**Chapter 6** Bash Stasia’s thick, dark lashes flutter closed over her striking blue eyes, concealing a flicker of satisfaction that dances behind them—a look I barely grasped before it vanished. I should have confronted her once I realized she’d been slyly pouring me drink after drink, but curiosity, my ever-glaring Achilles' heel, tugged at me more strongly than my reservations. There’s something that intrigues me about this enigmatic girl, a puzzle begging to be solved. Suppressing the grin that threatens to surface, I glance at my cards, feeling the rush of excitement. A Queen and a nine stare back at me—powerful enough for a confident play. Stasia, however, is exceptional in her game; the subtle movements give her away. A slight twitch in her ears betrays her calm front, and I watch, waiting for her next move. Contrary to my expectations, she straightens her posture, rolling her shoulders back. This is a bold risk she’s taking, and I almost want to urge her on just to see how far this will go. The thrill of anticipation is almost as intoxicating as the drink swirling in my glass. “Ready,” she announces, her smile sweet enough to send shivers down my spine. For the first time tonight, a wave of unease washes over me. She resembles a cat playing with its catch—cunning and poised. I flip my cards over, cradling my head in my palm. “Nineteen.” Her breath hitches, eyes widening as she meets my gaze. The enormity of my hand pales in comparison to the glint of victory dancing on her lips. I brace myself as she reveals her cards—an ace paired with the queen, elegantly outlined in a comical display of triumph. “Twenty-one,” she declares, her tone dripping with delight. “That’s impossible.” “Are you accusing me of cheating?” Her brow arches with feigned innocence, propelling a crease between her eyebrows. “Never would I dream of such a thing, Princess.” Barely under the veneer of her victory, the sparkle of mischief ignites in her gaze, unveiling a fiery spirit that makes my heart race. I let out a breath, captivated by her, and with deliberate slowness, I loosen my tie until it flutters to the floor, unbuttoning the top of my shirt for added effect. A soft flush dusts her cheeks, and she bites her bottom lip—a clear indication of her escalating feelings. “What’s caught your eye, Princess?” Startled, her gaze darts downward as she busily shuffles the cards. “Nothing special.” A laugh erupts from me, a rich sound that fills the air. Oh, this evening promises to be far more entertaining than I anticipated. She deals the next round, and I notice a change—a calm certainty envelops her every movement. No nervous tics this time. Impressed by her composure, I beckon for another card. She mirrors my action, but this time as she flips her cards, I find myself surprised. Twenty-three—a bust. “Shit,” she mutters, taking her glass and tossing back the remaining whiskey with a determined tilt of her head. A muscle in her cheek jumps nervously, and her hands clench and unclench on the table, betraying the storm of emotions swirling beneath her cool exterior. I’m on the brink of calling the game quits, sensing her dismay, when my breath catches in my throat. Stasia leans back, her fingers gliding to her back with a soft click—a bra unfastening. Time slows as she slides the delicate straps down her arms, lowering them with a tantalizing slowness. My heart races as the fabric slips away, revealing the faintest outline of her shape against the lace. The sight stirs something primal within me. It's my turn to finish my drink, nearly overflowing even as she refills it. I notice her confidence, the way she fills the glass to the brim—she’s daring me, and she has no idea that I’m resolute. Stasia has ensnared me in her web, and I can’t bring myself to break free. If only Xander could witness this moment; he'd be cackling with joy at the sight of me—entranced and ensnared by her games. But as dangerous as it may be, I find intrigue bubbling within me. She desires me distracted—this enchanting mix of alcohol and her alluring presence draws me in, and I willingly oblige. I let my eyelids lower briefly, swaying slightly in my seat like a ship caught on the waves. I may be tipsy, but I’m far from incapacitated—a fact she remains blissfully unaware of. After assessing me for a moment that stretches into eternity, she makes her move. “My brother mentioned the Order keeps their valuables in this hotel. Why would they take such a risk?” Ah, there it is. A question laced with danger, and I can almost feel the thrill of it crackling in the air between us. She’s treading a fine line, poking into a place that could lead her into trouble, and though my instincts urge me to tread carefully, the thrill playing at the edge of my comprehension beckons me forward. She loses again before I can reply, her fortune diminishing, but she shows wisdom this time, leaning over to slip off her shoes. I watch breathlessly as she lifts the hem of her dress, revealing slender, smooth skin above her knees—a sight that illicitly commands my full attention. My body responds, urgency igniting within me as she bends low, fingers futilely wrestling with her clasp. I kneel before her, relishing her squirming unease as I lift her foot to my chest. “I don’t need your help,” she protests, her knee bent as she presses her heel into my pec, pretending to be assertive. “Ah, but I insist.” With deft fingers, I work to undo her ankle strap, allowing her shoe to glide from her foot, ensuring my fingers brush against her skin in the process. The tension beneath her surface is palpable, and I notice a tremble ripple through her body as I slide my fingertips along the fabric of her stockings. She shouldn’t have had that last drink—her composure slipping with every passing moment ignites a fire of excitement in me. I refuse to let her go, my thumb tracing gentle circles along the arch of her foot while she attempts to withdraw. My strategy is unorthodox, but she’s the one who instigated this hazardous game. "We store most jewels here because this building boasts multiple layers of security." Her eyes gleam with anticipation, leaning in, soaking in each word I utter. A gnawing concern unfurls in the pit of my stomach. Anyone else she’d approached with these questions would find themselves neck-deep in trouble by now. “Stasia, you need to be careful; you’re giving your intentions away. Does your brother know this is where the Vault resides?” Her blood drains from her face, reality sinking in as she grasps the limits of her boldness. But seeing my frown, she seems to find reassurance. “Don’t worry,” I assure her. “I won’t breathe a word. The Vault's location is a poorly kept secret.” Her skin flushes beneath my touch, heart racing as she struggles to maintain her poise. My closeness traps her like a sprightly moth drawn to a flame, and I can feel her hesitant breaths mingle with my own. As I lower my lips toward hers, everything fades but the intensity of the moment. Her wide blue eyes darken, reflecting a mixture of challenge and vulnerability. “So, the valuables are kept in the basement,” she breathes, a calculated question hanging between us. I realize too late that in our game, the boundaries I thought I’d established are crumbling. Gazing deeply into her eyes, I sense a hidden ambition lurking beneath her charming exterior. “Yes. There are several rooms down there,” I answer, placing a finger lightly against her lips. “But shhh, that’s our little secret.” Her nod is slight, but the tip of her tongue grazes my skin, igniting a response deep within. A low growl escapes me, and I lean in, nearly tasting the sweetness of her invitation when the door swings open unexpectedly. A startled gasp erupts, shattering our moment. “I’m so sorry! I thought this room was empty!” a voice calls, the intruder's shock pulling me back from the edge. It’s too late for Stasia—she uses this distraction with deft agility, slipping from beneath my grasp, snatching her shoe and money before darting out of the room. I down my drink in one go, feeling the smooth liquid burn down my throat as I slump against the back of my chair, dampened by the abrupt end to our encounter. Things didn’t unfold as I had anticipated; displeasure nags at me, yet the thrill of what may come next stirs my curiosity, igniting a flame that refuses to die. I pull out my phone and open our group chat, Brothers Before Mothers. Me: What do you know about the Volkov family? Damon: Where the hell did you disappear to? Me: I stumbled upon something interesting. Do you know anything or not? Matthias: I’m not entirely sure we should encourage him. Damon: Agreed. Me: That's awfully unfair coming from both of you. Xander: Sounds ominous to me. Me: Ha, very funny. She just piqued my interest. Matthias: She? I thought you were inquiring about the Volkovs. I lay my phone flat on the table just as it dings again—this time, a message solely from Xander. Xander: I’ll look into the Russians here in New York. Xander: Tell me what you're up to. Me: Not yet.