a badass when I look in the mirror. I’m getting the jacket. I’ve always wanted one. I don’t know where I’ll wear it in Florida, but I need it.

“This is too much,” I tell Mike when the saleswoman steps away. “I don’t need all this.”