Chance would have preferred a taxi but Juliet had never ridden the subway before. They had dropped their overnight bags at the hotel and were now on the Q train down to Coney Island.

He wondered what it would feel like, experiencing this ride again. The first and only time he had ever taken this particular field trip had been the happiest day of his life. This time, his father was dead, his brother was in the hospital, his girlfriend was under threat, and a million dollars that could make or break him was on the line.

It was a weekday, but still the middle of summer and late enough in the day for the nighttime fun to just get started. The ride down was far less sketchy these days, the city having cleaned up its lingering graffiti-covered, sex-and-violence themed, grit-and-dirt covered veneer that he remembered from his youth.

That didn’t take away from the novelty of it all. The subway car was a crazy mix of Manhattan commuters who were getting off early from work and teenagers already revving themselves up for a bit of trouble, complete with the occasional oddball thrown in. Looking at Juliet’s excitement at this new experience made it even more enjoyable. Unlike everyone else in the car, she had been enthralled with the “It’s Showtime!” litefeet performers, swirling around on the poles. She even went so far as to give them money, earning a roll of the eye from the man across from her, which was stopped cold by the look Chance gave him.

As he watched her clap in appreciation, Chance’s tension faded. On the plane he’d acted one hundred percent confident mostly for her sake. The doubt was starting to creep in.

Chance had lived his life with one toe dipped into the world of organized crime. Now he was headed straight to the epicenter of it all, never mind the fact that it was his own damn grandfather. He hadn’t even been sure of what to wear. In the end, he’d erred on the side of “nice” with a pair of black slacks, a white button-up shirt, and black boots. After all, it wasn’t every day that one met their grandfather for the first time, even if they were well into their thirties when it happened.

Juliet was pretty as a picture as always. She wore a bright blue sleeveless dress with a ruffle around the shoulders. Her hair was down, parted on the left, with the right side tucked behind her ear, placed there in one of her nervous tics. It was matched with gold wedge sandals that showed off the red nails he’d painted only last week. That perfect day seemed like a million years ago.

“I’ve always wanted to come to New York,” Juliet sighed, snuggling in to his side on the long blue seat, which was another new feature that was different from his subway memories. He could see the smile begin to disappear from her face as she realized the reason for them being there.

“We’ll have to stop and get a bona fide Coney Island hot dog before we get started,” he said in an attempt to bring that smile back around.

She laughed and squeezed his arm tighter. Her face softened as she stared off, thinking about something. “You’re the most thrilling man I’ve ever been with Chance.”

He read her expression to find out if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Her eyes rolled up to his and half her mouth went up in a smile. “How many women can say a man flew them all the way out to Coney Island for their third date?”

Definitely a good thing. “You, sweetheart, are completely worth it.”

She laughed again and he felt like anything was possible. That was good since he needed all the positive energy he could get.

Today was the very definition of a long shot.

* * *

The place was called Katya.

It was a smallish intimate restaurant with an overly quaint interior. Chance felt like he was walking into a tea room rather than the well-known hang out for one of Brighton Beach’s most notorious Russians.

Lamps with frilly shades sat on every table. The chairs were formal, each upholstered with a mishmash of needlepoint, brocade, or simple white cotton. The tableware was a similar mix of fancy place settings, none of which matched. Along the walls were Russian knickknacks from the pre-soviet days of the Motherland.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Juliet asked looking around in confusion.

The two, young men in suits with deceptively lazy expressions on their faces who came up to greet them answered the question for her.

They looked Juliet over with brief disinterest, saving their focus for Chance McCoy, the grandson of Viktor Vasiliev. If they had been anything other than Russian, the palpable fascination would have been painted all over their faces. Still, Chance was able to sense the particular fascination they had with him: the gazes that lingered just a bit too long; the indifference that became just a bit too exaggerated, shielding their curiosity; the shoulders that lost their professional squareness as their minds focused on this interesting little tidbit in the Russian scene.

“Come,” Goon #1 said to Chance.

Juliet was still attached to his arm as he walked.

“She stay here,” the man said before they had taken two steps.

“She comes with me.”

He gave Chance a look that was a mixture of confusion and disdain. There were two kinds of women in their world: those that were players and those that were trophies. Juliet was most certainly not a player, thus had no business occupying a seat at the table. All the same, Chance wasn’t about to let her out of his sight.

Juliet had other ideas.

“I’ll be fine, Chance,” she said, disengaging her arm from his and patting him on the shoulder. “Do what you need to do. I’ll be over there at the bar.”

Chance looked at her, ready to put up a fight, but she met him with that disarming smile of hers that she had to know by now would make his defenses melt.

She leaned in to his ear. “Like I said, I’m no wilting violet. I think I can handle myself in this place,” she whispered.

Chance realized she was right. He had to stop treating her with kid gloves and start focusing on the bottom line. After all, she had skin in the game as well. She sealed the deal by reaching up to bring his head down to her, silencing any protests with a kiss.

God how he loved those kisses.

When she finally pulled away, rewarding him with that mouthy smile, he didn’t even mind the barely concealed contempt on the faces of the two men sent to deliver him to his grandfather.

He watched Juliet walk off to take a seat at the unmanned bar. Once she was settled, he brought his attention back around to his escorts. He followed them toward the back. Before they turned a corner, he cast one last glance at Juliet. Her smooth brown legs were crossed, with one graceful hand settled on her knee. The other placed her bag on the bar.

She must have felt him staring because her eyes swiveled his way. He cemented that bright smile, which was more encouraging than any words she could have uttered, as he turned the corner.

Before he was allowed even a glimpse of the man he had come to meet, the two men stopped him and did a thorough search for weapons. He was certain that they were also checking for wires, bugs, or anything else suspicious. Chance wasn’t so far removed from this world that he’d never experienced this sort of thing.

Once they were sure he was free of all contraband, they continued leading him on. They walked through an entryway with curtains pulled aside to allow anyone approaching to continue in unobstructed. Sitting at a large round table in a room at the back that was obviously reserved for private parties was his very own grandfather: Viktor Vasiliev.