Page 19 of Kazimir

Until Devon Wade.

I pulled out the chair behind the desk, lowered myself into it, and pressed the heels of my hands against the desktop, holding them there until the urge to shatter glass or bone passed.

This was not a problem. I would make it a variable, like any other.

But alone in that office, the scent of sandalwood and new beginnings thick in the air, I felt—for the first time in centuries—not like a king, but a man.

I barely had time to gather the tatters of my composure before Bohdan arrived, early as always—timeliness being his preferred method of psychological warfare. He swept into the office with practiced efficiency, a bespoke blazer over an open-collared silk shirt, the cut and the colors both calculated to project the right measure of contemporary predator. His hair was gelled into glossy submission, jaw clean-shaven, and the scent he wore was some brutalist concoction meant to evoke expensive rebellion. He looked every inch the mogul-in-training, which is why I kept him out of actual negotiations.

He stopped in front of the desk, arms folded, weight thrown back onto one heel. “You rang, Father?” he said, just enough mockery in the title to let me know he’d been drinking.

I motioned for him to sit; he dropped into the guest chair and sprawled, giving the impression that gravity was something he allowed as a favor.

“Good evening, Bohdan,” I said. “The demonstration with the Shibari binding was…effective.”

He grinned, sharp and sly. “The crowd loved it. Your rules, but my improvisation. Even the witches had to admit it wasn’t boring.”

“People remember the sensation,” I said. “But I care more for the message: Inexperience breeds vulnerability. Show the new blood what happens when they ignore protocol.”

He shrugged. “Somebody has to entertain the masses, no? But yes, showing safety with play is important. It keeps the room watchers free to monitor without incident.”

He was proving to be an intelligent manager. Keeping patrons safe while they were within the walls of my club was as important as ensuring they enjoyed themselves.

He tapped the edge of my desk with a single nail. “So. What happened in the foyer earlier? We had to call in extra security to hold people back. Do I need to worry?”

“No.” I let the word rest between us, heavy. “But there is a new variable. A woman. I have reason to believe may require employment here—if only as a favor to one of our allies. She’s currently working as a waitress.”

He arched a brow. “Human?”

“Unknown.” I let the syllable float. “For now, assume supernatural. I will vet her personally.”

He whistled, low and theatrical. “It’s been a while since you handled onboarding yourself.”

“There is no room for error. Once I have briefed her, I want you to bring her on as a server, preferably starting on a slow night. I want you to monitor her interactions with both the donors and the regulars. Any anomaly, you report directly to me.”

“Of course,” he said. His posture never changed, but I could see the calculations running behind his eyes. He would want to know what made this woman special enough for my personal attention, but he also knew better than to ask. Instead, he gave me a slow, deliberate nod. “You know, Father, sometimes you can just say you’re bored and want new entertainment.”

I allowed myself the smallest smile. “Noted.”

He stood, straightening his cuffs. “Anything else?”

“That is all.”

He sketched a lazy salute and left, leaving behind only the tang of his cologne and the sound of club music thumping through the ceiling.

As soon as the door closed, I immediately second-guessed myself. The idea of Devon on the main floor in close proximity to patrons would likely cause the monster in me to rise. I pressed the call button on my desk. “Nikolay.”

He arrived three minutes later. Nikolay was my paradox—a bruiser by build, but soft-spoken and thoughtful. He wore a slate-gray suit that made him look like a bodyguard in an art gallery, and his hair was pulled back in a scholar’s ponytail.

“Sit,” I said, and he did.

“I hear the club is running smoothly,” he said, voice pitched to neutral.

“For the moment. But there’s a complication.”

He waited.

“There is a woman,” I said. “New to the city. I believe she may be something we have not encountered before. Possibly celestial in origin.”