CHAPTER 1
"I know my fairy tales," I told my cousin. "And there's a beast up in that lair." Pete and I stood on the spacious terrace of the Calydon Casino's penthouse, peering at an even higher observation deck.
We were already so elevated, I felt as if we could reach up and graze the full moon.
"You're calling Dmitri Sevastyan a beast now?" Pete's expression was amused, the dark blue of his smiling eyes a contrast to his light blond hair. Like my sister and me, he got his coloring from my dad's side of the family. "Even though you've never met him?"
"Yep." The Sevastyans' lavish party was in full swing--music boomed and hundreds of revelers crowded inside the enormous four-suite penthouse--yet Dmitri had sequestered himself up on that deck, apparently on his worst behavior. "And just like in the fairy tales, you plan to sacrifice this maiden." Pete wanted me to go scope out the combative man.
"That's crazy talk. Everybody knows you're not a maiden."
I punched his arm. "Funny guy." I might as well be a maiden. My three notches hadn't been worth it.
"And Dmitri isn't a beast," he said, adding, "Much. Hardly at all."
Pete knew everything there was to know about the Sevastyan family. Well, everything a grifter could find out with choice sources. As the casino's VIP host, he catered to the whims of his rich high rollers--our very own inside man.
I didn't know how much juice he'd had to use to snag his plum position, but for weeks, we'd targeted the Calydon's degenerate whales, mainly for blackmail.
A curl escaped my up-do, and the warm August breeze made it flit around my face. "Since I started casing the deck, Dmitri's chewed out a dozen women, sending them packing."
Another group of hopefuls had ascended a few moments ago. Every female on the Strip seemed to have heard about this party--free food, free
booze, and an eligible billionaire in attendance.
Pete shrugged his buff shoulders. I swore he was still growing at twenty-nine. "I'm not asking you to run game"--work a con--"on Dmitri. Just give me your take before we cut the Sevastyan crew loose for good."
Half talent manager, half con coach, Pete had positioned me and my sister in the VIP lounge as cocktail servers/honey traps.
Toe the line, boys, or you'll feel the sting.
Unfortunately, the three brothers, two wives, and one tagalong friend were toeing the line.
They didn't ask for drugs, and their tastes didn't run toward the illegal or immoral. Both of the married couples were devoted. In fact, the middle brother and his wife were here to celebrate their four-year wedding anniversary.
No dirt, no dinero; no sins, no in.
"Besides, you gotta get a looksee at Dmitri," Pete said. "He'll be the most beautiful man you've ever laid eyes on." My sister Karin had said the same. She'd served the group drinks in the lounge last night.
"Even finer than his brothers?" I'd passed them in the penthouse, two built, black-haired hotties who'd been glued to their lovely wives.
"Much finer." Pete made his eyes look guileless as he said, "Trust me."
"Trust you?" Despite our circumstances, we had to share a chuckle. I could make my eyes guileless too, had learned that trick before I could even read with them.
Grated words sounded from the deck above as Dmitri chewed out the latest females who'd dared to breach his lair.
Not long after, a bevy of babes in vagina-length dresses flounced down the steps. They all talked at once. "What a prick!" "I don't care how gorgeous he is; who says shit like that?" "Could he have been hotter? Or more insulting?"
I recognized Sharon, a bottle-service girl who lived in my apartment complex. The buxom brunette was no stranger to the grifter life herself.
Champagne flute in hand, she waved her friends onward toward the bar, then sashayed over to us; with her every step, her strapless red dress valiantly struggled to contain her rack.
She rose on her toes to kiss my cousin's cheek and murmured with affection, "Petey Three Times."
Grifter nicknames might be cliche, but Pete's was spot-on. He was so good he could con you twice more, even if you caught him the first time. Also known as Re-Pete.
I'd gotten the nickname Vice as a baby. I'd earned my Cold-as-Ice designation from my family's stock-investment schemes.
For years, we'd found men who wanted something for nothing, so we'd sold them nothing for something.
But those days were over. . . .
Pete smoothly said, "Sharon, you're looking fabulous as ever."
"Charmer." She smoothed her hair, giving me a once-over. "Great dress, Vice. All classy."
"Thanks, doll." I'd made this white, one-shoulder drape a few months ago for a job. Tonight, my look was sexy good-girl, a change from my usual racy/alternative. My black nails were now nude, my glam makeup neutral. I'd exchanged my spike earrings for diamond--read cubic zirconia--studs and secured my long hair into an elegant knot. Instead of platform heels, I wore ankle-strap d'Orsay pumps.
Sharon sipped her flute. "You dress up for that Sebastian gull?" A gullible, anyone outside the grift.
"It's actually with a V," Pete said. "Suh-vast-yun." Details were our job.
Sharon shrugged, her dress hanging on precariously. Her enhanced boobs dwarfed my 32Cs; she could legit carry drinks without a tray.
I always pictured her balancing martinis on her mammaries with circus music teed up. "No, not for him. I had a high roller on the line." Wardrobe was critical in cons, and this look played to rich guys. My mark, Nigel, had approved. Until he'd inexplicably abandoned me in the Caly lobby a little while ago. "My con went south, so Pete invited me here." To dig. These days, I wasn't good for much else.
This honey trap might be stingerless.
"Looks like you're having a shit week," Sharon said. "I saw an eviction notice on your door."
I lowered my voice to say, "I forgot my neck brace one freaking time."
Pete's blond brows rose. I hadn't told him about my eviction, not with all my other recent failures.
"Happens to the best of us." Sharon finished her champagne. "Two tears in a bucket; motherfuck it."
I grinned. "I will never stop saying that saying."
"How'd you hear about this party?" Pete asked her.
"Some crazy chick named Alicia or Jessica or something invited the entire Strip, telling everyone about a whale she's trying to hook up. I came here to harpoon said whale. No dice. He actually told me, 'I have a woman in mind for myself, and you are not her.' Russians suck."
Pete and I shared a look. We had a Russian KA, a known associate, who was like our grandfather.
"I'm gonna go find some real action. Ciao, babies." Sharon blew air kisses as she rejoined her friends. Just before they headed inside, she yelled over her shoulder to Dmitri, "Go fuck yourself, Russki!"
When a tirade of Russian boomed out from above, I raised my brows at Pete. "Maybe he's not interested in women. If Karin bombed with this guy . . ." Last night, he'd ignored my breathtaking sister as if she were invisible. "Maybe Dmitri's gay."
"I should be so lucky," Pete said, a wistful note to his voice. "For a guy like that, I would turn honey trap in a heartbeat."
"It's not as easy as it looks, chief." I would know. I was supposed to have run my first badger game tonight. In a badger, a honey trap would maneuver a married mark into a compromising position while an accomplice snapped photos and took video. Voila, blackmail.
Nigel had been my ideal man--a hitched skirt-chaser with a cheating clause in his prenup, wandering hands, and a tan line on his ring finger. Tonight the older man's watery gaze had beamed at the sight of me--right up until the moment he'd checked his phone, sputtered at whatever he'd read, then all but fled the casino.
My fifth busted con in a row. I was as superstitious as the next grifter and knew what this streak meant. "Pete, I'm pretty sure I'm jinxed." And yet I would drag myself back to the VIP lounge tomorrow to troll for yet another sleazebag. It'd taken me three double-backs--sixteen-hour stints in stilettos--to scare up Nigel.
Pete said, "It could be the badger that's giving you trouble, since it's your first and all."
"You're making me sound like a noob." Sure, every grifter had a specialty--mine had been those pump-and-dump stock cons--but a skilled confidence artist was versatile.
"Until you get your footing, you should help out with Karin's kid another night or two a week, so she can close more. Just till we settle the debt."
I blinked in disbelief. "We're in the middle of a crisis, and you want me to babysit?" Not to mention that Mom and Dad would cage-fight me if I tried to limit their grandbaby time.
Pete scrubbed a palm over his handsome face. "Nigel should've been . . . well, he should've been low-hanging fruit." In a grudging tone, he broke it to me straight: "Karin could've run him in her sleep."
Ouch. Though one could definitely tell we were sisters, I was like a short, less-endowed indie version of her. At twenty-eight, she was all long-legged grace, confidence, and effortless sex-appeal; around men, if I didn't concentrate, I could come across as standoffish--a kiss of death for a honey trap.
Pete rushed to say, "You're an ace at cards, and your grift sense is the most honed of anybody I know. Your instincts in those stock schemes kept the lights on for the entire family. But stocks are out forever."
We'd conned the wrong people, and they wanted their money back--plus interest. "Our deadline is only twenty days away, and you're benching me?" No wonder everyone had texted me encouragement tonight! Yet I'd failed to pluck the low-hanging fruit.
"It's because the deadline's on us." He exhaled. "You're wasting marks that Karin could close." Over the last several weeks, she'd run a ton of lechers. She even had a two-timing congressman in the pipeline for tomorrow.
I hadn't gotten a mark anywhere near our hidden-camera prop house.
Karin was my best friend, but sometimes I felt like screaming, "Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!"
In a softer tone, Pete said, "All you need is a little brushing up on your, you know, sexual manipulation skills, but we don't have time right now."
Sexual manipulation skills? Really? How did he think I got all those lowlifes to invest in our bogus stock deals?
By making sure they read my cleavage instead of the writing on the wall!
"When you're not so exhausted, you'll see where I'm coming from," Pete said. "Why don't you skip Dmitri and rest up?"
My eyes widened with realization. "You've already decided to cut the Sevastyans! My 'assignment' to dig . . . it's busy work, isn't it?" To make me feel better about Nigel!
After a moment, Pete raised his palms.
Busy work and babysitting. If he sidelined me, I'd go crazy in the next three weeks. How could I not be out fighting for my loved ones?
I burned to prove my value and contribute when they needed me most. My gaze darted up, landing on a beast's lair. Words started leaving my mouth: "You know what? You're not going to bench me. Because I'm gonna run game on the juiciest mark of them all--Dmitri Sevastyan."
CHAPTER 2
Pete laughed--until he saw I was serious. "Karin couldn't get a word out of him."
Last night, when Pete had heard the Sevastyans were heading down to the VIP lounge, he'd sent me home and called in the family's MVP for a milk-cow con--one of the most difficult of the long cons.