Chapter 2: Hired by the Devil

Bella’s hand shook when she set the empty glass on the bar. The bartender, a tall guy named Rico with a gold tooth, grabbed it without looking up.

“VIP booth already?” he asked. “Damn, girl. You just started.”

She wiped her palms on the tiny skirt. “He asked for me.”

Rico glanced toward the back booth and his smile dropped fast. “That’s the boss.”

Bella’s stomach flipped again. “The owner?”

“Yeah. Mikhail Lobanov.” Rico leaned closer, in a row voice. “Listen well. You see him on the floor? You keep your eyes down. You don’t stare. You don’t smile extra. You don’t talk unless he talks first. Got it?”

She nodded even though her throat felt tight. “Got it.”

Rico slid a fresh vodka across the bar. “Take it. And Bella?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t call him anything but Mr. Lobanov. Not sir. Not boss. Not anything else. He hates that shit.”

She picked up the glass and she felt it cold against her fingers. “Thanks, Rico.”

He shrugged. “Just trying to keep you alive past midnight.”

She slipped back into the crowd. The casino swallowed her whole… chips snapping against felt, bursts of laughter, slot machines chiming their bright, and lying songs of victory. She kept the tray balanced in her hands, though her arms had gone weak and unsteady.

His booth waited beyond a half-wall draped in black velvet. The lighting there was softer, more deliberate. The chairs were wider, heavier… and thrones for men who gambled in silence. It was the kind of corner where the stakes weren’t just money… and losing cost more than chips.

He was still there, in the same black suit, the same open collar showing the edge of a tattoo that looked like it kept going under the fabric. He hadn’t moved, but he just watched her walk toward him.

She stopped at the edge of the table. “Your vodka, Mr. Lobanov.”

He took the glass without looking at it. His fingers brushed hers, barely. But it felt like static.

“Sit,” he said.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. “I’m working.”

“Sit.”

She glanced around and noticed no one was watching. Or if they were, they pretended not to. She slid into the booth across from him and the leather was cool against her bare thighs.

He took a slow sip and his eyes never left her face.

“You’re new.”

“Yes, I started tonight.”

“Why here?”

She swallowed. “I needed a job.”

He tilted his head. “You ran in here barefoot in a wedding dress. Most girls who run don’t stop at my casino.”

She met his eyes for half a second then dropped them. “I needed money. Fast.”

“Running from who?”

She didn’t answer.

He leaned forward, with his elbows on the table. “I don’t like liars, Bella.”

The name sounded different when he said it, darker. Like he owned it already.

“Family stuff,” she said quietly.

“Family stuff that has Rossi men chasing you through alleys?”

Her head snapped up. “How do you—”

“I know everything that happens in my city.” He set the glass down. “Your father owes Marco Rossi a lot of money. Marco wanted you as payment. You said no. Now they’re looking.”

She gripped the edge of the tray so hard her knuckles turned white. “You gonna turn me in?”

He studied her like she was something he was deciding whether to keep or break.

“No.”

Relief hit her so hard she almost laughed. “Why not?”

“Because I want you here.”

She stared. “What?”

“You’re mine now,” he said, calmly but leaving no space for argument. “Graveyard shift every night. You’ll move into the staff quarters upstairs… and no rent, your meals are covered too. Whatever you make in tips, that’s yours to keep.”

She blinked. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to understand. You just have to say yes.”

Her mind raced. A room, free food, money, and safety just for her and her kid sis Sofia.

“What’s the catch?”

His lips curved but it was not a smile. It was something sharper. “You don’t ask questions. You don’t talk about me. You don’t look me in the eye unless I tell you to. And you don’t run again.”

She licked dry lips. “Or what?”

“Or I let the Rossi boys have you.”

Silence stretched between them.

She thought about Sofia. Thought about the texts. Thought about the chapel and the dress and the way her father’s voice cracked when he said “it’s just business, Izzy.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

He leaned back. “Good.”

She started to stand.

“One more thing.”

She froze.

“When you’re on my floor,” he said, in a low voice, “you’re mine, and not theirs. Not anyone else’s. Mine.”

Her pulse hammered in her ears. “I’m just a waitress.”

“You’re whatever I say you are.”

She didn’t know what to say to that.

He lifted his glass in a small salute. “Go work. I’ll be watching.”

She turned and walked away on legs that felt like rubber.

The rest of the night blurred. She served drinks, smiled at drunk guys, dodged hands that tried to grab her ass and pocketed tips that felt heavier than they should. Every time she turned around, she felt him and not close, not obvious but just there.

In the shadows near the craps table and by the bar talking to Rico and leaning against the railing on the second floor looking down and watching. 

She kept her eyes on her tray, on the customers, and on the floor. Anywhere but him until the end of shift.

It was 2:47 a.m and the floor manager, the same clipboard guy from earlier, found her wiping down a high-top.

“That’s all for tonight,” he said flatly. “Head upstairs to room 1408. Your key’s waiting at the front desk.”

His gaze lingered a second longer before he added, almost lazily, “And don’t test me by being late tomorrow.”

She nodded, grabbed her backpack from the locker and changed back into the filthy white dress because she had nothing else. She rode the staff elevator up and she noticed the hallway was quiet, with thick carpet and gold numbers on black doors.

She saw room 1408 and slid the key card in. The room was small but clean, with a bed, a desk, a bathroom and a window overlooking the Strip.

She dropped her backpack and sank onto the mattress, then her phone buzzed.

“Dad again.” She sighed and opened it this time.

Where are you? They’re angry. Come home before they hurt Sofia.

She stared at the screen until it blurred. Then she turned the phone off, threw it into the drawer and lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

She was safe for now. She closed her eyes and tried not to think about the man downstairs who said she was his.

The next night she came down in the uniform again with her hair up, light makeup and the same tray in hand.

Rico nodded when she walked past. “You’re still breathing. Good sign.”

She forced a smile. “Yeah.”

The floor was alive tonight. It was the weekend. The noise had teeth… laughter too loud, music too sharp, and voices spilling over each other. The air felt thicker, and wilder. The kind of night where people came ready to win big… or lose bigger.

She worked her section, took orders, delivered drinks and pocketed more hundreds.

She didn’t see him at first, then she did. He walked the VIP floor like he owned every inch of it. Which he did.

He’d gone with the black suit again like it was a uniform but swapped the shirt for a deep gray this time. No tie, as usual. The open collar made it feel deliberate, like he didn’t need one to look in control.

People moved out of his way without him asking. Dealers straightened, waitresses looked down and security guys nodded once. He didn’t stop to talk to anyone. He just walked. Straight toward her section and her heart slammed so hard she thought it would crack a rib.

She turned to the table she was serving. Four guys in expensive watches, laughing too loud.

“Another round?” she asked.

They nodded and she scribbled the order, but she still felt him behind her and not touching. Just close enough that the air changed. She straightened and kept her eyes on the notepad, then he stopped.

His scent reached her before his voice ever coud… and clean, expensive cologne layered over something colder, and metallic. Gun oil, maybe. And beneath it all, was something harder to name. Power.

One of the guys at the table looked up. Saw him and went quite fast.

The others followed but Mikhail didn’t speak. He just stood there, watching her. She turned slowly and their eyes locked.

And for one heartbeat too long, Isabella’s breath caught, Mikhail’s jaw tightened but he still didn’t look away.