And how would a man like him react if he found out what I was? His security might flag something on us, sooner or later.

I was betraying Dmitri’s trust right now. “Sounds like you got burned somewhere along the line.”

He gazed out the window. “Early along the line.”

“By someone you were involved with?”

He shrugged.

A pall seemed to have fallen over us. “Dmitri?” I laid my hand on his cheek, and his lids grew heavy. He leaned into my palm, and my heart twisted. He’d needed that tiny show of comfort from me.

Realization struck. He hadn’t been burned—he’d been hurt. A sense of protectiveness surged, startling me. I’d only ever felt this way about family.

Our motto was “To the grave,” because our loyalty to one another would never die.

Dmitri was revisiting some kind of pain; I wanted him to stay in the present with me. “Okay, big guy”—I skimmed the back of my fingers along his rugged jawline—“you ready to find out how I got my nickname?”

His eyes lit up with interest. “Yes. It does not make sense.” He was obviously a man who liked things to add up.

“When I was little, I was fascinated with vices. A mobile spinning above my crib would make me cry, but the sound of shuffled cards and clinking poker chips soothed me. I laughed and clapped if someone popped a bottle of bubbly, and I smothered other toddlers with kisses. All of them.” I grinned. “I was very inconstant.”

“I could listen to you talk about yourself for . . .” He trailed off. “There is no quantifiable limit of time.”

His compliment made me smile. Such a computer guy.

“I want more of this with you, Victoria. Be forewarned: I will have it.”

Had I made myself seem like a sure thing? Or was he thinking like a typical male in Vegas? “People have weird ideas about cocktail waitresses, Dmitri. You know that I’m not for sale, right?”

“I know. Or I would have already bought you.”

I grinned, thinking he was kidding, but he just stared into my eyes.

Too intense! So I tried a playful turn. “And what would you do if you owned me?” I tweaked his strong chin. “Would I be your slave?”

He shook his head. “I would free you, Victoria. And then I would buy you the entire goddamned world.”

My grin faded, my grift sense taking over. “Dmitri, are you . . . crazy?”

His chest stilled as he held his breath. Never looking away, he gave me a slow nod.

Oh, yeah, this family had some secrets. What kind of crazy? Eccentric billionaire? Or “I keep ladies’ ears as trophies”?

No, my grift sense told me he wasn’t the type of man who’d harm a woman, a spanking aside. Just to be sure, I asked, “Have you ever hurt anyone?”

He exhaled a gust of air that heated my ear. “Never a woman, never anyone weaker than myself.”

Not a lie. I suspected Dmitri’s damage was turned inward; he’d been hurt. I had no idea what to say.

He cupped my nape and pulled me in until our foreheads met. All of a sudden, we were the only two people in the world. “Are my chances blown?” he rasped.

In real life? Yes. I would end this tonight. With my family in survival mode, I didn’t have time for a damaged man. Hell, I didn’t have time for any guy. “I’m surprised you’ll admit it.”

“I will never lie to you. And you asked me a very direct question.”

As I considered his admission, my mind hurtled to that last night with Brett—when I’d found him naked in our bed with a showgirl, his fingers deep inside her.

I’d known men were dogs, yet for some reason I’d let down my guard with the big, affable high-school football coach.

Now as I gazed at the Russian, I realized where my preferences lay. I looked Dmitri in the eyes and told him the truth: “I’d rather have an honest madman than a sane liar.”

He squeezed me to him so tightly I thought I would bruise, but I didn’t want it to stop. . . .

CHAPTER 8

“Tell us what happened!” Karin called from my bedroom before I’d even shut my apartment door.

Had Dmitri heard that? He’d walked me from the limo, taken my key, and opened the lock for me. His kiss goodnight had been brief but tender. “Until tomorrow,” he’d said.

I peered out the peephole. He stood at my doorstep with his brows drawn. He’d made no secret that he wanted to come in, but I had grift gear out in the open: wigs, ID maker, props, etc. Besides, I needed to be elusive at this point.

With clear reluctance, he finally headed toward the limo.

I put my back against the door and exhaled, as if I were catching my breath for the first time tonight. . . .

Still buzzed, I veered toward my bedroom, passing the tiny living area I used as a sewing studio. My mom had taught Karin and me how to make our own clothes because many of our cons required us to look like money; retail couture would eat into profits.

As I passed my dress dummies, garment racks, and my old busted-up Singer, I tried to remember when I’d last had time to use them.

Karin, Pete, and Benji were camped out on my oversize bed, flipping through textbooks from my stint at design school.

“What are you guys doing here?” Hanging out in my lame one-bedroom unit? I had barely any furniture, zero decorations, and no TV. Boxes filled with posters of eighties bands and movie memorabilia lined the walls, unopened since I’d moved from Brett’s last year.