Luck of the Devil (The Forge Trilogy #2)(23)

The pilot signals the tower that we’re landing, and I glance out the window as we approach.

“It’s time to go kick ass and make money.”





22





Forge





Grigory Federov arrives in a black helicopter that appears to be civilian, but it looks like it could easily morph into a gunship capable of leveling the entire island.

One has to wonder if he flies it for intimidation or out of necessity.

Either way, I’m grateful not to be his enemy . . . at least for the time being. There’s no guarantee this meeting is going to end with us both working toward a common goal, but I’m hopeful he can be persuaded to see my side of things.

Indy is playing to win tonight, and so am I.

As soon as the chopper lands on the helipad, Federov climbs out, followed by two men dressed in black suits. The rotor wash flips his thinning silver hair from side to side as he strides toward me. He’s seventy-four but doesn’t look a day over sixty. According to my sources, he target-shoots from horseback whenever possible, and frequently uses pictures of business rivals for bull’s-eyes. His tailored suit jacket fits his stocky frame well, but his collar is already open and his tie is gone. Fair enough, because I hate wearing a tie as well.

His gaze travels over my shoulder as he comes to a stop before me, no doubt looking for his daughter. My suspicions are confirmed when the first words leave his mouth.

“Where is she?”

“She’s not here.”

“What do you mean, she’s not here?” The lines on his tanned face deepen with his scowl. “You said you found my daughter. I come to take her home, and now you say she is not here. Is this how you do business, Forge? You lure people with false promises? I want to see her!” His accent thickens as his emotions rise.

I need to defuse the situation before he stalks back to his chopper and never answers another one of my calls again—or he orders his henchmen to shoot me. Goliath would snipe them both before they could, but I really hope to end this meeting without bloodshed.

To that end, I pull my phone from my pocket and push the button to wake it up. The lock screen is a picture of India standing on the deck of my yacht, taken from above when she didn’t know I was watching her.

“Here. Look. She’s fine.”

The old man reaches out with surprising speed and snatches the phone from my hands to stare at the screen in awe. “She looks just like my Irina.” The twinkle of nostalgia fades from his blue eyes as fast as it appeared. “Where is she now? I want to take her home.”

“She’ll be home tomorrow morning.”

“This isn’t her home.” He waves an arm around at Isaac’s island. “Her home is Russia.”

“Her home is wherever she wants it to be. You’re not dealing with a child, Mr. Federov. Your daughter is a headstrong woman who doesn’t take orders well.”

“She will adjust,” he says stubbornly, like it’s a decree.

“No, Federov, she’s not going to adjust. She’s not going anywhere with you.”

He stares at me in confusion, as if he can’t quite understand that I’m telling him he won’t get his way.

If India were standing with us right now, I would tell her that this is a big part of why I married her. No Russian is going to bulldoze my wife. Only I get to do that.

“She is my daughter. She will do as I say.”

I smile at him. “She’s my wife, Federov. That means you deal with me.”





23





India





When I walk into the high-stakes poker area of Mallorca’s most exclusive casino, I feel different. Maybe because I arrived via helicopter, was whisked up to my suite, met by my glam squad, and was then escorted down with one bodyguard ahead of me carrying my chips and two trailing behind in an attempt at looking innocuous.

So this is what it feels like to be a billionaire. Or at least the wife of one. I’m not complaining.

The men standing around the table that has been set up for our game stare as I approach. My sapphire-blue dress hugs my curves and is going to be the perfect distraction. I can’t help but wonder what orders Forge gave the personal shopper. Somehow, I doubt it was buy something that will have the men looking at her tits and not their cards. But with this dress, that’s exactly what the outcome will be, and I’m not complaining about that either.

“Ms. Baptiste, it’s a pleasure to have you at our game.” Julio Gallardo, the game’s organizer and the source of my invitation, steps forward and offers a hand. I shake it and can’t help but think that it’s smooth and womanly compared to Forge’s strong, calloused grip.

Why am I thinking about him? I’m here to play. I can’t help it, though.

Forge has been on my mind every second while I was getting ready, because he arranged for all of it without my knowledge. If another man had done that, I’d say it was sweet and thoughtful, but I’m still trying to figure out Forge’s angle. But I’m not letting that distract me from my game.

“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you,” I say to Julio as he releases my hand. “Thank you for the invitation.”

He steps away, and I catch sight of a familiar face just beyond him.