Chapter 3 - The Penthouse Above the StripThe Sovereign Tower rose sixty stories into the cloudy desert sky, an imposing monolith of obsidian glass and bronze steel that dominated the northern end of the Strip.
The private underground sally port swallowed the Mercedes into absolute safety. Heavy titanium security doors slid shut behind them, followed by an armed security team of ten men in tactical gear who formed a perimeter around the vehicle before the engine had even ceased humming.
“Clear, Don Nikolai,” Sergei reported, opening the door.
Nikolai stepped out first, offering a massive hand to Nina.
When her sneakers touched the polished concrete, her knees buckled. Twenty-six hours of sleepless emergency medicine, followed by a high-speed assassination attempt, finally claimed what little strength remained in her frame.
Before she could hit the floor, Nikolai caught her effortlessly in his arms. With smooth, unhurried strength, he lifted her against his chest, cradling her against his tailored suit as if she weighed no more than a child.
“Mr. Volkov, put me down! I can walk!” Nina protested weakly, her cheeks flaming with embarrassed color.
“You have given away two pints of blood and twenty-four hours of your life to save others, Nina,” Nikolai murmured, carrying her toward the private express elevator. “Tonight, you let someone carry you.”
The private glass elevator surged upward at dizzying speed, bypassing sixty floors of luxury suites, private gaming rooms, and high-stakes lounges before opening directly into the master penthouse.
The space was breathtaking.
Vaulted ceilings framed by dark Russian oak, heated marble floors, and floor-to-ceiling panoramic windows that looked out over the sparkling, neon-drenched expanse of Las Vegas below. A massive fire crackled in a hearth of imported black granite, driving away the damp chill of the storm.
An elderly woman wearing a traditional dark linen dress and silver-streaked hair stepped into the foyer, drying her hands on a towel. Her sharp, observant eyes softened the moment she saw Nikolai carrying the exhausted young woman in blue scrubs.
“Nikolai,” the woman said in Russian, her voice melodic and maternal. “What happened on the highway? We heard the dispatch radio.”
“Victoria’s hounds tried to intercept us, Babushka Elena,” Nikolai replied in English, setting Nina down gently onto a massive velvet chesterfield sofa beside the fire. “They failed.”
He turned to Nina, kneeling beside the sofa so his eyes were level with hers.
“This is Elena, my mother’s sister. She manages this household and watches over Vera. You are safe here, Nina. Safer than any vault in Nevada.”
Nina pulled her knees up to her chest, the warmth from the roaring fire seeping into her exhausted bones.
“Where is Vera?” Nina asked, her nurse’s instinct surfacing despite her weariness. “Is she alright?”
A soft, genuine smile transformed Nikolai’s stern, terrifying face.
“She has been asleep for two hours,” he answered softly. “She refused to close her eyes until I promised to bring her a storybook from the library. But when she wakes up tomorrow morning...”
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He reached out, his thumb gently brushing a stray lock of brown hair from her forehead.
“...she will see the face of the woman she has been thanking in her prayers every night.”
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