Page 1 of Ripping the Odds

Prologue

Motherfucking Queen

Zakhar

“Your next interview will be here in fifteen minutes,” my best friend slash business partner, Kasimir Petrova, announced as he casually strolled into my office.

Kas and I, along with Dimitri Stepanov and Makari Kuzmin, owned The Four Kings Resort & Casino, a beautiful property located on the shores of New Jersey in the heart of Atlantic City. The casino was the newest business we acquired as part of an effort to revitalize the area and bring it back to its glory days.

“Can’t you handle it? I don’t have the patience for anymore bullshit. The last three prospective hires the agency sent over spent more time trying to figure out a way into my bed instead of impressing me with their work ethic.”

He winced. “Sorry about that. I had a word with the manager. She apologized profusely and assured me the next candidate would be a perfect fit.”

“Fine. Do you have their résumé?”

Kas handed me a blue folder. “Everything’s in there.”

Prudence Turner. Thirty-one years old. Associate’s degree in business administration. She had two previous jobs working as an office assistant, one for ten years and the last for less than two weeks. That information sent red flags flying. I skipped over the rest, flipping straight to the report which would make or break Ms. Turner’s employment. The background check we ran on any potential new hire. In our line of work, we couldn’t be too careful. And I didn’t mean the gambling industry.

The four of us––Kas, Dimi, Mak, and I––were Bratva, the Russian equivalent of the mafia. None of us had a choice. We were born into the life, and if lady luck had her say, we’d probably die in it. The majority of our childhood was spent running the streets of Philly, not Moscow. We didn’t learn how to ride a bike or throw a baseball, instead we were trained in the art of survival. Kill or be killed. Rule with an iron fist or be taken out with a lead bullet.

I took over as the head of the Vlaschenko Bratva at the age of seventeen after my parents were gunned down near Saint Petersburg. Naturally, I chose my three best friends to stand by my side. In our inner circle, we were known as the four kings, after the ones in a deck of cards. It was where the name for the casino came from. I was the King of Spades, Dimi was Clubs, Mak was Hearts, and Kas was Diamonds. The labels suited us.

Dimi was a charmer, a risk taker driven by passion. Makari put the needs of others above his own, even willing to sacrifice his own safety for someone he loved. Then there was Kas who was ambitious to a fault. To him, everything and everyone had a price. Our success––financially speaking––was mainly his doing.

I’d been in my position for twenty years, and in that time, my vision for the future had only sharpened. My father lorded over his territory using fear as a motivator. I chose to earn the respect and loyalty of the community instead. Without both, I might as well have been a lone cub in a den of wolves.

The casino was our big plan for making the Vlaschenko family completely legit. With the amount of cash flowing through on a daily basis, there wasn’t a need for the less desirable side of the Bratva. While we had no problem getting our hands dirty when the situation called for it, none of us wanted to live the way our fathers had, looking over our shoulders, waiting for a bullet to tear our worlds apart.

“She has a younger sister, and her parents are retired accountants in Nebraska. So what’s a Midwest girl doing on the East Coast?” I thought out loud.

“Keep reading,” he insisted.

Scrolling further down the report Mak put together, I discovered the reason, and it made my blood boil. Shortly after she graduated college, Ms. Turner discovered her boyfriend in bed with her best friend. She left town a week later, and from what I read, only went home for Christmas. Men who cheated weren’t men at all. Women should be treasured like the gifts they were.

I’d just finished reading when my cell beeped with an incoming message from the front desk manager.

“Ms. Turner is early. Bring her back, Kas. And try not to scare her.”

He flipped me off on the way out of my office. At six-four, Kas was a big bastard, but I had two inches on him. Add in my medium length, jet-black hair and steel blue eyes, I had the tall and dark down to a T. Handsome, in my opinion, was in the eye of the beholder. So, if anyone was in danger of frightening her, it was probably me.

When the noise from the casino briefly filtered into the soundproofed executive offices, I knew they were close. Rising to my feet, I buttoned the jacket of my custom-fit, charcoal Brioni suit, then moved around my desk to greet the newest candidate. Two fingers tapped against my thigh as I waited impatiently. Kas entered first, his big body obstructing my view until he veered to the side, revealing the vision that stood before me. I knew I was fucked. Then she spoke.

“Good afternoon, sir.”

No, not fucked. Royally fucked.

Dressed in a simple black wrap dress paired with a silver chain belt and matching black heels, she was professional, if not grossly understated. This woman deserved to be dripping in diamonds, yet there were no fancy jewels adorning her neck or ears and only a hint of makeup was painted onto her beautiful face. Not that she needed it. Prudence Turner was effortlessly stunning.

“My name is Zakhar Vlaschenko.” I reached my hand out. She took it without hesitation, her touch sending a jolt of electricity up my arm. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Turner.”

“Likewise, Mr. Vlaschenko. And you can call me Pru. Everyone does.”

“Ms. Turner is best for now. Please have a seat.”

I gestured to the black leather sofa on the right side of my office, the one strictly reserved for my three comrades. Kas cleared his throat, an indication he was curious about my decision. He could wait. Pru’s comfort had become my priority, though I had no idea why. Every move I made was calculated, done with a specific purpose in mind, except this one. Something about it felt right.

Her long, silky brunette hair kissed to the top of her breasts when she eased herself down onto the couch. My cock thickened in my pants as an image of those locks wrapped around my fist while I took her from behind flashed through my mind. Nyet. That was not going to happen. Ms. Turner was going to be my employee, not my lover. Shaking my head, I crossed the space, sitting in one of the wingback chairs opposite her.