DEFIANT QUEEN

A DARK BRATVA ACADEMY ROMANCE

JAGGER COLE
 Defiant Queen
Jagger Cole © 2022
All rights reserved.
Cover by Plan 9 Book Design
Editing by MJ Edits | Proofing by Jessie Stafford, Teshia Elborne

This is a literary work of fiction. Any names, places, or incidents are the product of the author’s
imagination. Similarities or resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events or establishments,
are solely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form
without prior written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book
review.

The unauthorized reproduction, transmission, or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal and a
violation of US copyright law.

Created with Vellum

 CONTENTS

Defiant Queen
Playlist
A Special Present
Trigger Warning

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue

Savage Heir Preview

Paying The Bratva’s Debt Preview
Also by Jagger Cole
About the Author
 DEFIANT QUEEN

“Alas that love, so gentle in his view,

Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof.”

-William Shakespeare
 PLAYLIST

Don’t Hurt Yourself - Beyoncé, Jack White

Magnolia Blues - Adia Victoria
Make It Easy - Sylvan Esso
Fountain Of Youth - Local Natives
Lover, You Should’ve Come Over - Jeff Buckley
Disparate Youth - Santigold
Solen Love - Josiah and the Bonnevilles
First Day of My Life - Bright Eyes
Love Will Tear Us Apart - Joy Division
I’ll Believe in Anything - Wolf Parade
Time Stands - Nathaniel Ratliff
Looking for You - Flo Morrissey
Wintersong - Blake Mills
Be Sweet - Japanese Breakfast
The Limits - BLOW
Baby Hallelujah - Konradsen
Civilian - Wye Oak
Love Brand New - Bob Moses
Never Is a Promise - Fiona Apple
Seven Nation Army - The White Stripes
 Nocturnes, Op. 9: No. 1 in B-Flat Minor - Frédéric Chopin
Too Late Now - Wet Leg
Bassically - Tie Shi
Shiver And Shake - Ryan Adams
Song for Zula - Phosphorescent
Of Angels and Angles - The Decemberists
Chasing Cars - Snow Patrol

Search “Jagger Cole” on Spotify to find this and other book playlists!
 A SPECIAL PRESENT

The Jagger Cole fans-only newsletter is the first place to hear about new
releases, giveaways, and more! Sign up today to grab a free copy of Mr Big -
an extra hot billionaire romance not available anywhere else!
 TRIGGER WARNING

This book contains graphic depictions of past trauma and abuse. While these
scenes were written to create a more vivid, in-depth story, they may be
triggering to some readers. Please read with that in mind.

Defiant Queen is book 2 of a two-part duet within the Savage Heirs series.
You should not read this book before you have read Broken God.
 1

T HIS IS WHERE I DIED.

Two thousand miles from Oxford Hills—from my only safety net and only
tether to my new strange life—I stand before the wooden door set in the high
stone wall. Ivy covers the cracks and the bricks. Old wrought-iron lanterns
adorn either side of the doorway—the flickering flames replaced with
cobwebs in one and a bird’s nest in the other.

I know this place. No amnesia in the world could erase Krasnova Garden
from my memories.

Odessa is dark and silent in the late evening hour. The walled mansions on
this street and the ones around it—including the one I once lived in—are
dimmed and cloaked in the serenity of high, manicured hedges and sprawling
Mediterranean-style gardens. They’re also fortified against the darkness by
unseen security systems and armed guards.

But here, on the small side street that runs past the entrance to Krasnova
Garden, I’m alone when I reach out to press my palm against the heavy,
weathered wooden door.
There are still three bullet holes in it. And for some reason, touching my hand
to it feels like the same sort of feeling you’d get if you leaned out over the
edge of a cliff. If you let go of the handlebars of a bicycle careening down a
hill to feel the wind and the rush of death whistle past your ears.

“I have the municipal key, if you’d like to go inside.”

Well, I’m not completely alone.

I turn, nodding at Detective Bagan, who’s standing by the car a few yards
behind me.

“I would. Thank you.”

He nods, but his brow knits.

“Ms. Belsky, don’t feel like you need to do this. I’ve been doing this long
enough to know that facing past trauma, even if just by revisiting the scene of
that trauma, can take a toll—”

“I’ll be fine, Detective.”

He eyes me curiously. Which is a slight change from the outright shock he

had on his face when I walked into his precinct office an hour ago.

As fortified and guarded as OHA is, the security is there to primarily to keep
people out of the campus. With the sons and daughters of some of the most
important, and wealthiest people on earth living there, the guards are mostly
concerned with stopping unapproved guests, paparazzi, and that sort of thing
from entering the grounds.

Students obviously aren’t supposed to just leave. But when you’ve called
ahead to have a chauffeured car ready, and you march right through the gate
with a “try me” look on your face? I mean what were they going to do,
restrain me? Hold me at gunpoint? For all they knew, given the caliber of
students attending OHA, I could have been the future queen of Norway or
something.

When I knew I needed to run from Oxford Hills—and far from Konstantin—
it was a blind rage to just flee at first. And then, for some reason, I knew
exactly where I needed to go.

The one good thing about being Semyon Belsky’s daughter? Having access
to the kind of money that lets you call a chauffeured car to bring you to a
private airfield, to take a private jet from Manchester to Odessa, at basically a
moment’s notice.

I have no idea what it actually just cost me to make this leap of blind…
something. But I’m pretty sure it’s going to make my impulse buy of the
Oscar de la Renta dress a few weeks ago look like pocket change.

Running was the only option, though. I’ve felt numb and cold since the
second I laid eyes on that horrible image—the damning proof of the devil I
let inside.

The same man I’ve let into my heart and between my legs, and the man who
pulled me from the darkness four months ago, is the very same man who
shoved me screaming into that very darkness in the first place.

I’ve looked at the picture on the phone that’s currently in my small bag once
since fleeing OHA—on the jet, halfway here. But the sheer panic and horror
that sliced into me had me shoving it back into the depths of my bag before I
exploded in pure rage and disgust.

I gave my virginity to the man who gave me a bullet.

I gave my heart to the man who almost stopped mine.

I’ve been trying to figure out if want to scream until my throat shreds, throw
up until my body gives out, or run until my lungs stop working ever since I
left campus.

Maybe it’s all three.

It wasn’t until I was in the waiting car that I knew where I’d be going. But
why here, of anywhere? Why Krasnova Garden? Why the very place where
my life shattered into a thousand shards of scattered memories and stolen
years?

That’s what I’m hoping to figure out.

After this, though, the plan runs dry. All I know is, I have to put distance
between me and Konstantin. I have to get away from the twisted claws he’s
sunk into me, before he can…

I swallow.

Before he can try and kill me again.

Detective Bagan nods slowly.

“So you’re sure about going in there?”

“I am, yes.”

He blows air through his lips, letting his eyes hold mine for a minute. He’s a
handsome, built man in his forties, with a trimmed goatee and a sharp suit—
almost more like a James Bond actor than a police detective.

And he’s been nothing but incredibly helpful and understanding since I
blindsided him by strolling into this office at ten o’clock at night.

“Da, okay,” he smiles a winning grin. “Maybe it will shake something loose,
no? But Ms. Belsky—”

“Mara really is fine.”

He smiles.

“Well, Mara, if it’s too much, or you start to feel overwhelmed, we’re
leaving. Okay?”

“Okay.”

He smiles as he walks past me and fishes a key out of his jacket pocket.
Krasnova Garden, like a lot of the walled little gardens in this area of the city,
is for local, wealthy residents only. Hence it being locked. But Bagan has a
police key that opens any of them.

“It’s amazing to me. This beautiful, private park right here. And not a one of
them ever use it.”

I smile wryly.

“Why, because a girl and her bodyguards got shot here?”

He flashes a half smile, half grimace at my dark humor.

“No, not that. After your family moved away, this entire area seemed to grow
even more wealthy and walled-off. More security details, more VIP residents,
higher walls…” he shrugs. “A very famous Polish actress lives in your old
house, actually. I can drive you past on the way back if you’d like. You
should see the Cyprus trees she had brought it with a helicopter for her pool
area.”

I’m not sure how to answer that I’d just as rather burn my late father’s home
to the ground than see it again. But I’m saved by Detective Bagan pushing
the heavy wooden door open on rusted, unused hinges.

“Oh, I meant to ask you before at the offices. Were you able to open your old
phone?”

I shiver.
“Yes, I was,” I say coldly.

“Oh? Anything…helpful?”

Depends how you look at it.

“I haven’t delved into it too much.” I clear my throats. “it’s… hard,

sometimes, to look at the past.”

“Of course, of course. I completely understand. Do you think it might be

possible for us to get a copy of the data? I do think it might help breathe some
warmth into some cold clues.”

I nod. “That would be fine.”

He smiles as he gestures to the dark garden waiting inside the doorway. But
just then, my phone—my current phone—rings. I slip it out, and my heart
twists.

I’ve been putting of answering Lizbet’s calls for almost a full twenty-four
hours—from leaving campus, to the car to Manchester, to the jet to Odessa,
to the hotel I checked into with a fake name in order to sleep for a few hours,
to when I walked into the precinct. I’ve texted a few responses like “I’m fine”
or “Just needed to go think.” But not telling her what’s going on is just cruel
at this point.

I glance at Detective Bagan.

“Sorry, do you mind—”

“Of course,” he smiles. But his brow furrows for a second.

“Ms. Belsky, one moment, actually?”

I raise a brow.

“Your trip here was not a planned one, I gather?”

I bite my lip. “What makes you—”

“I’m a professional detective, Mara,” he smiles wryly. “And you’ve been

looking at and then silencing your phone all evening. Look, it isn’t my
business. But you, in a way, are my business. Your case is, at least. May I
suggest not telling anyone where you are until you’re sure you want that
information known?”

I shiver as the image of a young, snarling Konstantin, crouched behind my

bloodied body with a gun in his hands slices into my thoughts.

“I’ll be careful. Thank you.”

He nods as I turn and step away to the curb to answer the call.

“Lizbet—”

“Fuck you!” She sobs, screaming into the phone. “Fuck you! Fuck you!”

“Lizbet, I’m sorry—”

“You can’t just leave, Mara!!” She cries, sucking back tears that make my
heart wrench.

“Do you have any idea how terrified I’ve been about you? How out of my
mind I’ve been worrying that you were kidnapped, or having an episode or
—”

“An episode?” My eyes narrow. “What, you thought your crazy, forgetful
sister had a senile moment and just wandered off campus?”

“Yes!” She snaps back. “Yes, fuck you, yes. Goddamnit, Mara! You can’t just
leave me like that!”

The pain and terror in her voice is killing me. I squeeze my eyes shut as I
lean against the side of Detective Bagan’s Maserati.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I don’t even know what to say. You’re right, and I’m
so sorry I just ran off like—”

“Like an asshole,” she mutters, huffing.

I smile.

“A total asshole.” I sigh heavily. “Can you forgive me? I just…”

I just saw a picture of the man I’m completely wrapped up in, in the act of
trying to murder me four years ago.

“I’m trying to put pieces together, Lizbet. It’s hard to describe how jarring it
is to not have a linear memory. And something just kind of snapped in me,
and I had this sudden urge to try and put some of the pieces back where they
belong. I should have told you, and I’m so sorry.”

She exhales slowly.

“Look, I understand that. But I’m here, okay? And I want to help you do this!
I wasn’t able to help you for four years—”

“Of course you helped me,” I say softly.

“Well, let me help you with this.”

I close my eyes again.

“I will. Soon. I just have to do some of the pieces myself, okay? And that’s a
me thing. That has nothing to do with you, I promise. I just… I had to…”

I frown, trying to put the right words together.

“I ran because…”

“Did you run because of Konstantin?”

I stiffen, dragging my teeth over my bottom lip.

Yes.

“I know I’m right,” she whispers. “I know you too well. Twins, remember?”

I smile wryly.

“Did he hurt you?”

“I—”

My eyes close.

I think he might have.

But my no answer is all she needs right now.

“No, he didn’t.”

“Mara, where are you?”

I sigh as I look up around me at the familiar and yet forgotten tree-lined street
of walled homes.

“Home,” I croak.

“Wait, what?! Are you—Mara, are you in Odessa?!”

“At the garden.”

She chokes.

“Mara, please—”

“I have to see, Lizbet. I have to know, and I need to remember. There’s a

detective who’s been on my case. He’s here helping—”

“Mara, stop, please. Konstantin is missing from campus.”

I shiver as cold claws sink into my chest.

“What?” I croak.

“When you never came to the dance, he was prowling around looking
furious. Then later last night, he came over to Lordship looking deranged,
demanding to see you. I mean it took Lukas, Misha, and Ilya grappling him
away from the door to stop him from barging in. And the only reason
someone isn’t dead is because Charlotte, Tenley, and I jumped into pull the
three of them away from him.”

I swallow thickly.

“And he’s missing?”

“Yeah. Just not on campus at all, and the school is losing its shit, too.”

I stiffen. She takes a shaky breath.

“Mara, I get it. I mean, I get it as much as I can, full acknowledging that I’ll
never get this as much as you do. And look, you don’t have to come back to
OHA. But I need you to be safe. Please. Please let me get you somewhere
safe. Lukas’s family can put you under protection, okay? I mean just until
this—whatever this is—gets figured out?”

My eyes close as I slowly nod my head. I shiver, but it’s not out of fear that
Konstantin is “missing” from OHA, and almost certainly hunting for me.

I’m shivering because the idea of him prowling after me has my skin tingling
and heat throbbing deep inside of me.

Which is almost certainly a sign that I need to be committed somewhere with

rubber walls.

“Mara?”

She’s right. Going back to OHA is probably out of the question. But I can’t
just wander the earth outside of those walls. I need someplace safe to be, and
Lukas’s family, with his father being the head of the Kashenko Bratva, is the
safest place I could possibly go.

“Okay,” I choke, nodding. “Okay, yes. I don’t know about coming back to
school, but if Lukas’s family—”

“Consider it done,” she says fiercely.

I chew on my lip. I glance back over my shoulder to see Detective Bagan

calmly smoking a cigarette as he leans against the open doorway to the
garden—an unknown darkness, beckoning me.

“Look, I have to run and talk to this detective. I’ll call you right after?”

“I’m getting in the car now with Lukas. There’s a jet in Manchester waiting.
We’re going to come get you, okay?”

I smile, hugging myself.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “And I’m so sorry—”

“I lost you once, Mara,” she chokes. “It’ never, ever happening again.”

When I hang up, I take a slow breath and clear the dots of moisture from the
corners of my eyes. Then I turn to smile as I walk back to Detective Bagan.

“Everything okay?”

“Oh, fine, yes.”

He smiles, gesturing into the garden. “Well, shall we?”

My body trembles, a shiver creeping up my spine as I stare into the darkness

where I fell into mine.

And then, I step into it.

Inside the walls, with the low streetlights outside, the garden is even darker.
But it’s not a menacing darkness. It’s calm, and peaceful in here.

I stand a couple feet inside, staring at the ground.

I don’t really remember. But I do know this is roughly where I fell that day. I
stare at the imaginary outline of my body on the flagstones, waiting for the
memory to come rushing back. But it doesn’t.

I don’t expect it ever to. Even back at St. Thomas’, my team was always
optimistic about most of my past coming back to me. But even the most
optimistic of them cautioned that I’d probably never regain the memories of
that day. My brain almost certainly outright deleted that day, to protect itself.

“You okay?”

I shake out of my trance, nodding at Bagan’s voice from behind me.

“Yes. I’m just waiting for something—anything—to come back.”

I can smell his tobacco smoke as he steps around past me. He gestures around
at the trees and the high walls with the hand holding his glowing cigarette.

“We spent months poking around in here. I come back every year, actually,
to see if there’s anything I missed. But maybe being here will unfreeze
something up there in your head, no?”

I smile. It’s nice having someone on your side who knows the full depth of
what happened to you. I turn to stroll towards one of the little beds of
pachysandra surrounding a Japanese maple.

“So, this old phone of yours.”

I nod, my back to him as I scan the walls. It’s like I’m so close to grasping
something, but it’s just out of reach.
“You have it someplace safe?”

“Very.”

I half turn to him, patting the small backpack slung over my shoulder. I reach
in, and my body shivers as my fingers curl around the phone. When I pull it
out, I almost can’t even look at it. It’s too jarring, seeing the pink sequins
from my younger, innocent self here in the darkness of this place.

Detective Bagan’s eyes drop to the phone as I twist it in my fingers, and he

grins.

“Perfect. Safe as can be.”

I turn back to peer into the corners of the garden.

“Has anyone else seen the phone?”

I shake my head without turning around. “No.”

“And have you made any copies of the data on it yet?”

“No, I just—”

My breath chokes, my blood chilling to ice as my heart climbs into my throat.

The arm around my neck is strong, the metal of the gun to my temple is cold,
and the smell of his tobacco some engulfs me.

“I—what—why—”

The words just chip off of me like cracking ice. My brain is trying to catch up
with how I just went from feeling totally safe with this man to having his arm
around my neck with his gun to my head. And suddenly, I’m absolutely
drowning in the fear that surges through me.

My heart thuds, my throat closing as I gasp against the pressure on my throat.

“Detective! I—!”

“Fucking Belsky scum,” he sneers into my ear.

My face grows pale.

“Please—”

“Save it,” he snarls. “I’ll enjoy hearing you beg later.”

I try and scream, but his arm closes around my throat. I try and fight, but he’s
suddenly pushing me over, toppling me to my knees on the ground. Tears
swell in my eyes as the sheer terror grips me. The gun pulls away from my
head, and I try and twist, but suddenly, something cold and sharp is pressing
into my neck.

Horror sinks it’s claws into me when I realize it’s a needle.

“Please!” I choke. “Please, what do you—”

“I want to finish what wasn’t finished four years—”

Detective Bagan’s arm is suddenly yanked from around my neck as he grunts

in pain. There’s the feel of an impact as something slams into him, tearing
him off of me and sending him sprawling to the ground. I topple forward,
choking, catching myself with one palm against the flagstones as I turn to see
the dark shape looming over the detective.

“You piece of shit—”

It happens so fast. The detective grabs for the gun at his hip. But the man
standing above him, his back to me, is suddenly framed by a flash of light
and a heart-stopping bang from his own gun.

Detective Bagan slumps motionless to the ground. I want to scream, but I

can’t. I want to run, but I’m numb.
And when the shooter turns, I wish to God I could have done either of those
things as I look up into the cold, gun-metal gray eyes I see in my very
dreams.

And here we are again.

Same garden. Same me, on the ground.

Same him, with a gun in his hand.

 2

M Y MOUTH IS NUMB — SWOLLEN and dry feeling, like it’s stuffed with cotton.
Like my vocal cords don’t know how to operate anymore. Like my brain
can’t even find the right path to send the message to scream or yell to my
throat.

I just stare, my eyes wide and round with horror, my mouth open as his cold
gray gaze stabs into me.

“I—”

My mouth opens and closes, trying to form any sound at all. But it’s
hopeless. My body shrivels with fear and a pain I feel deep in my soul, as the
man who I’ve been sharing a bed with for weeks looms over me.

Gun in hand.

Standing in the very spot where he tried to kill me, four years ago.

“Please,” I choke, trying to push myself back across the paving stones away
from him. Even if doing that sends a different kind of wrenching pain
through me. It’s a war between the reason of self-preservation, and the
lingering, unreasonable desire for him.
A habit of wanting him my body isn’t quite ready to kick just yet, even if I’m
about to die.

Konstantin stares at me, his face hardened, his lips thin. His eyes pierce into
me as he slowly shakes his head.

“Mara, what—”

Detective Bagan groans a horrible choking sound as his hand starts to slide
across the ground to his gun. Konstantin barely flinches as he turns, raises his
own gun, and fires down through the detective.

This time, I remember how to scream. But my hand also remembers how to
fly up to muffle it, my eyes wide in horror as the detective slumps motionless
to the ground again.

Konstantin spits at him and whirls back to me.

“Fucking shit, Mara—”

“What have you done?!” I choke.

For some reason, that’s where my head goes. Not “how did you find me?”
Not “why did you try to kill me four years ago and then make me fall for
you?”

What have you done?

He frowns, turning to nod his chin at the body of Detective Bagan.

“Him?” He snarls viciously. “Bagan was on my father’s payroll, for years.”

“He…” I frown, shaking my head. “He was head of my case—”

“For four years?!” He snaps. “He couldn’t solve this in four years? Look
around you! There are bullet holes still in the fucking walls—”
My vision swims. I groan, slumping back onto my elbows. Instantly, the cold
anger on Konstantin’s face melts into something closer to focused intensity. I
gasp as he drops down next to me. He reaches for me, and I suck my teeth
hard, simultaneously flinching and shiver with need when his hands brush my
skin.

“Are you hurt?”

“No, I…” I swallow, shudder, and then suddenly push him back as I kick
back across the ground away from him.

Konstantin’s eyes narrow. But just then, the blackness fades at my vision
again, and I start to fall once more.

“What did he…” he whips his head around, eyes scanning the ground. I
follow his hunt, until we see it at the same time—the syringe that Bagan just
stuck me with.

Suddenly, cold naked fear grips me. What the hell was I just injected with?

Konstantin’s face says the same thing. He goes white, his eyes flickering with
cold fire as he snarls and drops down to grab it off the ground.

“Did he…”

He turns, and even though I say nothing, he knows.

“Fuck,” he hisses. He whirls towards the door to the garden. “I need you in
here!”

Instantly, a tall, built, good-looking guy with dark hair barges in, holding an
assault rifle of some kind. I cower a little when his fierce gaze sweeps over
me, before moving past me to Bagan’s body.

“I bought us some time. Just called in to his precinct with his car radio and
said it was kids setting off bottle rockets.”
The other young man turns to stare at me again, like he’s assessing who and
what I am. Then he turns back to Konstantin.

“What do you need?”

“The fucker stuck her with this.”

“Shit. Any idea what it is?”

“No, but I’ll find out.”

I stare, watching these two men—one a stranger, and one who’s so familiar it
hurts. And yet even he seems a stranger to me now. Now that I know what
he’s capable of.

Now that I know what he did.

To me.

A cold fear drags over me, my veins turning to ice. Both of them have guns,
and they’re talking angrily with each other about what the next step is.

But I already know what Konstantin’s next step is: to finish what he started
four years ago.

The two of them are talking closely, swearing as they turn to glance at
Detective Bagan’s body. I know it’s not real, but I swear I can hear this tick-
tocking sound—the sound of sand falling through an hourglass.

The sound of the last second I have left ticking by.

But I’ve already died once. I have no intention of doing it again in the same
fucking spot.

My head is spinning, and there’s a darkness creeping in at the corners of my

vision. Whatever I just got stuck with, it’s starting to work.
I’m running out of time.

With the two of them turned and kneeling over Bagan, I somehow dig deep,
drag up the last of my strength, and I haul myself quietly onto shaky feet.
Neither Konstantin nor the other guy hear me as I slowly back away towards
the door.

My heal hits a loose pebble. Instantly, like a tiger hearing its prey,
Konstantin’s head swivels. His eyes stab into me as I stand there wide-eyed
and gaping at him in the doorway to the garden.

For one sliver of a second, neither of us says a thing. But our eyes scream
everything our mouths don’t.

I know what he did.

He knows I know what he did.

I know that somehow, in some truly fucked up way, I still want him. I still
want to rush into his arms and kiss him. I want to sob into his chest after he’s
just saved me from Bagan.

But I can’t do those things. Because they’re built on a foundation of lies and
deceit.

I take another step back, and Konstantin’s jaw clenches.

“Mara—”

I bolt. I lunge out of the garden, grab the handle of the door, and slam it shut.
Bagan’s keyes are still stuck in the lock, and I barely have the time to twist
them, locking the door, before Konstantin’s weight and roaring words slam
into the other side of it.

My heart claws into my throat, my vision swimming as he roars thunderously

through the old wood. My legs feel weak, my pulse feels like it’s slowing.
But I have to try.

I will not die here again.

I whirl, the world spinning wildly as I lunge forward and start to run. I run
blindly down the quiet, tree-lined street, barely avoiding things like road
signs or a parked car until I’m almost on top of them.

I hear the bang of a gun. I hear the roar of Konstantin bellowing my name. I
hear footsteps rushing closer and closer, like my own doom chasing me
down. I scream, my heart shattering as the tears stream down my face. My
vision turns dark, the world turning upside down. And suddenly, I’m falling
face-forward, my arms limp at my sides.

Here comes the end. Again.

Arms catch me. A familiar smell that turns my inside to mush and sends a
shiver across my skin invades my senses.

“Mara, stop—!”

“I know it was you!” I scream into the darkness of my vision. My tongue

starts to go numb. My mouth stops responding to what I’m telling it.

“I… you… you… it…”

“Maraaaa…”

His voice is a million miles away, and I’m drifting further.

Deeper.

Darker.

“It… was… you…”

“Maarrraaa!!” He’s roaring my name, shaking me, gripping me tight.
Holding me close.

I fall into the abyss, waiting for the feel of his bullet for a second time.

“Please…”

I start to go limp.

“Please doonnn’t…”

“MARA!”

“Killlll meee…”

Everything fades away. And for all I know, he’s just killed me again.

Then I don’t know anything at all.

 3

Two Years Ago:

I SWEAR , hissing as I grip the edge of the heavy wood conference table with
slick fingers. My jaw grinds, my eyes squeezed shut, desperately trying to
shut out the pain lancing like hot iron through my side.

The doctor hunched over next to me pauses in his stitching to wipe the sweat
from his brow. It’s not hot in the conference room, though. He’s sweating
because the poor bastard probably isn’t used to stitching up gunshot wounds
while having guns trained on his every move.

Surgeons deal with high pressure situations all day every day. But there’s not
a surgery room in the world as tense as this fucker trying to stitch up the son
of Antin Reznikov, fearsome mad king of the Reznikov Bratva, while Antin
himself and four of his armed guards stand over his goddamn shoulder.

The needle grazes a rib as he threads another stitch. I hiss, crying out in
agony.

The back of a hand slams across my face.

“Don’t you fucking dare cry.”

My father’s voice cuts through even the ringing in my ears, snarling
venously.

“You don’t get to cry, Konstantin,” he growls, hunching down to glare

furiously into my face.

“She—she—”

“She’s dead,” he snaps coldly.

I close my eyes, flinching as it rushes over me like pure poison.

The screaming from the basement.

The laughter of men.

The pounding of flesh.

Her horrified, bloodied face right before the gunshot snuffed the light out of
her eyes right in front of me.

“We’ll fuck you next, you little bitch.”

I start to fade. The room swirls, and the table comes up to slam into my face.
A hand grabs me before it does, though, yanking me away and upright. When
I focus, I realize it’s the doctor, not Antin, who’s just stopped me from
smashing my teeth out on the conference table.

“Look at me!” The doctor snaps in crisp Queen’s English. He looks scared
out of his mind. But he’s still a doctor.

“Look at me, Konstantin!” He yells into my unfocused eyes. “Where are

you?”

“Here,” I mumble.

“Where is here?”
“England,” the word falls from my mouth. “London.”

I’m at my father’s London offices, in Mayfair. Two hours ago, I was in Rye,
at one of the several “summer homes” my family owns.

I wasn’t supposed to be there, or even in England at all right now. But that
might be the only reason I’m alive.

I’m supposed to be at my boarding school in Germany. But I was ditching

school to be in London anyway, and knew my mother was staying at the Rye
house—her favorite place in the world to be. So I went to surprise her. We
had dinner, I went to sleep, and then I woke up to a nightmare that wants to
shred me into pieces from the inside out.

“You fool of a boy!” My father snarls, pacing the conference room as he

slugs back a glass of vodka.

He shoves his fingers through his hair—dark like mine.

I hate our similarities. I hate anything that connects me to this man. But of the
two people who made me, one is now dead—naked in a pool of her own
blood back in Rye. And the other is glaring at me like I did this.

“You little bastard,” he hisses. “You little fucking bastard.”

I wish for their places to be exchanged. I wish with every last fiber of my
being for it to be him lying naked and abused on the floor of the living room,
surrounded by leering, villainous men. And for it to be her standing here with
me—even if she too was yelling at me.

But if the places were reversed, she wouldn’t be. She’d be hugging me and
telling me it’s all going to be okay.

But none of this will ever be okay. Not with her gone.

Not like this.

“You stupid little fuck!” Antin screams at me. “What the fuck are you even
doing out of that expensive school I pay—”

I wince as the needle pulls another stitch. Antin’s face goes livid, but this
time, I have time to brace before he cuffs me across the cheek.

“You disobedient little fuck—”

I snap. With a hiss, I shove the doctor away, launch out of the chair shirtless
and bleeding, and slam my father into the wall, my hands at his throat. His
men roar, jumping for me.

“Nyet!” Antin roars, glaring at them past me. “No! Let the little pup bark until
he pees all over the carpet.”

The men chuckle. My rage turns scalding.

Antin is angry. But he’s not angry enough. Not even fucking close.

He’s been told what just happened to his wife—my mother. He’s been spared
no details either—I know because I had to sit here, reliving the horror while
one of his men filled him in on what happened.

The men that broke into the house while I was sleeping upstairs. The way
they assaulted her. The way they killed her.

Me running, and them chasing. The bullet that cut through my side as I ran
for my car. The second shot that shattered the side window as I drove away.
And then my father’s men who found my car wrecked in a ditch, with me
barely conscious.

Now I’m here, in London, being sewn back together—sutures to try and hold
back the blood and the roaring rage inside of me.

I’m angry. I’m so fucking angry. At the world. At those men. At myself for
running. And at my father, for not being angry enough.
He’s not. Fucking. Angry. Enough.

“Did you miss your mamma, little boy?” Antin snarls into my face. “Is that
why you skipped out on that school of yours?”

“She… she…” I choke on my rage and anguish.

My father sneers at me.

“I suppose you didn’t miss her enough to try and save her, no? Just enough to
run, like a little bitch—”

“Why aren’t you angry?!”

My roar deafens the room. Even Antin looks momentarily shocked at the
power behind my fury.

But then, he course corrects. His cruel sneer returns, like it always does.

“You are mad at me?”

He laughs coldly, shaking his head as his eyes narrow dangerously.

“At me, Konstantin?! No… no-no, little pup. This is your doing. You did
this!”

I stiffen, my pulse like a drum in my ear. Antin’s lips curl wickedly.

“This was retaliation, Konstantin! Are you too fucking blind to see that! This
was payback for that little Belsky bitch!”

My pulse turns to ice. My vision narrows until all I can see is Antin’s
sneering face, mocking me. Torturing me.

“You were weak, Konstantin. You were weak, thinking with your prick, eh?
You walked right into that, and you forced my hand before. And now, you
take her from me!”
I stiffen.

“No…”

“Yes,” he snarls. “Yes, you did. You took Kristina from me tonight, you
miserable little—”

“Antin.”

I haven’t heard the conference room door open. But I do know the sound of
Vadim’s voice. Even if it’s currently almost unrecognizable with grief.

“Antin,” he says again, softly, but with a broken voice.

“Let the boy go.”

Some men would be dead after speaking to my father like that. Especially in
the presence of his soldiers. But Vadim seems to walk that dangerous line
like a tightrope walker.

My father smiles cruelly at me as he addresses one of his top captains and

advisors.

“Tell me, Vadim. Do you have any advice for me on dealing with insolent,
motherless sons?”

My father might not shoot Vadim when the captain speaks to him like he just
did. But he’ll still disembowel him with words. Vadim’s only son, Gavan—a
friend of mine not much younger than me—has no mother. She left him with
Vadim the day Gavan was born and disappeared forever.

My father’s words are nothing short of absolutely cruel. But Vadim doesn’t
cave or react. He never does, actually.

“Please, Antin. We are all angry—”

“Apparently I’m not angry enough,” Antin snaps, smiling at me.

“We all grieve for Kristina,” Vadim chokes. “But the boy has seen more
tonight than we can even comprehend. Please, give him time to mourn how
he will.”

My father levels his eyes at me.

“Weeping into his pillow, writing love poems, I have no doubt,” he sneers.

I grit my teeth, holding back with everything I have.

Antin smiles.

“You are angry at me, no?”

I say nothing.

“Da, I see the hatred in your eyes. Good,” he snaps. “Good. Be angry. Be
fucking hateful, Konstantin. And if that hate lands on me?” He shrugs. “So be
it. But let it land on our true enemies, too. You might hate me, boy. But you
know I’m speaking the truth.”

I go to back away, but he snarls as he grabs my jaw and yanks me close to

him.

“She did this to us,” he snarls. “This is because of that little fucking Belsky
whore, and you know it, too.”

The room is silent. Antin glares into my eyes, and I glare right back, ignoring
the agonizing pain in my side. Finally, my father makes a huffing sound as he
shoves me away by the jaw.

“I have a war to plan. When you are done weeping here, you will go back to
that fucking school of yours, you will shut your mouth, and you will obey
me. Is that understood?”

I say nothing. Antin sneers at me.

“Pathetic.”

He shoves past me, followed by his men as sweeps out of the room.

The room is quiet as I stare at the wall, feeling like a shell of a human.

“Come.”

Vadim’s hand lands on my shoulder.

“Come, sit.”

Numb, I let him gently pull me back to the chair. He turns to nod at the
doctor.

“Doctor Kent, you can go. Thank you.”

He slides a thick envelope across the table towards the pale looking doctor.

“One of my men is just outside the door. He will take you home. Go with him
and with him only,” Vadim grunts, a hard look on his face that underscores
his words.

Doctor Kent nods, but then frowns as he turns back to look at the still
bleeding, not-quite-patched hole in my side.

“I need to—”

“I can finish.”

The doctor eyes Vadim.

“Russian Special Forces,” the older Russian man grunts.

Doctor Ken nods, seemingly appeased. He reaches into his coat and pulls out
a rattling pill bottle.
“Take this twice a day, for fourteen days. Do not stop taking them when you
feel better. Understood?”

I just nod blankly, staring at nothing.

Vadim nods at the doctor again before the man steps out of the conference
room. Then, we’re alone.

“Vadim—”

“I know,” he says quietly, kneeling next to me and bending to pick up the

thread and needle.

“They… she was just lying there—”

“Konstantin,” he croaks, his voice breaking. But he fixates on the needle,

threading it through my torn flesh, pulling me back together even as he falls
apart.

“One day, you will be king. Until then…”

He stops, closing his eyes and swallowing before he opens his mouth again

“Until then, life is going to be very hard for you. And after, it will be even
harder.”

He looks up at me, the anguish etched over his face.

“I am so sorry, Konstantin.”

I turn to stare at the wall again. But this time, my gaze slips over, to the
window, where I stab my hatred out into the darkness of London.

I loathe my father. But deep down, I know he’s right.

She did this. Not today, but by her actions years ago. She signed my mother’s
death warrant, so I don’t give a shit that she’s been asleep for two years.
One day, I’m going to wake her up. And when I do, I’ll bury everything
except the burning need to make her feel this hell she’s caused.

Present:

S HE ’ S SO beautiful when she’s sleeping.

I carry Mara quietly up the street, back to the shadow and privacy of the
garden. Gavan knows with a look to leave us, and after he wipes down the
door handle and any surfaces inside the garden we or Mara may have
touched, he waits back in our car.

I sit on one of the stone benches along the wall, holding her—cradling her in
my arms.

Being here with her is… jarring. It’s fucking with my head. It’s making me
remember pledges of hatred and ruin I made to myself those years ago.

Pledges I’ve long broken. Promises I’ll never keep.

Not anymore.

I look down at her sleeping face. She’s breathing easy enough, and I’m
guessing the drug was a sedative of some kind. Gavan, who knows every bit
of field-medic training his father learned in the Russian Special Forces, said
the same thing. Which is the only reason I’m not breaking the sound barrier
getting her to a hospital right now.

If Bagan wanted her dead, he would have just shot her. The fact that she was
drugged instead means someone wanted her alive. And they wanted her that
way to get to me.
Bagan and I met once before—in a room not far from here, with just him and
I and my father. A room where he smiled and assured me nothing would ever
come of this investigation. That this was already a cold a case, chalked up to
“senseless mob violence.”

I remember he was a newly minted detective back then. My father made sure
he became Odessa’s chief detective within a month of that conversation. I
look over at the piece of shit’s body and glare at it.

Look at him now. What fucking city detective wears six-thousand dollar
imported Italian suits and drives a fucking Maserati? No, Bagan was on my
father’s payroll for years—another toxic, Antin-loyalist parasite.

The problem is, Antin is dead. Bagan is still working for and answering to
someone, and it’s not me.

I’m guessing that someone is Dima and the rest of my father’s pathetic fan
club.

Someone wanted him to lure her here. They wanted him to take her, so they
could hurt her, to hurt me.

My mouth thins. My fury simmers just beneath the surface.

This is a declaration of war.

I breathe in and out, trying to slow my roaring pulse. I drag my eyes up,
scanning the garden—the place where lives crossed, and paths were
shattered.

I need to know more. But until then, she’s not safe. Not anywhere.

Glancing around the garden, I spot a bag that’s almost certainly hers. I shrug
my jacket off, draping it on the bench before I lay her gently across it. Across
the garden, I push her belongings that have spilled out back into the bag—a
change of clothes, a toothbrush, an old dirty copy of Romeo and Juliet, a
necklace with a winged foot, and a pair of diamond earrings.

Curious.

I frown, glancing around. But I see nothing else. I throw her bag over my
shoulder and then turn to walk back over to where she’s lying asleep on the
bench.

I pull her into my arms as I stand, take one more look at this cursed place,
and leave through the wooden door. Bagan’s car will eventually be noticed.
So will his absence from work tomorrow. Soon, they’ll find him rotting in
this fucking garden. But I’m guessing after four years of flaunting his Bratva
money around the precinct, people either won’t give a shit that he’d dead, or
someone will try and step up and take his place.

A block away, Gavan steps out of the Range Rover as I slide Mara into the
backseat and buckle her in. I brush hair away from her face, my eyes drinking
in every single strand as my chest constricts.

Tonight could have been so much worse. I could have lost her. I might have,
if it wasn’t for one of the workers on my payroll at the private airfield in
Manchester. I pay for eyes and ears there for a number of reasons—things
like wanting to know if Ilya, Misha, or Lukas is boarding a plane somewhere.
Or if any of the higher-ups in their own families is flying in to see them.

Tonight, one of those men got word to me that he’d seen Mara Belsky
boarding a private jet. After that, it was a simple matter of bribing a control
tower official for the jet’s manifest. The two airport workers who helped can
consider themselves retired and set for life starting tomorrow.

I swallow as I close the door gently and turn to nod at Gavan.

“I want someone here in Odessa tomorrow, with their finger on the pulse of
things when that piece of shit back there is discovered.”

“He was on your dad’s payroll, right?”

I nod. “Yes. And someone will try and step up to take his place. When they
do, I want our man to get to them before Dima does. Let Dima make contact,
but after us.”

Gavan grins. “It’s done. I’ll make the call from the plane.”

He frowns.

“Where do you want to go, by the way?”

I sigh. I have no fucking idea.

“I hate to say it…”

I turn to arch a brow at him. “Say it.”

“Oxford Hills Academy is a fortress, brother. Especially if we can bring in

some of our own to watch the perimeter. You don’t notice the security there,
but they don’t fuck around.” He shrugs. “If you want to keep her away from
Dima, I think that school might actually be the safest place for her right
now.”

I sigh, raking my nails over my jaw.

“I think you’re right.”

“Airport?”

“Immediately.”

Gavan pulls the SUV away and into the night, and I glance into the side
mirror at the garden fading behind us.
The place where lives crossed, and paths were forever shattered.

This is a last look. I’m never, ever coming back to this cursed fucking place
again.
 4

I’ M RUNNING . Every muscle in my body is screaming, and my breath is

ragged from roughened, aching lungs. My eyes dart ahead, to the three-way
split in the labyrinth ahead.

Straight, left, or right.

There’s no time for debating or stopping to weigh out the options. I can’t
pause to get my bearings or my breath.

Not with the thudding of dark hooves thundering through the maze behind
me—chasing me down. The black horse with the flaming nostrils. With the
black mane, and the gray, metallic eyes.

I dodge left at the split, panting, screaming for air—my feet bleeding as I
force myself forward. I have to keep running.

I need to keep running, even if I have no idea if the paths I’m taking are ones
I’ve run down before, or new ones altogether.

There’s no time to tell. There’s never time. Not with the black horse hot on
my heels.
Part of me wants to stop running—to swallow the fear, turn, and face the
creature head-on. To know once and for all if he’s here to trample me to
ground bones beneath his hooves, or if he’s here to lead me from this maze.

The path ahead splits in two, and without thinking, I dodge right. Something
catches my ankle, though, and suddenly, I’m sprawling forward, screaming
as I slam into the ground.

My whole body thunders and shakes with the pounding of hooves. The snort
of flame-wreathed nostrils, like a train engine, come from behind me. I
scrabble to get to my feet, skinning my knees and ripping my fingers. But it’s
no use.

It’s too late.

He’s here.

I turn as the beast comes roaring around the corner, rearing up, piercing me
with its cold grey eyes as I scream—

I choke, gasping awake from the nightmare and bolting up. I wince, jarring
when the seatbelt over my waist catches me, yanking me back into the seat.

I’m shaking as I freeze, swallowing as my eyes dart over my surroundings.

I’m in an airplane. A private jet, actually, by the looks of it. It’s dark, but
with the dim, soft glow from the floor lights, I can see that everything is a
slate-grey tone, with accents of onyx and chrome.

I close my eyes, my head swimming as I try and piece together where I am,
and how I got here.

“How do you feel?”

At the sound of the deep, male voice, my eyes fly open with a gasp from my
lips. And suddenly, I’m staring at a man sitting in the seat across from mine.
A man with dark hair, and dark grey eyes piercing into mine. His brow
furrows as he leans forward, hands extending as if he’s going to take mine in
his.

“Mara—”

I gasp, yanking my hands away from his, pressing my back into the seat
behind me, stiff.

The man’s brow creases even deeper.

“Mara—”

“Get away!” I choke.

His jaw tenses, his eyes darkening as they dance over mine.

“Do you know how you got—”

“Who are you?!” I blurt.

His whole face stiffens. His eyes surge with a vicious, brutal intensity. And
for a second, the corners of his lips curl into a snarl. But he swallows, his lips
thinning. His eyes utterly captivate mine.

And then suddenly, something clicks in me.

He’s not good. He’s the bad guy.

He hurt me.

I stiffen, growing pale as I shove myself further back into the seat.

“It’s me, Mara,” he growls quietly. “It’s Konstantin.”

“Konstantin…” I whisper.
There are pieces to this puzzle in my head. Ephemeral pieces, floating in
nothingness, and I’m grasping at them with numb fingers.

“Reznikov.”

The name blurts from my mouth as soon as it lights up in my head.

He nods. “Yes, I—”

Oh my God.

I don’t even know why or how, but I know I should fear this name. And this
man, as captivatingly gorgeous as he is.

All I know is, I look at him, and I feel… fear. Like I should run.

He frowns and leans forward again, but I stiffen and then recoil.

“Don’t come near me!”

His teeth flash as he grimaces.

“You know me, Mara.”

Yes, I do, I just don’t know how.

He reaches for me, and I gasp, kicking at him, trying to claw myself out of
the seat. My seatbelt opens suddenly, and I choke as I lurch away from him
on wobbly legs. I lunge for the aisle, but my feet aren’t cooperating, and I
start to fall.

Powerful, strong hands catch me. A familiar scent, and warmth, envelope me
as he spins me around and pulls me into him.

“No!” I scream—not because I am scared, but because a voice buried inside

of me is hissing at me that I should be.

“No! Don’t touch me! Let go of me! Let me go! Let me—”
His arms circle me, and suddenly, he’s hugging me close, tightly. Fiercely so,
even as I struggle and kick against him.

I know this scent.

And I know the feelings that come with being enveloped by him and
surrounded by his strong arms isn’t one of fear or horror.

It’s a feeling of protection.

Of power that invigorates me.

Of heat that sets my skin tingling and my lips aching to be kissed.

And suddenly, the fight melts out of me. I choke, sagging into his chest as I
cling to his shirt and start to sob.

“Mara,” he groans, his lips brushing the top of my head as he holds me

tightly.

“Konstantin—” I choke.

I shudder against him, clutching him tightly like a lifeline before I slowly pull
away to look up into his eyes.

“I was… lost?”

He nods.

“You found me…”

“I will always find you,” he whispers thickly. “And I will never leave you.
Ever.”

His words ignite something in me. Something that grips my heart, a flicker of
familiar heat.

I swallow as I lose myself in those gun-metal gray eyes.

“We know each other…”

His face twists with a hint of pain.

“Yes.”

“Are we…”

There’s something in the way he looks at me. The way me not knowing him
seems to hurt him.

Oh my God.

“Are we—”

“Are we what,” he growls.

“Are we a we?” I whisper.

His eyes flash that same cold gray fire again. His jaw grinds, and it almost
feels like his presence swells in the jet cabin. Then he breathes slowly.

“You need to sleep, Mara. We’ll be home soon.”

I nod, still sort of numb feeling as he guides me back to the seat. He buckles
my seatbelt, and when he tightens it, I feel a shiver of heat as his hands brush
my waist.

He looks up, our eyes locking for a second. And for one moment, I have this
overwhelming need to kiss him.

Then he pulls away, ripping his gaze from mine as he turns. I watch him
cross to the far side of the cabin and pull out his phone. He taps a number and
brings it to his ear.

“I have her—no, no… stop talking. Lizbet, she’s okay.”

Lizbet.
My sister.

I smile as it rushes over me. My twin sister. That’s who he’s calling.

“I’m bringing her back now. We’re on my plane.”

He glances back at me, his lips tightening before he sighs.

“Yours is probably best,” he growls quietly.

When he hangs up, he makes another call. But this one is in Russian. There
are bits of it I pick up on, but slowly, my eyelids droop.

Then I sleep.

T HERE ’ S a doctor waiting when we land in what I’m told is Manchester,

England. The woman smiles as she gives me a once-over on the jet, before
nodding as if she’s satisfied.

“You’re coming off what seems to be a strong sedative. Vitals look fine to
me, but barring any recent medical—”

“I was in a coma for four years, until four months ago.”

The doctor’s brows shoot up. Konstantin’s do too, from behind her. After
waking up from the last little nap I had on the plane, I’m remembering more
and more, slowly.

I’m at school at the prestigious Oxford Hills Academy, along with Lizbet,
and her husband Lukas. Most students live in cottages, but I live in a really
nice Tudor home—alone with just Konstantin.

I think we might be together. But I’m not sure if it’s that we really are, or if I
just have a strong attraction to him, and when I asked before, it got weird.
The doctor frowns at my admission.

“How’s your memory right now, Mara?”

“It’s…” I chew on my lip. “Okay.”

“Are there blanks at the moment?”

“I… maybe. Yes.”

As in, I have no idea how the hell I got to Odessa, or why I was there to begin
with. But my being there seems to have been a big deal. Big enough for
Konstantin to come get me, and for Lizbet to be worried sick about me.

The doctor nods slowly, eyeing me.

“Those will probably fill in over the next day as you rest. Can you make an
appointment to get checked out soon with your usual doctor?”

I nod.

“Well, then for now, I think you just need some rest.”

After she’s gone, Konstantin brings me to a waiting chauffeured car, and then
we’re off through the night. We drive in silence, and I have the strongest urge
to hold his hand, or to lean my head on his shoulder. But again, I resist that.

Finally, we pull through the main gate of Oxford Hills and drive down the
white gravel driveway. Konstantin helps me from the car, but when we start
to walk down the lamp-lighted pathway that crosses the dark campus, I smile
when he keeps an arm around my waist.

We arrive a huge, gorgeous manor home, and the name hits me before I see it
carved into the stone wall beside the ornate iron gate.

Lordship Manor. This is where Lizbet and Lukas live.

Inside the walls, the house door opens before we even get to it. And
suddenly, my sister comes flying out, sobbing as she crashes into me.

“I was so fucking worried about you,” she says fiercely, hugging me tightly.

I sink into her, hugging her back. I don’t have the same sense of panicked
relief, but again, I can tell that however I left here before was abrupt enough
to terrify her.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper into her. “I—I don’t know why… I’m trying to
remember.”

“It’s okay!” She sobs, pulling back to smile as she wipes at a tear. “You’re
back, you’re okay. That’s all I care about right now.”

Her eyes raise past me, to Konstantin.

“Thank you.”

When I glance back at him, he just nods at her before his face darkens a little
when his eyes swivel to mine.

Lizbet leads me to the front door, and I look up to see another mercifully
familiar face.

“Lukas,” I smile.

He grins back.

“You had us worried.”

I smile when he pulls me into a hug. Behind him, four people step into the
light from inside the house—two built guys with tattoos, along with two
pretty girls…

“Misha,” I whisper at the man with even more ink than Konstantin.
He smiles, nodding. I turn to the brunette girl next to him.

“Charlotte.”

“Hey, Mara,” she grins warmly.

“Tenley, Ilya” I grin in recognition at the red-haired girl and the brooding
guy with the green eyes.

I remember. I remember them. Thank God.

The doctor back at the private airfield in Manchester said I was recovering
from a strong sedative. But I’m still trying to piece together what happened in
Odessa. I just remember being terrified, and then chased. And then I
remember Konstantin being there and bringing me back here.

“Well, let’s get you inside, yeah?”

I nod at my twin. “Yeah.”

We start to head in, when suddenly, I catch my reflection in the small

windows set into the house beside the front door. I see me, but then my eyes
focus on the reflection of Konstantin, behind me.

It happens so fast, but instantly, all I know is fear—all I know is this

overwhelming panic at the image of him standing behind me.

I scream as I suddenly whirl and almost fall as I try to scramble away from
him.

“Stay away!” I choke, tumbling back over the threshold of the front door
before my sister catches me.

Instantly, Lukas snarls and storms past me towards Konstantin.

“What the fuck did you do to her?!”

Konstantin doesn’t flinch. His eyes swivel past Lukas to me, and when they
find mine, suddenly, my panic is gone.

“Lukas, wait…” I frown, confused and embarrassed that everyone is either

looking at me like I’m crazy, or at Konstantin like he’s a predator.

“Wait, no… I don’t know what that was.”

Lukas eyes me coolly and then turns back to Konstantin and steps up close to
him.

“What did you do to her?” he says thinly.

“I brought her back here,” Konstantin mutters quietly. “And the only reason
I’m leaving her here is so I can go help her. So you need to get the fuck out
of my face, now.”

The two guys glare at each other, like two lions debating whether or not to go
for each other’s jugular.

My sister reaches out and touches her husband’s arm, and suddenly, the
tension breaks. Lukas growls at Konstantin and then backs away to slide an
arm around Lizbet.

“However we’ve helped each other in the past,” he mutters at Konstantin.

“Know that I’m watching—”

“Yeah, great, fuck off,” Konstantin grunts, ignoring Lukas before he turns to
level his eyes at me.

“You’ll be safe here.”

I swallow, nodding—utterly captivated by his gray eyes. The fear from

whatever the hell that trigger was of seeing his reflection behind mine
evaporates, until all I feel is that same burning need to wrap my arms around
him and breathe in the scent of him again.
“Thank you,” I murmur. “For… finding me.”

He nods.

“I will come back for you.”

Then he turns, and without another word, storms off into the night until even
his silhouette melts into the darkness.

I will come back for you.

A part of me knows that should make me anxious. Except when I replay his
words, the shiver I feel creeping over me isn’t one of dread.

It’s one of need.

 5

M Y RETURN to OHA is brief. It involves walking Mara across campus to

Lordship Manor, ignoring the burning need to stop about a thousand times
along the walk to kiss her.

Because I can’t. Not when she doesn’t even quite know me, or us.

Not when seeing my reflection makes her scream.

After bringing her to her sister, I walk back to where the car is still waiting
for me by the main academic buildings. Then, it’s right back to the airfield in
Manchester.

Then, I’m off to London.

For answers.

“D OCTOR B LOOM ?”

The well-dressed man looks up from his laptop when I knock on the open
door to his office at St. Thomas’. He looks at me curiously for a moment, but
then his eyes seem to narrow.
“Doctor Bloom, I’m—”

“I know who you are, Mr. Reznikov.”

His tone is icy as he closes his laptop and sits back in his chair, crossing his
arms over his chest.

“I knew who you were when you’d come here before, too.”

He breathes slowly, bringing a hand up to stroke his silvered beard.

“Is this about Mara Belsky?”

I smile thinly. “Now why would you think that?”

“Are you yourself currently in or recovering from a coma, Mr. Reznikov?”

“Very funny.”

His look hardens.

“How is she?”

“She’s—” I frown. “She was good.”

“Was?” He says sharply.

“She’s fine, she just… something happened, and the strides she’s made with
her memory seem to have backslid a little.”

His grey eyebrows knit.

“What the hell happened?”

“She hit her head.”

He glares at me accusatorially and my mouth thins.

“We’re on the same side here, Doctor.”

“I’d rather you didn’t insult me that way.”

“I mean on her side. We’re both on her side, wanting the best for her.”

“With radically different methods—”

“I never said otherwise.”

Doctor Bloom sighs again as he glares at me.

“What happened to her?”

“She…”

Fuck it.

“Someone attacked her.”

His face goes livid. But all his anger only underscores that I’ve come to the
right place. He might hate me for what I am or what he thinks I am. But he
truly cares about Mara. That’s why my being here has him so angry.

“Who the hell attacked her?!”

“It would be best if you didn’t know.”

“This isn’t a Jason Bourne movie, Mr. Reznikov!” he snaps. “I can’t just look
the other goddamn way when the health and well-being of a patient is—”

“They injected her with this.”

I yank my hand out of my coat pocket and hand him the needle that Bagan
used on her—which I’ve had wrapped in a plastic bag with a thick piece of
tape over the tip. I walk over and set it firmly on his desk.

“If you’re for her health and well-being, I need to know what this is, and I
need you not to question me.”
Doctor Bloom eyes the needle coldly, and then drags his gaze back up to me.

“Is that a threat?”

“It will be if you don’t help me.”

“Your way.”

“Excuse me?” I grunt.

“If I don’t help you your way.”

My mouth thins.

“Correct.”

He sighs, dropping his gaze back to the bagged needle. He picks it up, turning
it in his hands to examine it.

“In what context was she injected with this?”

“Someone was trying to kidnap her.”

“Jesus Christ,” he hisses, glaring at me.

“Another doctor who examined her thought it might be a sedative.”

Doctor Bloom frowns at the needle.

“Was she instantly knocked out?”

I shake my head. “No. It took a few minutes.”

“Then your other doctor was wrong,” he snaps. “Hang on.”

He pushes a button on his desk, and a speaker squawks to life.

“Linda, could I grab you for something?”

“Be right in,” a woman’s crisp voice answers. A minute later, footsteps have
me turning to see a technician of some kind walking in to join us in the small
office.

“Doctor?”

Doctor Bloom smiles at her. “Could you run this for me? I need it…”

His smile drops as his eyes slide over to me.

“Immediately.”

Linda nods. “Of course. I’ll be back in a flash.”

She plucks up the bag with the needle and disappears, leaving us alone again.

“Where is Mara now?”

“At school.”

His brow furrows.

“Christ, she got injected with a goddamn needle at Oxford Hills?”

“It would be best if you suppressed questions like that.”

He frowns. “But her memory is coming back?”

I nod. “Parts of it. Actually, a lot of it was coming back, quickly, before this.
Getting injected with that seems to have shoved her back into some of that
darkness.”

He nods, stroking his beard as he eyes me coolly.

“Why are you interested in her like this? I mean why are you helping?”

My mouth thins.
“I read the news, Mr. Reznikov. I’m aware of your and her families’
disagreements and history of violence. So I’m asking why you are helping
her when it’s your family who put a goddamn bullet through the back of that
poor girl’s head in the first place, ending her childhood.”

There’s contempt dripping from his voice. But I don’t hold it against him. If I
was face to face with someone who I thought had hurt Mara, I’d be far less
civil than he’s being.

I’d be medieval.

Part of me wants to correct him. I mean, I’ve read the news that circulated
after the shooting that put Mara into her coma. I know the rumors that
flourished about it being a Reznikov-sanctioned, targeted hit.

And I also know that’s bullshit.

But Doctor Bloom doesn’t and can’t know the intricacies of what happened
those years ago. The backstabbing. The betrayal.

The spirals of violence that followed, shattering everything I ever loved.

A knock on the doorframe of his office drags me out of my thoughts. I turn,

surprised to see Linda the technician standing there again, already.

“Doctor Bloom? I have the chem analysis results.”

“That was quick,” I mutter.

Linda smiles at me, unaware of who I am, like Doctor Bloom is.

“Oh, we run all needles through a basic known narcotics test first—heroine,
fentanyl, known sexual assault drugs, and so forth.”

“And?” Doctor Bloom says curiously.

“Benzodiazepine.”
Doctor Bloom stiffens, his brow furrowing before he turns to me.

“It’s a—”

“Anti-anxiety, I know.”

He studies me before he turns to his technician.

“Thank you, Linda.”

She smiles, nodding at me before she leaves us again.

“Benzodiazepine would explain the memory lapses coming back,” he says

slowly. “Anti-anxiety meds can have disastrous effects on amnesiacs.”

I stiffen, my jaw tightening.

“Permanently?”

“It’s nebulous.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I don’t know, Mr. Reznikov,” he says thinly. “But she needs to be
kept calm, and she needs to rest somewhere safe to let her mind repair the
connections again.”

He narrows his eyes at me.

“Is she?”

I glare back at him

“Is she safe, Konstantin?” he asks, quietly.

“Yes.”

He nods. “She needs to be someplace familiar to recover—someplace she’s

used to. It’ll help with the repairs her brain will be doing on itself. So if she’s
been living in one place, keep her living there.”

I repress the urge to smile, because I know it would appear psychotic in this
moment. But the idea of moving Mara back to Lachlan House, with me,
makes my pulse thud harder.

“If she’s been dressing a certain way, stick with that. If she’s wearing her hair
a certain way—”

“It’s lavender now.”

He smiles.

“Good for her. Keep it that way. The more familiarity from before this attack
you can surround her with, the better.”

I nod. “Done.”

“Good. My guess is, the recent lapse is a temporary thing. But only time will
show what comes back to her.”

I glance down, frowning.

“Will she ever remember that day?”

“The shooting, you mean.”

I nod. Doctor Bloom smiles thinly. He exhales, slowly shaking his head.

“No, probably not. Even if she starts to remember more from before, think of
it like rebooting a computer from the last backup after a crash. The space
between the last save and when it froze up? That’ll always be missing.”

“Good.”

He frowns suddenly, glaring at me.

“Why, hoping she won’t remember your family’s involvement—”

“I’m hoping she never remembers the day her life was ripped away from her,
actually,” I snap. “Thanks for your fucking help.”

I turn to leave, but he stops me.

“If someone was trying to slow-sedate her, they were trying to take her. What
stopped them?”

I turn back, leveling my gaze at him.

“Me. Permanently.”

He swallows, his face paling a little.

“And if there’s more of them, will you stop them too?”

My mouth thins.

“I’ll stop anyone who tries to hurt her.”

B ACK ON MY JET , I call Vadim as I sink exhausted into a seat with a vodka.

“How is she?”

“She’s fine.”

“And you?”

“I need an army.”

Vadim grunts.

“For war?”

“For protection. I want our people watching Oxford Hills Academy. OHA’s
own security is good, but it’s got its weak points that will take bribes. I’ve
checked.”

“You’re worried about more attacks?”

“Yes.”

“On you, or Mara Belsky?”

I slug back some vodka, glaring into the dimness of the plane.

“Just make it happen, Vadim.”

“Consider it done. Gavan and a few of our men are still in Manchester. I’ll
have them set up around the academy now and send more of our men within
the next few hours.

“Thank you.”

I smile wryly.

“Gavan’s a good man, Vadim. I don’t know if I’ve ever said that to you, but
you did a really good job.”

He’s silent.

“Vadim?”

He sighs slowly. “Yeah… yeah. He’s a good boy. Takes after his mother.”

He clears his throat.

“I’ll call you once the other men are on their way.”
 6

I DREAM OF PLEASURE .

I dream of my skin tingling with desire, and the needy, aching throb pulsing
between my legs.

But mostly, I dream of Konstantin.

I twist, gasping into the ether, coiling against him. Dragging my nails over
his skin and whimpering when his fingers twist in my hair. I beg for more,
arching my back and moaning into the sheets as he thrusts into me—
pounding me, fucking me.

Owning all of me.

The pleasure explodes through my body, until suddenly, I wake, gasping in

the darkness of the guest room.

I freeze, panting, my skin still slick and shivering as the remnants of the
dream tease over me. Part of me still thinks—or maybe knows—that I should
be scared of the man I was just fantasizing about. That I should be horrified
that I’ve been having a sex dream about Konstantin.
But I don’t know why I feel like that. Because the feeling that comes much
more naturally is one of need and desire.

I hate not remembering.

Quietly, I slip from the bed in the guest room of Lordship Manor. I wrap
myself in the duvet and slip from the room. The house is dark, given that it’s
one in the morning, so I pad silently down the hall to the staircase that leads
to the third floor where Lizbet and Lukas’s room is.

I knock quietly on the door. When all I hear is the sounds of sleep from
within, I quietly twist the knob and step inside.

Lukas wakes almost instantly, bolting upright, a hand already wrapped

around the knife on the bedside table. When his eyes focus, he frowns, setting
the knife back down.

“Mara,” he mumbles groggily. “You okay?”

Next to him, Lizbet stirs and then wakes. She gasps when she sees me, her
brow furrowing.

“Everything okay?” she blurts, instantly awake.

I make a face.

“I’m sorry to wake you—”

“No! It’s okay!” She smiles, patting the side of the bed next to her. “C’mon,
what’s going on?”

I walk quietly over to sit on the edge of their bed.

“I… I need to know.”

“About?”
“About him. Konstantin.”

“Yes, you do,” my sister says thinly, her eyes narrowing.

“Lizbet,” Lukas warns.

“What? She does.”

I swallow.

“Is he…” I frown. “I… I went to Odessa.” My brow winkles. “Which is…
home?”

“Lizbet nods. “Yeah, you—”

“Hang on, please, let me,” I frown, concentrating.

“We grew up there.”

“Yeah,” she smiles, squeezing my hand in hers.

“I got hurt tonight.”

Her smile fades.

“Yeah, you did.”

“I—” I swallow. “It wasn’t him, was it? Konstantin?”

Lizbet purses her lips. But then she sighs.

“No, it wasn’t.”

She looks away.

“Actually, he saved you.”

I furrow my brow, searching for the thread I can pull at to bring this back into
focus.
“He… he did?”

“You went back to the garden, Mara,” she says quietly. “Where… you
know.”

“Where I got shot.”

“Yes.”

She looks down, shivering before she glances back up at me.

“Do you remember why?”

I frown.

“The detective, he wanted to show me something…to see if it jogged my

mem—”

Instantly, I’m overwhelmed by fear as it comes rushing back to me like a

black wave.

“Oh my God!” I choke, almost falling off the bed as my face turns white and
my blood turns to ice.

“The detective! He—”

“He’s not going to hurt you,” Lukas growls as Lizbet grabs my hands and
squeezes tight.

He frowns.

“Konstantin killed him, stopping him from hurting you. As much as it pains
me to acknowledge it, Konstantin saved you. He keeps saving you, actually.”

I shiver, focusing.

“He… he woke me up.”

And suddenly, it all clarifies into a crisp, clear narrative in my head. And I
remember.

I remember.

“He was there, when I came out of the coma,” I say quietly. “He woke me
up?”

Lizbet looks down.

“He did. Well, he brought in the team that woke you up, at least.”

“And I live with him.”

It comes slow, but the dam is cracking. And suddenly, more of it comes
rushing into my head.

Lizbet nods. “Yeah, you do.”

“At Lachlan House.” I frown. “He… he stole it from some girls?”

Lukas chuckles.

“Yes. The girls’ varsity football team.”

“And I live with him… just the two of us.”

“Yes,” Lizbet mutters.

I shiver at the heat burning in my core.

“Are we… together?”

My twin makes a face.

“I—no…” She groans. “I don’t actually know. You kind of are…”

I jolt as the memory of heated skin-on-skin, and gasped, demanding kisses

comes rushing over me. The memory of strong hands holding me, possessing
me. Of lips teasing over my skin, and a hand spanking my ass.

I blush, squirming as the heat pools in my core.

And suddenly, I know it’s true.

I’m with Konstantin. At least, I’m with him enough that we have sex.

I blush, quickly swallowing the heat from my face.

“Sorry, I should let you sleep.”

“No, it’s totally fine,” Lizbet smiles. “You can stay—”

“I’m going back to bed, Lizbet,” I smile, squeezing her hand. “Thank you.”

“For?”

“Helping me remember. I promise, I’m not always going to be like this.”

She pulls me into her arms, hugging me closely.

“You don’t owe anyone anything, you know,” she murmurs. “And I love
you.”

“Love you too.”

Back downstairs in the guest room bed, though, I can’t fall back to sleep.
Because all I’m thinking of is Konstantin.

The problem is, there’s two Konstantins, battling it out in my head. One is the
fantasy that woke me up—the man pinning me to the bed in my dreams and
dragging his tongue over my skin. The man who spreads my legs apart and
makes me want to scream in pleasure.

But the other is a tyrant. A cold, cruel, vicious king, who has me locked away
all to himself.
And I have no idea which one is real.

I’m still lying awake in bed when there’s a knock at the bedroom door. I
glance at my phone and see that it’s three in the morning before I sit up.

“Yes?”

The door opens, and Lizbet walks in, looking grim.

“Hey, Mara?”

“Yeah—”

I freeze. Behind her is the very man I was just thinking of.

The fantasy.

The tyrant.

My savior.

The villain.

I stiffen, swallowing as his cold gray eyes stab through the darkness into me.

“We…” Lizbet swallows thickly, looking away.

Lukas steps into the room and pulls her against his chest as he nods at me.

“You need to go back to Lachlan House, Mara.”

I stiffen. “What?”

My eyes snap up past them to Konstantin, who’s looking right at me.

“You’ll remember more if you’re in the space you’ve been living in most
recently,” he growls quietly. “I just spoke with Doctor Bloom, at St.
Thomas’, about it.”
I swallow, dragging my eyes to my sister.

“Lizbet?”

She shakes her head.

“He’s right,” she chokes. “I don’t like it, but I think he’s right.”

“I just called someone for a second opinion, Mara,” Lukas says quietly. “She
agreed with what Konstantin says your doctor told him.”

“And the thinly veiled distrust is so appreciated, Lukas,” Konstantin mutters

coldly. He steps past the both of them into the room and crosses the floor to
me without hesitation.

Like I’m his to claim.

I shiver, feeling a throb of heat pulse within me.

“Come on,” he growls, taking my hand. “We’re going home.”

I tremble as I let him pull me from the bed. I’m wearing a pair of Lizbet’s
sweatpants and one of her hoodies, and Konstantin wraps me in the duvet
from the bed before he guides me to the door—one hand holding my elbow,
the other at the small of my back.

I still don’t know which version of him in my head is real—the lover or the
tyrant. But for some reason, I think it might be both.

“Call me first thing, okay?” Lizbet blurts nervously at the front door.

I turn, smiling calmly at her as I nod. But inside, I’m anything but calm.
Inside, I’m trying to figure out if I’m going back where I belong, or back to
where Konstantin thinks I belong to him.

Just outside the gate, I pause, stopping short to turn and look up into his face.
“I—I do need to go back, right?”

He nods.

“If you’re going to remember.”

“And if I don’t want to remember?” I ask quietly.

His mouth thins. His eyes blaze with cold gray fire. And suddenly, I feel his
hand sliding back around my hip, centering at the small of my back. He pulls,
and I shiver, gasping quietly as I find myself stepping closer to him.

He suddenly leans down, and I bite back a whimper as his lips find the crook
of my neck, by my ear.

“I think you very much do,” he growls quietly. “And I’m going to make you,
Mara. I’m going to make you remember everything.”

Suddenly, I’m gasping as he scoops me into his arms, cradling me under the
backs of my knees and around my back. I shiver as my arms somehow know
to circle his neck.

“Let’s go home,” he growls as he carries me into the darkness.

 7

E VEN MORE OF the barriers around my memories fall as we step through the
front door of Lachlan House.

I remember the confusion of going back to my cottage that day weeks ago
and finding the two angry girls living there after Konstantin kicked them out.

To move us in.

When he sets me down inside, I remember that my room is up the grand

staircase, down the hall to the left. And I remember that the two of us eat
dinner together, at six-thirty, every night. Or most nights.

My brain jolts, like it’s been shocked.

Five. It’s five nights a week that we have dinner together. His orders.

“Five. This is over. Take your win. It could be seven.”

I shiver as that memory rushes over me. But it also stirs even more.

“You’re keeping me here.”

I say it plainly, turning to look at him. Konstantin’s mouth thins.

“Aren’t you?”
“Yes,” he growls.

“Why? Do I know and can’t remember, or do I not know at all?”

His brow furrows, his gray eyes slicing into me.

“Get some sleep, Mara,” he says gruffly, turning away.

“Are we together?”

I blurt it loudly, demandingly. Because I know there’s not a chance in hell

that I fall asleep tonight without knowing if the erotic visions I have of this
man when I close my eyes are memories or my own sinful desires.

Or both.

Slowly, Konstantin turns back to me.

“What do you think?” he murmurs.

I swallow.

“I think you scare me, but that doesn’t answer the question.”

“It should.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

His eyes flash, and I tremble. This eyes, his lips, the smell of him… the
nearness of him making my body tremble and ache for his touch.

All of those things should answer this question. But at the same time, how
could I be with a man who looks at me as much like he wants to tear my
clothes off as he does like he wants to bury me?

He draws in a breath, and I shiver as he slowly steps closer to me, looming

over me.
“I know you remember me, Mara,” he growls thickly.

“I—maybe…”

“It’s not a maybe, and we both know it.”

I drag my teeth over my lip, my skin prickling and my heart racing as I look
up into his eyes.

“I do,” I whisper. “I just don’t know if I should.”

His eyes flash, his jaw grinding.

“Do you remember this house?”

I swallow.

“Yes.”

“Do you remember the rules?”

I tremble, a sizzle of raw heat tingling across every inch of my skin, down
between my thighs.

Yes, I do.

“No.”

Konstantin smiles thinly.

“You’re lying,” he growls, stepping even closer so that we’re almost

touching. “I know you remember.”

“I… I don’t know if I do,” I breathe.

The heat of the room is swirling around us, choking me, ensnaring me.

Keeping me there with him.

“Then ask me,” he snarls thickly,

“Ask you what?” I breathe.

“To remind you.”

I bite my lip to stop from whimpering when he suddenly cups my jaw and
leans down close, arresting my gaze with his and utterly melting my insides.

“I don’t think I should.”

He pauses, his lips inches from mine. I’m trembling and almost panting, near
fainting even, from the heat of him and the heady rush the proximity of him
injects me with.

But it feels like a part of me wants me to faint. I want to fall over the edge,
into those dark gray eyes.

I want to fall head-first into him.

“You’ll remember, Mara,” he growls deeply, quietly, his voice rumbling

through my very core and making my thighs squeeze tight as heat pools
between them.

“And when you do, I’ll be here, with exactly what we both know you need.”

His hand drops from my jaw. He slowly pulls away from me, leaving me on
the very brink of toppling over. My core is still pulsing with heat as he turns
and strides from the room into the house.
 8

A FEW HOURS LATER , I wake up again. And again, it’s from sleep riddled
with… filthy dreams involving the man sleeping down the hall from me.

But I quickly shake them from my head, and the blush from my face.

I have class today, and I am determined to get back on track, like I know I
was before what happened in Odessa.

More and more of the pieces are coming back together. It’s not everything,
but it’s enough that I know I was doing so great before yesterday. I was
remembering. I was healing.

And I will get back to that place.

So I go through the steps as they flood back to me. I brush my teeth and then
my hair. I get my bag of schoolbooks and notes ready. Then I lay out my
uniform to get dressed for the day: the white blouse, the black, dark green,
and gold tartan skirt, and the black jacket with the gold OHA crest over the
left breast.

But then suddenly, I furrow my brow. I turn, poking back through my dresser
drawers. Then through the shelves in my closet. Then even my desk drawers,
and under the bed. Until finally, I’m forced to face a very strange question.
Where the hell is my underwear?

I look through the whole room again. But try as I might, there’s not a trace of
them. Which is… weird, to say the least.

Bras? Yes. The rest of my clothes? Yep, they’re right there. But not a single
pair of panties to be found.

Very odd.

Instead, I put on the rest of my outfit and go with thick black fleece tights for
under my skirt. I make a note to see if I’m maybe forgetting about a laundry
service I need to check in on, fix my hair in the mirror, and then head
downstairs.

The smell of espresso has me grinning before I step into the kitchen. But the
second I do, I shiver under a dark gray gaze.

“Morning,” I mumble, turning to hide the blush on my cheeks as the replays

of my dreams involving him come rushing back.

“How do you feel this morning?”

Wet.

“Fine,” I mumble.

I keep my back to him as I move to sit at the kitchen table by the window,
overlooking the pond behind Lachlan house. Which I stare at, fixating on, so
that my mind doesn’t wander to other things.

Like how attracted I am to the man standing behind me, despite a warning
voice inside of me. A voice telling me I should be wary of him, not wanting
him. That this is a man I should be afraid of.

So why do I crave him so much?

After a minute of pretending to be on my phone, I get up and walk towards
the cupboards. I fastidiously try not to look at Konstantin as I open one of
them and reach for a box of cereal.

“You usually have toast.”

I tremble as I freeze. Slowly, I turn, and my chest constricts when those

gorgeous and dangerous gray eyes pierce into mine.

“Excuse me?” I croak.

“You have toast in the mornings. With apple butter. It’s in the fridge.”

“I…” I frown. “What?”

Konstantin sighs, arcing a stern brow as he points back to the table I was just
at.

“Sit.”

I swallow.

“I’m just going to—”

“I said sit.”

I tremble at the commanding and yet smooth tone in his voice. It’s not a
snarled demand. It’s the confident tone of a man who never hears no—whose
every command is met, and quickly.

Yeah, screw that.

“You’re not going to boss me—”

“If I have to tell you again, I’m carrying you over there myself and tying you
to the fucking chair. So sit, Mara,” he snaps.
I shiver with heat. I don’t trust myself to say anything back, so I just glare at
him petulantly before I icily cross the kitchen and sit at the table again—this
time facing him.

I watch as Konstantin moves around the kitchen, opening a cupboard and

sliding a toaster forward from the backsplash.

“What are you doing?”

“Making you your fucking toast.”

I bite my lip, swallowing.

“Why?”

“Because you need repetition.”

He pushes the lever on the toaster down and then turns to cross his arms over
his chest. He’s wearing his school uniform, and good God does it fit him
well. Too well.

The crisp white button-down molds to the broad muscles of his shoulders.
The way the sleeves are rolled up to mid forearm, showing his muscles and
the ink rippling over them. The pants that fit his ass far too well.

I swallow again, feeling a throb of heat before I shake those thoughts away.

“You need the habits you had before,” Konstantin growls.

“Before I forget…” I frown. “Again.”

“Yes.”

The toaster pops up behind him. He keeps his gaze on me a second more,
before he turns and starts to spread something over the toast.
“What happened in Odessa… the man with the gun and the needle…” I take
a thin breath. Not all the memories that come back to me are ones I want
returned.

“Detective Bagan—”

“He’s dead,” he says coldly.

The replay of Konstantin, gun in hand, standing looming above the crooked
detective and then shooting him echoes like a gunshot in my head. I flinch,
shivering.

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

His eyes drag to mine, and he holds me captive with that gaze—mesmerizing
me.

“I’ll kill anyone that tries to hurt you, Mara,” he growls thickly.

I nod, unable to look away.

“What was I doing there?”

“I truly don’t fucking know, but it was stupid.”

My brow furrows.

“That’s where… I was shot there.”

His jaw grits. Slowly, he moves towards me and sets a plate with a piece of
toast covered in apple butter down in front of me.

“What do you remember?”

My brow furrows deeper as I try and grasp at that chunk of time that still
seems to be missing from my memories. Most of it is coming back. But why I
left here to go there, with that detective, I still can’t unearth.
I shake my head.

“Nothing much. I remember feeling like I’d been there before, when I was
there with Detective Bagan.”

“And?” He growls.

“And nothing else. I was so close. Or, I think I was.”

I slowly take a nibble of the toast.

“What’s today?” Konstantin asks hesitantly.

“Monday,” I say confidently, raising my eyes to his. “And I have English

Lit.”

His lips curl at the corners.

“Good girl.”

I blush.

Why does him saying that have this effect on me?

“I…” I swallow. “I should get to class.”

“I’m tempted to keep you here.”

I shiver, blushing as pure heat pools between my thighs.

“Keep me here?” I croak. “What, like a prisoner?”

“Yes.”

I stifle a gasp.

“Because I’m worried you’re not ready for what’s out there. Except your
doctor from St. Thomas’ says you need repetition and familiarity. That’s the
only reason you’re leaving this house.”
My mouth thins.

“You’re not my jailor.”

A thin, amused smile is his only response.

“Let’s go.”

“Let’s?”

“I’m walking you to class.”

My brow knits.

“No, you’re not.”

“It wasn’t something I planned on debating.”

“Too bad! You’re not walking me. I’m not a child.”

Konstantin glares at me, his jaw clenching. Yep, this is not a man who’s used
to anyone second-guessing or outright defying his orders.

“Stop being fucking difficult and—”

“Did you walk me before?”

His mouth thins.

“Did you?”

“No,” he growls.

“Hmm. So, if I need familiar, I’ll be familiarly walking myself. Thanks.”

Konstantin glares at me, utterly unamused as I smirk and finish my toast.

Then I get up and bring my plate to the sink before I head for the front door.
I know I should just go. I don’t need to ask this, because part of me is worried
what the answer might be. But, then I do anyway as I pause in the doorway to
turn back to him.

“Did you…” I frown.

“Did I what,” Konstantin growls thinly.

“I was getting dressed this morning, and…”

He smirks as I start to blush fiercely.

“Nevermind—”

“Speak, please.”

My face burns as I drag my eyes back to his and take a shaky breath.

“Why don’t I have any underwear?”

“Because they’re all in my room.”

I blush fiercely at his instant, unashamed response.

“They are?”

My face burns even hotter at the way my words croak out of my mouth.

“Yes, they are.”

I worry my lower lip between my teeth.

“So we’re…”

“What do you think we are?” he asks thinly

“I already told you,” I whisper. “I think I’m a little scared of you.”

“Good,” Konstantin growls. “Your memory is serving you well, then.”

I tremble, chewing on my lip.

“So… you keep my panties, and I…”

“Ask me for them.”

My face explodes with heat, and I clench my thighs together tightly.

“I… do?” I whisper.

He nods. “Every morning.”

I swallow.

“And then you give them to me?”

“Not exactly.”

I resist the urge to groan, clamping my lips together tightly.

“How does that happen?”

Konstantin smiles darkly as he steps closer to me, making my breath catch as

he looms towering over me. Making me shiver and tense with heat.

“I make you come.”

I whimper. I can’t even help it.

“I—”

“On my fingers,” he purrs thickly. “My tongue. My cock.”

My eyes go wide and snap to his. My mouth falls open.

“We… we slept together,” I choke, shivering.

“Yes.”

I blush deeply as his eyes eviscerate me.

“Oh my God, did I give—”

“Yes.”

I gasp as he moves even closer to me, and then suddenly reaches out to cup
my jaw, tilting my face up to meet his gaze.

“And so did I, to you.”

It hits me so violently that I actually gasp and fall away from him. My body
tenses and shivers, my vision going black until all I see are the heated,
throbbing replays of visions I know aren’t just fantasy.

They were real.

Heat explodes through my core, along with visions of slick skin against skin,
of hands gripping possessively, of mouths and fingers exploring.

Of Konstantin pinning me against a bed as he drives hard between my thighs.

I choke, blinking away the visceral images until I’m back in the kitchen,
staring at the very man whose back I was just clawing my nails down in the
replays in my head.

“You’re remembering,” he growls quietly.

I say nothing. All I can do is swallow thickly, shaking as my thighs clench

against the heat throbbing between them. My body shivers with a swirling
inferno—the twisting, wrecking hurricane of aching want and cold fear.

I know I want him.

I know I should run from him.

And I wish I could know which one of those primal desires I should even
trust.
I’m still silent as I turn to leave, grabbing the school bag I left by the kitchen
door.

“Your last class ends at three-thirty. You’ll be in this house by three-forty-

five.”

I freeze, my body shivering at his words.

“Excuse me?”

I half turn, my eyes meeting his.

“I’ll be here when I choose—”

“No, Mara,” he growls. I gasp as he closes the distance between us and

suddenly cups my jaw. I shiver, suddenly and shamefully aching for more of
his hands on more of me.

“You’ll be here at three-forty-five. Dinner is at six-thirty, promptly.”

I swallow, lost in his eyes. For a heart-stopping second, I think he’s about to
kiss me. Or devour me.

Instead, his hand drops from my jaw, and he turns to walk back into the
kitchen.

“And if I’m not?”

He stiffens, slowly turning to pierce me with his gaze.

“If you’re not, I’ll find you.”

“Right,” I hiss. “And what exactly do you suppose—”

“And I will throw you over my shoulder, wherever you are, and regardless of
who you’re with, and carry you back here.”
My pulse thuds. My core clenches with heat. And my eyes go wide. I open
my mouth, but he shakes his head with an infuriatingly sexy smirk on his
lips.

“Don’t,” he growls. “It’s not a threat. It’s not leverage. It’s just the fucking
truth, and we both know it. Do not push me.”

I stand there blinking, still shivering and trying to wrest control of my body
back from the gray-eyed devil who’s just set me on fire with his words.

Konstantin turns without another word and walks back into the kitchen. He
picks up a small cup of espresso and sips it, glancing at his phone as if the
matter is done and finished.

I turn, my face throbbing and my body tingling as I walk on shaky legs to the
front door. I pull on my coat, shoulder my bag, and take a breath before I step
out into the chilly air to walk to class.

I shouldn’t have just walked away and let him win that.

I shouldn’t show up when he’s demanded I show up.

But most of all, I should not be as turned on as I am at the thought of what

happens if I don’t.
 9

“S O HOW WAS YOUR WEEKEND ?”

Fifteen minutes after I’ve left the house, Julianna smiles brightly as we stand
together in the quad before classes start.

I sigh. Her enthusiasm is well done. So is the easy smile. But it’s still
obvious.

“My sister told you not to bring up my freak out, didn’t she?”

Her brows furrow for a second.

“Oh, uh… no, I just…” she winces. “Sorry. Yeah, it might have come up.”

“Hey, so how was everyone’s weekend?”

This time it’s Charlotte’s voice from behind me as she joins us, smiling
innocently.

I blow air through my lips and bring a hand up to pinch the bridge of my
nose.

“Wow, yeah, great, because this isn’t going to make me feel even crazier,” I
mumble dryly.
Charlotte frowns. “I’m sorry.”

“Lizbet, right?”

She makes a face, nodding.

“She’s just doing what she thinks is best to help you, Mara,” she says quietly.

“Look, I know it wasn’t just me losing my mind, okay? I left for a reason.”

I’m sure of it.

“I just…” I stammer, frowning. “I’ll remember, okay?”

Both of them smile genuinely at me.

“We know you will,” Julianna winks.

“Wow! Well, I don’t know what you guys did this weekend, but I—”

Tenley’s stage-worthy performance cuts off quickly when Julianna and

Charlotte both give her subtle but vigorous “stop” head shakes in my
peripheral vision.

“Huh, so I guess operation pretend-it-didn’t-happen is a no, then?”

“A-plus for effort, though,” I grin.

“Sorry,” she sighs. “Lizbet just… she just doesn’t want you to feel like
everyone’s waiting for you to… you know.”

“Crack up again?”

Her mouth twists. “C’mon, I didn’t say that, and neither did she.”

“Well, I’m not, okay?”

“You’re not what?”

I sigh, turning at the sound of my sister’s voice.

“Crazy.”

She glances quickly past me at her friends.

“Oh, no one is—”

“Lizbet,” I sigh. “I’m not fucking crazy, okay?”

She smiles weakly.

“Look, I just wanted to make you feel at ease, okay? Lukas talked to another
doctor he knows, and she said the same thing; that you should stick to
normalcy and repetition.”

“And you figured discussing the fact that I freaked out, escaped school, and
fled to Odessa where I got attacked by a man who used to be on the payroll of
our father’s arch-enemy was the opposite of normalcy and repetition.”

“I mean… yeah.”

I smile wryly.

“I… I’m pretty sure I was there to find something. I just don’t know what.
Not yet, at least.”

She nods just as the students around us start to file inside for classes.

“See you all later?” Tenley tosses over her shoulder as she moves to head
inside as well.

Charlotte and Julianna mention getting lunch later, and then leave in another
direction towards a different academic building. Then, it’s just Lizbet and I.

“It’s coming back to me, you know,” I say quietly. “I mean not why I flew to
Odessa… not yet, at least. But everything else. Being here, you, and everyone
else.”

“Remember yet why you’re living with that psycho over in Lachlan House?”
she snaps.

I purse my lips, giving her a look.

“Yes,” I lie.

It’s a half lie, though. I half remember why I’m living there with Konstantin.
I still can’t remember if we’re a “thing,” though I doubt we’re “together” in
the sense that she and Lukas, or Tenley and Ilya, or Charlotte and Misha are.

But there’s something there.

I got a taste of it this morning. It’s not sweet nothings and love notes. It might
not even be that we’re a couple. But there’s something deep there. Maybe it’s
brutal and dark. Maybe it’s unconventional.

Maybe not everyone would feel excited, and feel their pulse throbbing at a
guy who switches on a dime between making them toast and threatening to
throw them over his shoulder and punish them.

But I do.

And I know he wasn’t lying about our morning exchanges—the parts where I
go ask him for my panties and pay for them with an orgasm at his fingers,
tongue, or cock.

I know that’s the truth, even if I only remember visceral feelings surrounding
those memories, not the actual play-by-plays. But I do know when I think of
Konstantin putting his hands or his mouth on me, I want to remember more
of it.

I want to experience more of it, too. Shamefully.

“The man who attacked you…” Lizbet cuts into my daydreaming, souring
them.

“What about him?”

She frowns. “Is it maybe a little concerning to you that the man who wanted
to kill you or abduct you was on Konstantin’s father’s payroll?”

“No, because I think Antin Reznikov was also the man who wanted me shot.”

She balks, going pale as she stares at me.

“I’m sorry, what?”

I bite my lip. Right, I haven’t exactly voiced that theory out loud to her
before.

“Nadia thinks so, at least.”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, well in that case—”

“I think she might be right. Grigori does too.”

My sister swallows thickly, staring at me, like she’s trying to find the right
words.

“It would make sense, giving the timing. Those were the times when Semyon
and Antin were having that stand-off cold-war type thing, and—”

“Mara.”

“I mean I don’t know it was Antin, I’m just saying—”

“Mara!” she barks suddenly.

I falter, my brows knitting as I look up into her eyes.

“What?”
“Konstantin’s father might have had you shot. And you’re living with—”

“His father,” I say quietly. “Not him.”

Her lips purse.

“I don’t think we need to argue that people aren’t their parents, Lizbet,” I
mumble.

She sighs heavily.

“I’m not going to persuade you to come to Lordship, am I?”

“Repetition, repetition, repetition…” I droll out in a sing-song voice.

“I doubt the doctors meant self-sabotaging repetition,” she mutters.

“Thanks for your qualified medical advice.”

She rolls her eyes, grinning at me.

“Well, now I know you’re getting better.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you used to be sassy as shit back when we were kids.” She grins
widely. “And I like that sassy Mara is coming back.”

I grin back.

She’s trying to, at least.

I END up having lunch in the dining hall with Lizbet, Tenley, Julianna, and
Charlotte. After fifteen minutes, I’m even able to start actually ignoring the
lingering stares from the other students eating lunch.
Even the especially frosty ones from the “elite” table. I do glance over once,
and I’m pleased when I remember that the blond guy with the smashed-up
face is named Jeremy Caldwell. When the memory of how his face got like
that hits me, it takes my breath away for a moment.

I remember that he was hitting on me, aggressively. And I remember—I

remember—that it was Konstantin who rode in like one of the four horsemen
of the apocalypse to turn Jeremy’s pedigreed, smug face into a punching bag.

When I glance at the elite table, Jeremy fastidiously looks in another

direction. But Ainsley Hendershire, who’s currently sitting on his lap, sneers
at me. She keeps her eyes on me, glaring at me as she leans over to kiss
Jeremy’s bruised cheek.

Yeah, Mr. “I don’t know what no means” is all yours, sister.

I won’t say lunch or going through the motions of going to my classes all
day, and ignoring the stares and whispers is easy. Or even a little bit fun. But
I can take it. And a few hours into it, I actually crave more of it.

Because I’m remembering.

Slowly. Piece-by-piece. But I’m quietly putting the puzzle of my short new
life here at OHA before I fled back to Odessa.

It’s in the last period of my day when suddenly, it hits me like a hot wave
crashing over me.

I’m in a Principles of Financial Analytics class, with an aching need to stretch

after a day of sitting at desks. I ease forward, bending over the top of the desk
and gripping the front-facing edge of the desk in order to stretch my back.

Suddenly, my mind jolts and glitches. I gasp, my skin tingling with desire
and a heady throb of heat pulsing between my thighs.
And I remember.

It’s a memory. And I know—I know—it’s a memory, not a flashback.

I’m knocking on Konstantin’s bedroom door. It’s morning, and I’m dressed
for school. Except… I’m missing something.

Panties, my memory corrects me with a sultry tingle down the small of my

back. You’re missing your panties.

That’s why I’m knocking on his door.

I pulse with aching need as my mind flickers through the events like flashes
through a windowpane. I remember him opening the door, and grinning
wolfishly and hungrily at me. I remember chewing on my lip, practically
dancing from foot-to-foot with anticipation as I ask him for a pair of panties
to wear.

He arches his brow, shirtless, his arms spread gripping the door and
doorframe, as if to block me access to his room and my underwear.

“Please,” memory-me purrs softly.

Konstantin turns, pulling an arm away to let me enter. But then his teeth flash
predatorily, and he points to his desk.

I don’t ask. Because I already know what he means. I remember squeezing

my thighs together, feeling the wet heat there. Feeling the lack of panties to
stop my slickness as I pad across his floor.

To bend over his desk.

Back in reality, in the Principles of Financial Analytics class, my eyes go

wide. My mouth falls open. My body coils and sizzles with desire.

And there, bent over the classroom desk to stretch my back, I remember.
Cognitive emotional connection.

Bending over this desk, gripping the far side, I remember doing the same
across his. I remember him coming up behind me, slowly pushing my skirt up
to my hips, and then dragging his thick finger over my needy, aching slit.

Then his tongue, until I screamed in pleasure.

And then, my face burning hotly in the classroom, I remember him undoing
his belt, easing his thick cock against my eager pussy, and sliding deep.

The class is suddenly scrambling out of their chairs. I gasp, realizing class is
over. My face burns bright red as I yank myself away from the memory into
the present and start shoving my stuff back into my bag.

But I’m still tingling. I’m still glowing.

I’m remembering.

And I want to remember more.

 10

I’ M HOME AT THREE - FORTY - FOUR , on the dot.

Because I choose to. Not because of Konstantin’s threat. And not because
I’ve been fantasizing about him, and shamefully wet for him all goddamn
day.

I swear.

I swallow, biting my lip as I slip in the front door. I tense—what for, I’m not
even sure. Do I imagine Konstantin is going to jump out naked and tackle
me? Is he going to be waiting for me with his cock out and a twitching
spanking hand?

Apparently, remembering some things can be a curse.

Inside the house though, it’s silent. I explore quietly, but it’s pretty clear soon
enough that the man who demanded I be home at a certain time is not home
at that same time. And I’m embarrassed how disappointed that makes me.

So instead, I head up to my room. I shower, and then run a shallow tub.

Wrapped in a towel, I perch on the edge, vividly remembering the time
Konstantin set me down here and ran a clean razor over my most intimate
areas.
This time, I do it myself.

It’s not my first time doing this since he did, of course. But with the lingering
disappointment of him not being here, waiting to… well, do something with
me, I scowl as I drag the razor over my skin.

An hour after I get home, he still isn’t here. I want to tell myself the frown on
my face is because of how obnoxious it feels to demand someone be some
place at a certain time when you can’t even make the same commitment.

But it’s not that. Well, it’s not all that.

To take my mind off of it, and out of the gutter it’s been in since I stretched
across my desk earlier, I pull out my phone.

This is another part of me that’s come back since the attack in Odessa: the
part of my life involving Romeo. The boy who I’m pretty sure I loved, when
I was just a kid. Before the world went dark.

Before Konstantin.

I swallow as I pull up the old email thread and pick up where I left off.

Instantly, when my heart wrenches and the tears sting my eyes, I remember
why this is where I stopped reading the letters from Romeo. It’s the part
where he mentions having seen me in the hospital.

The part where I was so fucking sure for a moment that Romeo was
Konstantin. That somehow, some way, the brutally cold tyrant who haunts
my fantasies and makes me crave the darkest depths of my desires was the
same wholesome, sunshiny boy who wrote me poems about winters and sent
me pictures from his fishing trips.

My jaw sets. My lips thin as my vision tunnels to a dark little point in front of
me.
It’s all coming back, alright. And it fucking hurts.

The crushing memory that Konstantin is not Romeo. As much as it would be

nice to think he is or was. As nice as a little cliched bow that would put on
this whole lurid affair. It’s just true, and I know that deep in my bones.

He’s not the boy who wrote these emails.

He’s not the friend who made me laugh with dumb little quirky jokes, or
made me fight to maintain my argument that King Leer is obviously a
superior work to Macbeth.

He’s not the innocent crush and possibly first love who made my heart
weightless. Who made me go for a run wearing lipstick and earrings.

He’s not any of those things. And suddenly, the aching heat from earlier
snuffs out. The vivid, sultry desires for the mad king of this house shutter.

Suddenly, I’m just so angry that he isn’t the boy a part of me still wishes he
was.

As six o’clock rolls around, I dress, but not for dinner. I put on comfy lounge
shorts and a hoodie, and I sulk in the chair by the window, angrily paging
through As You Like It.

I hear the tyrant himself come in when the front door slams. I purse my lips,
trying to ignore the sound of his feet on the stairs, then retreating down the
hall to his own room. I swallow when I hear him come back out, and pause at
the top of the stairs, at the halfway point of the hallway between our rooms. I
swear I can even feel his gaze lancing through my very door.

But then, he heads downstairs. For dinner. Where he won’t be finding me.

My appetite for Konstantin’s games is gone for the evening, after wandering
down memory lane with the ghost of Romeo.
Six-thirty rolls around. I shiver, but I stay in my chair, trying to ignore the
tick of the seconds counting down.

But at six-thirty-five, the sound of heavy steps coming unhurriedly but

purposefully up the stairs has my heart skipping. They come closer and
closer, until suddenly, my door swings open—without a hint of a knock, of
course.

I purse my lips as I turn to level my eyes at Konstantin, trying not to let the
fierce, hard look on his face shake me.

“Yes?”

“Six-thirty has come and gone,” he growls.

I roll my eyes as I turn back to my book.

“Give it a rest.”

He’s silent. I wish I could hold the line and keep my eyes on my book. But I
cave. I furtively glance back at him.

Instantly, I regret it. Because the second I do, those viciously gorgeous eyes
of his stab into me, arresting me. Making me squirm.

“You need the repetition,” he hisses quietly.

“To what? Remember?” I snap. “To remember why I was insane enough to
live alone in this house with you?”

His lips curl at the corners in a predatory and yet slightly amused smile.

“Do I need to remind you?”

“I’m not in the mood for games, Konstantin. Leave me alone.”

“That isn’t going to happen.”

I groan.

“Will you please just fuck off with the stupid fucking mind—”

“As much as I enjoy our banter, and fucking with you,” he snarls. “This really
is about you, and the repetition you do actually need in order to facilitate your
healing.”

“I was healing just fine before you barged in here,” I mutter.

“I’m sure. Let’s go.”

“No.”

“I’m counting to five. Before I get there, you’re going to drop the temper-
tantrum, get dressed, and then get your ass downstairs for dinner.”

I smile thinly at him. “Well?”

“One.”

I swallow, turning my gaze back to my book.

“Two.”

“Count all you want, you megalomaniac—”

“Three.”

I shiver, a nervous ball of heat throbbing in my core.

I’m not afraid. And I’m not playing any of his games tonight—

“Four.”

I clench my thighs, gritting my teeth as my pulse hammers like a drum in my

ears.

I’m not afraid. I’m not—

“Five.”

The word hums in the air and then just ends, like a hammer on a nail.

“Time’s up.”

I barely have time to look up in shock before he’s on me. I gasp, sputtering as
his powerful hands grab me and haul me out of the chair. The book falls from
grasp, and I shriek as he suddenly throws me over his shoulder.

“Let me go!!” I scream.

On deaf ears, apparently. Konstantin ignores me as he calmly turns to

casually walk to my bedroom door.

“Let me GO!”

I bellow it as I hammer my fists down on his back and try and slam my knee
into his chest.

“Get your hands off of me you fucking psycho—”

My eyes bulge. My jaw drops. And a yelp explodes from my throat as one of
Konstantin’s big hands reaches up, slips into the back of my shorts, and
yanks them down. And before I can get another word in, or one more hit from
my fists, he spanks my bare ass.

Hard.

And I moan.

It’s a choked, shocked moan, but it’s there. And we both hear it, plainly.

“I—”

His palm comes down again sharply, this time on my other tender cheek. I
can’t help, whimpering this time, and then cringing at the heat that throbs
between my legs.

Konstantin’s hand lingers on my ass, his palm slowly rubbing the sting from
my skin. Except then he gives me another sharp thwack, as if just to hear me
yelp and whimper once more.

I swallow, trembling against him. Pulsing.

Needing.

Remembering.

He slowly pulls me off of his shoulder, my shorts still pulled off my ass, and
sets me on the ground in front of him. Our eyes lock, his gun-metal grays
sinking their claws into my blues.

And before I know what I’m doing, I haul my hand back, and I slap him
across the face.

Instantly, I freeze, paling. For a moment, I anticipate him exploding in

retribution. But instead, a slow, thin smile curls across his lips.

“Do that again,” he hisses quietly. “And see what—”

I slap his other cheek. But my hand barely connects before suddenly, he’s
grabbing me, yanking me viciously into him, and crushing his mouth to mine,
hard.

For the first time since before Odessa, Konstantin kisses me.

And I remember.

He kisses me just like I knew he would—like I know I remember him kissing

me. Brutally, unflinchingly. Without pity or remorse. He kisses me like he’s
declaring war. Like he’s razing a kingdom to the ground.
The small slivers and heated memories that have been slowly building back
and returning to me all day come back in a rush—like grenades or fireworks
exploding in my head. I whirl, memory after memory of his lips on mine, his
hands clutching me, his body ripping the moans and pleasure from mine until
I begged for more.

He devours my lips like a conquering Crusader king. I whimper, kissing him

back and clutching at his shirt, desperate for more of this rush of
remembrance, like a drug I crave.

Until suddenly, he pulls back—his eyes blazing with cold fire. His jaw
clenched as he grips me tightly. But as he does, suddenly, that explosive,
fiery rush of memories dims. Like the fading lights of train rushing away
from a station I’ve mistakenly gotten off at.

“Wait,” I choke, panting, clutching at him. “More.”

His eyes blaze, his jaw grinding.

“Turn around,” he growls quietly, in a tone that ignites my skin.

“I… I need more…” I choke, clinging to him desperately. “Please, I… the

kisses, they’re making me rememb—”

“This will too.” His gaze pierces me, nostrils flaring, like he’s barely holding
back.

“Turn. Around.”

“Do you want to hurt me?” I choke in a whisper.

His eyes narrow.

“No. I want you to remember. So turn the fuck around, and bend the fuck
over,” he hisses. “Now.”
I swallow, throbbing with need, and yet trembling with a lingering fear—
hesitating.

“This… this is for you.”

“What is,” he growls.

I tremble. “Hurting me.”

One of his brows arches sternly.

“Does it hurt when I spank you?”

I sizzle, raking my teeth over my bottom lip.

“Answer me, Mara.”

“Yes.”

“Good hurt, or bad hurt.”

I want to look away. I want to look anywhere but his eyes, because I know
when he peers into mine, he can see the truth I’m too scared to say out loud.
And there—right there, I see his lips curl.

He’s already seen my answer.

“Good hurt,” I croak.

“So am I hurting you when I spank you?” He growls. “Am I hurting you
when I punish your ass?”

His teeth flash darkly.

“Or am I freeing you? Am I making you crave more?”

He leans close, his hands sliding up to thread into my hair.

“Am I making you remember.”

“I… I…”

“Which is it, Mara,” he hisses. “Which will it—”

“Make me remember,” I gasp, shaking.

His eyes flash.

“Turn the fuck around.”

I’m shivering, pulsing with heat. My ears ring with a throbbing pulse as I
turn, red-faced as I slowly bend over the edge of my bed. His fingers slip into
the back of my shorts, and I whimper when he yanks them all the way down
my legs to my ankles.

“Arch your back.”

I bite my lip to stop the moan. But I do what he says, willingly.

Aching for what’s to come.

I can feel his eyes on me, dragging over my skin and then centering between
my legs. I know he can see how wet I am—glistening, and so shamefully
eager for him.

And then, his palm connects.

I gasp, moaning at the erotic sting of his hand slapping my ass. My face
blushes at my admission of pleasure, but I stay where I am. I arch my back
even more.

“Good girl.”

His hand connects again right after he growls the words, and suddenly, the
rush is back. Suddenly, I’m gasping as it all starts to flood right back into my
brain—like wires fusing back together.
My mouth falls open, and I moan into the duvet as the punishing spanks rain
down on my ass. Every cry of pleasure, every begged whimper for more—all
of it from the last few weeks comes rushing into me.

Kisses. Touches. Him and I.

I’ve lost track of how many times he’s spanked me. All I know is, the
stinging pain has somehow turned into something erotic that turns me to
liquid fire. It’s transcending hurt into something cathartic.

Something I need.

His hand spanks my ass over and over, until suddenly, two of his thick
fingers slide between my legs and sink into my needy slickness.

“Konstantin—!” I choke, whining in pleasure into the sheets.

He growls behind me, his fingers plunging into my pussy as I claw at the bed.
He suddenly drops down behind me, and I whine in protest when his fingers
slide from between my legs.

Until suddenly, something even better replaces them.

His mouth.

My eyes roll back, and I cry out, moaning into the bed. I grip the duvet,
whimpering and melting for his tongue as he drives it into me. His mouth
hums over my sex, sucking at my clit as his hands grip my hips, pulling me
back hard against him.

And wantonly—shamelessly—I give in to it. I push back, needing more of

him—aching for more of his mouth as he demands the pleasure from my
body.

His tongue snakes over my clit, swirling around and around until all I know is
white heat and exploding pleasure. With a jolt, I scream, shattering as the
orgasm erupts in my core. I cry out into the bed, shuddering as I come for
him.

And suddenly, I can see.

Everything.

I see Grigori dropping me, Lizbet, and Lukas off at campus. I see the
flickering lamplight. I see him—Konstantin, looming in my doorway that
first night.

I see me, lost in the hallways, and then tumbling into him.

In fact, that’s what I keep seeing: me, lost. And then falling into Konstantin.

Found.

I see every moment. Every gasped moan. Every fevered kiss. Every synapse
repairing itself—all of it, all the way up until the night of the formal dance,
when I left.

That’s where it goes dark.

When Konstantin slowly pulls away from me and stands, I shiver. I turn my
head, and our eyes lock with an energy that seems to explode and crackle
though the air around us.

“More,” I choke, desperately. “I need m—”

“I know you do.”

His hands yank his belt open. He shoves his pants and his briefs down, letting
his massive cock spring free, hot against the back of my thigh. Our eyes lock,
his lips curled fiercely as he wraps his hand around his length, drags the head
over my lips…

And slams into me, hard.

I cry out, the sheer size of him taking my breath away. But the hurt is so
good. The feel of him utterly filling me, and taking me, has me climbing the
walls in pleasure.

I drop my face into the bed, arching my back as he snarls behind me. His
thrusts are hard and deep—demanding and unflinching, just like him.

Just like I need.

His fingers dig into my skin, and his other hand slides up to grab a fistful of
my hair. I moan, my toes curling against the floor. My choked gasps of
pleasure ringing in my ears as he pounds into me.

Every thrust is a memory. Every bolt of energy in my core is wires fusing

back together. Every cry of pleasure is another puzzle piece falling into place.

It’s the mist lifting. It’s the fog clearing.

He hisses, thrusting harder, fucking me into the bed as his abs crash against
my ass. More and more comes rushing back as I start to tighten, so close to
the edge; so close to what I know I need to remember.

Konstantin’s hand tightens in my hair. His other one slides between my legs
to press the pad of a finger hard against my clit.

And I start to fall.

“Wait!” I choke. “I’m so close!”

“I know.”

Not to coming, I try and scream. But my body is too wound up, too ready to
explode.

I am close to coming—seconds away. But that’s not what I meant.

I meant I’m so close to remembering everything.

But then, all I know is the way I’m exploding for him. All I know is the
detonation of pleasure that thunders through me, turning me to cinders as I
scream into the bed and shatter.

I fall into the climax, pushing back to him, needing him. Konstantin groans,
sheathing himself in my clenching body as he gives in and follows me into
the deep. I can feel him swelling as his cum spills deep in my pussy, filling
me.

I’m shaking as he slowly draws out of me. He turns me, pulling me up and
into his arms as his mouth descends to crush against mine. He kisses me
fiercely, turning my already weak legs to jelly.

“I remember.”

I choke the words into his lips. And I remember so much.

About him.

About us.

His eyes flicker as he pulls back to hook his gaze into me.

“You remember what?” He growls quietly.

I swallow.

“That even though you’re a grumpy psychotic prick…”

He smirks, amused.

“Even with that,” I whisper. “I kind of like you.”

His lips curl slightly.

“Do you, now?”

I nod, biting my lip.

“And you like me, too.”

His eyes flicker with mercurial heat.

“I mean I asked you to a formal dance, and you said yes. It must have been
for a reason.”

“Maybe I just like punch.”

“Or maybe you like me, too—”

My moan is muffled as he crushes his mouth to mine, silencing me with a

kiss so deep my toes curl.

“Now,” he growls. “Per repetition.”

I tremble as he steps away from me, tucking his slick cock back into his
pants.

“You will shower. You will dress up, and then you will come downstairs in
half an hour. And you will be sitting on the edge of the table, in front of my
chair, with your legs spread wide.”

I shiver, biting my lip.

“For you?”

His lips curl.

“For you.”

He grabs me, and suddenly, he’s kissing me hard, again—bruising my lips. I

have no concept of how long, but when we pull apart, something’s changed.

Sort of.

He’s still the vicious tyrant.

But I’m not bucking his power anymore

I’m craving it
 11

A FTER I’ VE DEVOURED her on the dining room table, and then fucked her,
twice, on top of it, I find myself back in my room, in bed.

With her lying next to me, asleep. Not in her own bed. In mine.

Fuck repetition.

The room is lit only by the moonlight coming in through the windows. I turn,
my eyes tracing over the curve of her jaw—her face nestled into my chest.
Her eyes closed—not tightly, but serenely.

At peace.

I think back to the day in London, when the team I brought in woke her up
from four years of darkness. My jaw sets, my brow furrowing as I remember
seeing her asleep in the hospital bed.

She didn’t look like this. Not peaceful. Not at ease and resting. It was too
restful. Too deep.

Looking at her when she was asleep like that was like looking at her dead.

I tense, fury exploding through me—the need to rage or destroy something—

something like anyone who would hurt her. But instead, I breathe, and my
grip on her tightens just a little.

I remember.

Her words from early, in her bedroom before dinner, flash through my mind.
And I know they’re true, too. So much was coming back to her before
Odessa. And then that fuck Bagan shoved her back ten paces, back to her
semi-dreamland where she had to grasp at threads to remember shit.

For that, I want to revive his corpse just so I can kill him again, slower.

But she’s strong. Mara is stronger than anyone—her sister, or even me—give
her credit for. Like now, even with that setback, how she’s dragging herself
back out of the darkness. She’s remembering.

There’s just parts of her past I’m not sure if I want her to ever remember.

As far as she’s come back since Odessa, though, there’s still the gap from
right before she left. We talked about that in bed before she fell asleep against
me mid-sentence.

She still doesn’t know why she ran the night of the dance, with no mention to
anyone—even Lizbet—why.

It frustrates her to no end.

It infuriates me.

Not directed at her. But at her circumstances. It confounds me that I don’t

know what almost took her away from me—what would have taken her away
from me if I hadn’t gotten there in time.

“Please don’t kill me.”

My face tenses. That’s another mystery involving her disappearance. That

when I saved her, she looked at me like I was her executioner. It would be
simple to explain that away with her own confused state, having just been
drugged by that shit-stain detective—that she thought I was him, or
something.

But I know it’s not that. She looked at me. She looked right at me.

And she was horrified.

Like I said… there are parts of her past I’m not sure if I want her to ever
remember. Like the plays she set in motion before.

I don’t know if I want her to know those things anymore. I want to lock the
secrets and skeletons deep in the closet and keep them there, forever.

Next to me, Mara shifts, murmuring. I glance at her, but all I see is a smile as
she snuggles closer to me, still fast asleep.

Dream good dreams, I want to tell her.

No nightmares allowed. Not anymore.

I hold her tight as I close my eyes. I’m going to hold her tight. Always.

Then I fade to sleep.

I’ve wished for only good dreams, without nightmares for Mara. So instead,
they come for me.

I tense as I realize I’m walking into a hell I remember from my past—a place
I was only brought once, by my father. To this day, even knowing how vile a
demon he was, I still don’t know why he’d have brought me, when I was just
twelve, to that place.

The place where he, and Semyon Belsky, and other moral-less, insidiously
cruel and disgusting pieces of shit like them were members. The place that let
them do what they wanted to satiate the bloodthirsty and carnal desires
coursing through their black hearts that society would be aghast at.

I dream of the house in Montenegro, on the cliff.

A black house, with a black door.

Crna Kuça.

I remember knowing even more I walked through the front door that this
place was evil beyond comprehension. I remember the pretty boys and girls
not much older than me, dressed nicely as they served drinks, food, and
narcotics to the men in expensive suits smoking cigars and laughing as they
planned the horrors they’d play out during their visit that night.

The pretty boys and girls who smiled, but with a vacancy in their eyes that
chilled my blood.

My father told me we were there to see a fight: “a boxing match,

Konstantin,” he’d told me. “Only a real one. A real fight, with real
consequences. Like a fight should have.”

He didn’t prepare me for the ring where two boys who were maybe sixteen or
eighteen circled each other shirtless. Without gloves. With hollow, vacant
looks in their eyes, like they already knew death.

He didn’t prepare me for the fact that death himself had a seat at that ring—
that of the two boys inside those ropes, only one would be leaving.

When I asked to leave halfway through, my father told me to stop being a

pussy. He told me we were only there so that he could toughen me up. Then
he told me if I blinked, he’s put me in the ring next.

After the first fight, after they cleared away the body of one of the boys as
men roared with laughter and cheered as they drank whiskey and exchanged
money to settle bets, a second pair was brought in.
I told my father I needed to piss, so I could leave. A guard pointed me down a
hallway to the bathrooms—which I did really need to use. But to throw up,
not to piss.

Instead though, I got lost. I went down the wrong hallway, my brain still
reeling from what I’d seen. Then another wrong one. Then a staircase. When
I started to panic at the sounds of screaming coming from somewhere, I
opened a door, blindly.

What I saw inside to this day makes me wish I really was blind when I
opened that door.

I remember the man, shirtless, snarling and cackling with a manic, inhuman
glee. I remember that he was doused in blood. I remember the bloody blade
in his hand.

But mostly, I remember the screaming of the boy my age tied to the chair,
who this man was flaying with the knife.

I don’t know it yet, but years later, I’ll meet this boy again.

The man turned at the sound of the horrified choke that lodged in my throat.
And suddenly, I realized I knew him. He’d been to our house, barely a month
before, where he had business with my father.

I’d met his daughter, who he’d brought with him.

“Get out!” The man roared at me. “Get out!”

I remember turning and bolting from the room… right into my father.

His face was livid as he grabbed me, and then slammed the door to that room
from hell shut behind me.

“Father—” I choked. “The man in there is—”

“What did you see?”

I was old enough to know it was a threat, not a question. And that’s when I
realized we could still hear the boy screaming. And that my father didn’t
care.

“What is this place?” I choked.

“What did you see?”

I shuddered.

“Answer me, Konstantin.”

“I saw Mr. Belsky… he had a knife, and he was cutting a boy—”

He slapped me, hard.

“We don’t talk of this place with judgment,” he snarled at me. “Here, money
and power rule, not morals. Here is where kings come to do what they must
in order to lead without tearing themselves apart. You too, will come here.”

The words were like an even more vicious slap. But I knew they weren’t true.

I will never come here. Not like you, or that man inside the room.

“No, I won’t,” I whispered.

He chuckled.

“I said the same thing when your grandfather brought me here.”

His eyes narrowed at me.

“Kill the weakness in you, Konstantin. Kill compassion and love. Or in this
business, they will kill you.”

I flinched at the guttural sound of the boy in the room screaming in agony.
My father didn’t.

“Cut out your own heart, son.”

The boy screams again, and the sick comes rushing out of my mouth.

The dream fades. It always ends there. This time, as it frequently does, it
melts to the other time I wanted to die to not be aware of the reality around
me

This time, I’m in the summer house, in Rye. I’m waking from my sleep there
after surprising my mother with my visit, because I’ve just heard another
scream.

I’m walking quietly downstairs, and then to the basement door. I’m hearing
men laughing and jeering. I’m hearing the horrible dead sound of flesh
against flesh.

I’m tiptoeing down the stairs and witnessing a horror that shreds my soul in
half.

Then I see them cock the gun, press it to her head, and pull the trigger.

One bullet ending her misery, and the next one slicing through my ribs as I
ran.

I wake up snarling in my bed, grabbing at my side in horror.

But there’s no wound there. No bullet. No blood. Mara is there at my side

instead—a softness instead of pain.

A balm to soothe the roaring inferno in my heart.

She’s still asleep. Still dreaming peacefully with a small smile on her lips.

No nightmares.
Good.

If my having them means she doesn’t, then that’s fine.

My phone lights up on the bedside table. I glance over and reach for it, my
eyes narrowing as I see Gavan’s text.

My lips curl.

Slowly, though I don’t want to, I slide out from under her. I tuck her gently
into the covers, and then dress silently.

Outside, I cross through the darkness of the campus like a wraith, until I get
to one of the side-gates in the large, guarded walls of Oxford Hills Academy.
I’m sure the others—Lukas, Ilya, and Misha—have their own way out of here
—I’d bet a tunnel or something out from under Lordship.

But I use a different, more blunt, more straightforward way when I need to
leave this place: power and money.

I just simply bribe the right guards.

The ones manning this gate at night are ones I’ve paid handsomely. They just
nod when they see me, opening the gate for me as if they’re my own personal
patrolmen. I step through, glance around, and then cross the road to a waiting
black SUV.

Inside, Gavan just nods, smiling grimly as he pulls away and drives down the
road. Soon enough, we get to a small farmhouse that I had Vadim buy when I
first arrived at the academy. Currently, it’s where Gavan and a few of my
more trusted men are staying, as backup security near OHA.

Gavan shuts the engine off and we both step out.

“We found him trying to sneak onto campus. He hasn’t said shit to me, but I
thought you’d enjoy having a try.”
My jaw clenches.

“I mean, he’s here under Dima’s orders, obviously,” Gavan mutters. “One of
my guys recognizes him as a foot soldier who reports to Boris Leonychka,
who—”

“Is one of the cockroaches who followed Dima,” I mutter as we get to the
side door of the farmhouse that leads to the basement.

Gavan swings it open.

“He’s not going to say shit, Konstantin.”

“We’ll see.”

Downstairs, my eyes adjust to the dimness quickly. I nod to the four other
men I know, and then turn to smile thinly at the other man tied to a chair in
the middle of the floor.

“Dima sent you?” I growl.

The man just smiles a toothy, bloody smile.

“So you’re loyal to a traitor. How admirable of you to keep silent. You must
be so proud to betray the very family you pledged yourself too.”

The man sneers.

“I follow the true Reznikov leader.”

“Oh,” I chuckle darkly. “And who is that? Dima Pavlishchev?”

“Nyet,” he hisses. “I follow the true king—Antin Reznikov.”

“Yes, well—and I hate to be the one to tell you this—but unfortunately, he’d
dead and burning in hell right now.”

The man glares at me.

“He is the true—”

“He’s fucking dead,” I snarl, making him gasp as I lunge close to him and
grab him by the collar of his jacket.

I turn and nod at the large knife clipped to Gavan’s belt. He shrugs, slips it
out, and passes it to me hilt-first.

The man in the chair swallows thickly when I turn with the gleaming blade in
my hand.

“Why were you sent—”

“Go to hell—”

The man screams when I sink the blade into his thigh. He wails, sobbing in
pain as I twist it slightly and then pull it back out. Calmly, I wipe the blood
off onto his shoulder.

“Were you here for me?”

The man whimpers, shaking his head, sucking air through clenched teeth. My
eyes narrow.

“Were you here for her?”

He looks up, his eyes manic and his mouth drooling spit and blood.

“Your father knew that all Belsky whores should be shared.”

My eyes narrow.

“Da,” the man spits. “Da, I came for her. So I could fuck that little Belsky
whore like your father would have wanted—”

My arm is fast. The blade in my hand sinks all the way to the hilt through his
neck as his eyes go wide. Blood gushes down his chest and froths from his
open mouth. And then, he’s gone. Snuffed out.

Sent to hell to join my father.

The man next to me chuckles.

“Good. Another Antin loyalist squashed like a cockroach. Well done,

Konstantin.”

The rest of them congratulate me as I wipe the knife off on the dead man’s
jacket and return it to Gavan.

He nods his head towards the door. “C’mon. I’ll drive you back to—”

“I’ll walk, actually.”

My friend shrugs, patting me on the shoulder and congratulating me again for

cutting off another Dima finger. Then, I’m out the door and headed back to
the side gate through the night.

They can all assume my wrath and rage was because the man was a threat to
my empire. An Antin loyalist. All of those things we’re fighting against.

But the truth is, what made me snap and what made me know he was dead
wasn’t that he was a fan of my father.

It’s because he was here to hurt Mara. And no one will hurt her.

Not ever again.

 12

A WEEK LATER — A week after Konstantin brings so much of it back just by

making me come and scream for more—the big “ahah!” moments slow.
There’s no more big, bombastic breakthroughs in terms of major things that I
remember.

But what does come back is the small, minute details. The little things. The
way looking at Konstantin makes my skin tingle and my heart flutter. The
way I like my toast just the right shade of brown and crispy in the morning.
How I like my coffee. How he likes his coffee.

Within a week, the timeline of when I first came to OHA up to the present is
basically back in my head. Well, except for that one chunk of time right
before I disappeared to Odessa.

I even remember Lukas and Lizbet telling me about Konstantin having

witnessed his mother’s assault and murder—about the shrink he saw who
said… well, several terrible things I don’t like to dwell on.

I even remember the morning of the dance. I remember telling my sister who
I was bringing, and the dress I was going to wear.
But after that? It’s mostly a blank. I vaguely remember being attacked by
Detective Bagan. I remember a man I didn’t recognize at the time swooping
in to save me. I remember fading back into consciousness on a jet to find
myself face-to-face with that same man, who I barely recognized as
Konstantin.

But what mostly comes back to me is my “being” with him. As much as I or

anyone can “be” with a man like Konstantin. You could callously call it
friends with benefits. Or “roommates with perks.”

But it’s more than that. Or at least, it’s moved past that. But it’s still not what
I’d imagine a relationship is. It’s not what Lizbet and Lukas have. Not what
Ilya and Tenley, or Misha and Charlotte have when I see them.

We’re not together.

This is not a relationship.

It’s just… what it is. And what it is is invigorating and exciting. It’s teasing
looks and then punishing touches that make me squirm and ache for more.
It’s the way he seeks out a part of me no one, myself included, ever saw.

A darkness. A gnawing hunger that he and he alone satiates.

It’s maybe a little fucked up. It’s twisted. It’s unconventional. But right now,
I’m more than okay with all of that.

Because I still look around at the other students here with a pang of jealousy.
They all had this, in a sense. The pull of desire. The chase. The wondering if
the other person is thinking about you when you’re thinking about them. The
rush of hormones and other brain chemicals at the thought of being with this
other person.

Maybe this isn’t the typical “school boyfriend.” But nothing is typical about
my life. It’s perfectly untypical.
Broken.

Missing in pieces.

And so is whatever this is with Konstantin.

Perfectly untypical.

T HAT NEXT WEEKEND , Lukas drives me off campus by way of the tunnel out
from under Lordship. I have a date.

With Grigori.

Lukas keeps the conversation totally neutral in the car ride to Heathington.
But I can tell he’s analyzing everything I say. Every facial tic. Every laugh.

It’s not insidious, or ill-intended. I also know that. It’s because he and my
sister love me, and I know they’re still worried about me living with and
obviously doing much more than living with Konstantin.

But I also know they can’t understand what this is, to both of us. Yes, Lizbet
and Lukas come from shredded, mangled backgrounds. They found a
salvation within each other. But it’s still different.

I can’t even say how, I just know it is. Just like I know they can’t understand
this. Hell, I don’t even know if I understand it. But I like it just the same.
Perfectly untypical.

Lukas pulls up to drop me off outside of the posh restaurant where Grigori
and I are meeting for lunch to catch up. Up ahead, a gorgeous, sleek black
Lamborghini pulls up to the valet, and Lukas whistles.

“Okay, I don’t always go for newer sports cars. But that thing is nice.”
I’m about to agree, when the driver’s door swings open, and a mountain of a
man in a perfectly tailored charcoal grey suit steps out.

My jaw hits the floor.

“Is that Grigori?” Lukas grunts, his brow furrowing.

I laugh, nodding.

It is. It’s just that it’s a Hollywood version of Grigori. My bodyguard

frequently wore suits. But never anything like this. And he certainly wasn’t
tooling around Odessa in a car like that.

“No offense, but how the fuck did he afford an Aventador?”

I grin, shaking my head as I open the side door.

“No idea, but I’m about to find out. I’ll let you know.”

“Call me when you need a ride back. I’m around.”

“I don’t know, Lukas. That depends.”

He frowns. “On?”

“On if you can show up in a Lambo.”

G RIGORI GIVES me a big bear hug when I run up to him. Which is about as
affectionate as he gets, but I’ll take it.

I pull back, grinning at him as I take in the slick new haircut, the perfectly
trimmed beard, and the suit.

He winks.
“You see my new car?”

“I did…”

He chuckles.

“And you are curious if I am robbing banks now, da?”

I laugh. “Maybe a little.”

He shakes his head, gesturing for us to walk into the restaurant. A doorman
nods stiffly and ushers us inside to the maître d, who whisks us away to a
private table towards the back of the restaurant.

“I am working as security consultant now, for a Russian technology firm,” he

explains after he pushes my chair in for me.

He sits across from me and shrugs.

“They have security holes. I fix them.”

“They have big checkbooks too, huh?” I grin.

He smiles widely.

“Very big. I did not want this job, because I am very busy already.”

“Doing what?”

He winks. “Making sure you are okay.”

I roll my eyes.

“So I give them a big price, and they say yes.”

I beam at him.

“I’m so happy for you! That’s amazing!”

He shrugs, trying to look casual, but clearly impressed with himself. A waiter
comes, we order some food, and then we fall into easy small talk until
appetizers come. I try and prod about the new job, but Grigori, true to form,
is hush on the details. Which is probably why he always made such a great
bodyguard.

“Mara.”

I look up from my shrimp scampi.

“Hmm?”

“I do not think you should stay in that house with Konstantin.”

I sigh heavily and put my fork down.

“Grigori, I appreciate the concern. But—”

“Not after Odessa.”

I freeze, my eyes narrowing as my lips purse. I—purposefully—haven’t

mentioned what happened when I freaked out and rushed off to Ukraine to
Grigori. Because I knew it would just make him anxious and worried about
me and my mental state.

Apparently, someone else has taken it upon herself to tell him.

“Lizbet?” I say thinly.

He shakes his head, and I frown.

“Lukas?”

“Nyet.” Grigori sighs and places both his hands on the table.

“Mara, I…” he clears his throat.

Then he reaches into his suit jacket pocket and pulls something out. My eyes
widen when he slides an iPhone in a pink sparkling case with the Olympics
logo on it.

Something flashes in my head—a spark of recognition that flares and

suddenly clamps its cold hand around my throat, choking the air from my
lungs. Sheer panic and terror flood my system, before suddenly they flame
out back into dimness.

I frown.

“My old phone…”

I tense. Suddenly, I’m remembering the package of my old things that the
detective had shipped to me. Earrings, my necklace, my blood-stained copy
of Romeo and Juliet. And my old phone. My brows furrow as I stare at it,
trying to remember why it’s giving me these feeling of terror and horror.

I brought that with me, to Odessa.

I blink, staring at the pink sequins on the phone case. When I moved back
into Lachlan House, Konstantin gave me a bag he told he’d found me with in
Odessa—a small backpack that I’d apparently packed to take with me when I
ran. It had a basic change of clothes, a toothbrush, and a blood-stained copy
of Romeo and Juliet that made my heart tighten when I remembered it was
the paperback that was found on my person the day of my shooting.

The backpack also contained a necklace with a winged food, that I remember
Lizbet giving me when we were kids. It also had a pair of diamond earrings
in it that I instantly remembered getting from my grandmother on my twelfth
birthday, when I was allowed to get my ears pierced.

I remember looking at the backpack back in Lachlan House and thinking

something was off or missing. But not being able to put my finger on what
that something was.

I suddenly remember that it’s this very phone that was missing from it.

I also brought this to Odessa with me.

It didn’t come home with me.

And now Grigori is giving it back to me.

“How…” I choke, my pulse thudding in my ears.

His face darkens, his mouth thinning.

“I followed you, Mara.”

My mouth falls open.

“What?” I breathe in a hushed whisper.

Grigori closes his eyes, shaking his head.

“I… I am sorry, zaychik,” he growls quietly. “I know… it is not my job to

protect you anymore. But, I know some of the men at the airfield, and one
called me to tell me when you left suddenly.”

His brow furrows deeply.

“I was worried, Mara. And when I hear you are going back to Odessa…”

His jaw grinds.

“Your father still has enemies there.”

I swallow, my face pale as I stare at him.

“Like the detective, zaychik,” he growls thinly. “I was too late to save you—”

“Konstantin did.”
His mouth thins.

“I am told this, yes,” he growls angrily, his face darkening.

“You’re upset by that?”

“No, little Mara,” he grunts, shaking his head quickly. “No, my God, no. Not
upset. Worried, though. Suspicious.”

I shake my head. “Grigori, he… that detective tried to kidnap me. He injected
me with an anti-anxiety to knock me out. But Konstantin…”

“Killed him,” my old bodyguard mutters quietly.

I nod, chewing on my lip.

“I got to the garden right after you left, I think. The detective was still warm,
but dead. And I see that…” he nods at the phone. “Under a bush, in a puddle
of water.”

I wince as I pick up the phone and go to turn it on. But nothing happens.
Something in me feels this burning need to see what’s on the phone,
suddenly. It’s like a clue I can almost remember, but not.

Is the phone why I ran to Odessa? Something on it, maybe?

“It was in a puddle?”

Grigori’s mouth twists.

“I am afraid yes.”

I groan. “Crap.”

“You have backup, maybe?”

I shake my head sadly. “I… maybe. I don’t think I do, though.”

I look up across the table at my old friend and smile.

“Thank you, Grigori.”

“It is just old phone—”

“No,” I grin, shaking my head. “For coming after me in Odessa.”

He nods.

“I was worried, when my friend at the airport tell me you are there, leaving
on a plane. But I was more worried when he called back to tell me Konstantin
Reznikov was now also there, also flying to Odessa.”

I smile wryly.

“Well, it’s lucky he got there when he did—”

“I don’t know if I agree with luck.”

My brows knit.

“What do you mean?”

Grigori’s mouth thins. “I mean some things are too lucky for luck. Odessa is
two thousand miles from here. You leave, and then Konstantin, he gets to you
exactly when it is best for him to get to you?”

I tense.

“What are you suggesting?”

His mouth thins as he shakes his head. But my temper flares as my eyes
narrow.

“You’re saying what, that Konstantin somehow arranged for me to be

stabbed in the neck with a benzodiazepine? So that he could be the hero—”
“Why did you go to Odessa, zaychik?”

I blink, sucking my bottom lip between my teeth as I turn away.

“I don’t know.”

We sit in silence for a few seconds.

“Maybe, something on phone—”

“Yeah, well, that’s a lost cause, isn’t it?”

He sighs.

“You are angry.”

“He saved me, Grigori.”

“Da, and he wakes you up before. But again, that does not mean you owe
him—”

“I’m not with him because of a debt—”

My mouth snaps shut. I stiffen as my gaze slides back to Grigori. His brow
furrows deeply.

“You are with—”

“Can we change the subject?”

He scowls. “Mara, this is very dangerous—”

“Grigori?” I snap. “I appreciate your concern. But I’m not fourteen anymore.
This is my life. My decisions—”

“Do your decisions take into account that there are now ten Reznikov men
living in Heathington? That when I have driven around the perimeter of your
school, I see other Reznikov men doing the same?”
I swallow, a chill creeping down my spine.

“He’s just trying to keep me safe.”

“He’s fighting a civil war, Mara,” my friend grunts. “Not everyone in his
organization was so happy that he had his own father killed.”

I clear my throat. “What do you mean?”

“I mean the Reznikov Bratva is about to tear itself in two. There is about to
be a war.”

He takes a slow breath and leans over the table towards me, his eyes grim.

“So, Mara, when you say you are ‘with’ Konstantin?”

I frown. Grigori breathes out slowly.

“I wonder who else knows this.”

G RIGORI PRODS a few more times about the specifics of Odessa—what

happened, and why I left OHA. But when I start to clam up, mostly because I
don’t know those latter details, he eases up. Eventually, we backpedal to
safer, calmer topics.

By the time he walks me outside where Lukas is waiting to drive me home,

I’m smiling again as I give him a hug. That is, until he pulls me closer a
second time and leans down close to my ear.

“Please, zaychik. Just keep your eyes open, da?”

I frown. “Open to see what?”

“To see if you are being kept safe, or just kept.”

 13

A NOTHER WEEK , and more and more of my life begins to make sense again.
In a way, you could almost say “things are back to normal,” so long as it’s
accepted that very little in my life is even remotely “normal” by most
standards.

But it’s back to what I remember from before Odessa, at least. I wake up each
morning knowing who and where I am. I brush my teeth, dress—mostly—
and then find myself writhing on Konstantin’s bed with his mouth between
my thighs.

Or maybe bent over his desk, with his deliciously thick cock driving into me.
Or on the kitchen counter, with my legs around his waist.

Ostensibly, this happens so that he’ll dole out my panties for the day.

Realistically, it happens because neither of us can keep our hands off of each
other.

Some nights I spend with Lizbet, either just the two of us, or us and Lukas, or
sometimes with others, too. I know—I remember—that one of Konstantin’s
“rules” is that I only have two nights a week outside Lachlan House.
Since getting back from Odessa, I’ve started to realize that it’s been a whole
lot more like three nights. We haven’t discussed this. I haven’t mentioned it,
though the idea that Konstantin is forgetting our rules or somehow not
realizing I’m getting a free third night a week is preposterous.

The man exercises complete and utter control on everything around him—me
included. The fact that I somehow find myself at Lizbet’s a third night a week
isn’t an oversight.

It’s an allowance.

It’s the tyrant king granting me this privilege. And maybe that should tick me
off if not outright infuriate me. But it doesn’t. In fact, I find myself feeling
comforted by his rules. I like his parameters.

Not for the control they exercise over me. But for the protection and
familiarity they wrap me in.

I haven’t discounted Grigori’s misgivings, or his worry about Konstantin’s

civil war and how that may impact my safety. But Konstantin hasn’t
mentioned it, and it doesn’t really feel like my place to bring it up.

But Grigori isn’t wrong. There is a contingent of Konstantin’s people who

have been seen at the gates of OHA, or in Heathington, or Manchester, too.
And I don’t mean by me, I mean by other students.

Actually, it’s becoming one of the biggest talking points on campus. And
seeing as it’s become public knowledge that I’m living alone with these
Bratva-types’ boss, it means these talking points tend to murmur behind me
when I leave a room, like a perpetual shadow tailing me.

I try not to let it bother me, though. Instead I spend my efforts trying to
retrace my steps before Odessa—trying to piece together what exactly made
me leave so abruptly, without telling even Lizbet, and standing Konstantin up
for the dance we were going to attend together. Which I pretty shitty about.

But that, like the blank space that exists in my head in place of any memories
of the day of my shooting, seems like it may remain a mystery. Doctor
Bloom, one of my neurological specialists at St. Thomas’—who Konstantin
personally went to see after bringing me back from Odessa—even called me
a few weeks ago to discuss that “gap” with me. He likened it to a computer
rebooting after a crash, but not having any of the data from in between the
last “save” and the crash itself.

And now I have two of those places in my memory. Two gaps. Two missing
pieces to a puzzle that will most likely never be complete.

But each morning that I find myself gasping into Konstantin’s mouth, and
grinding my body to his, and feeling the things I feel when he’s near me? The
past becomes less and less something I care about.

The future—whatever it may be—is all I can fixate on now.

“H OW ’ S OUR FUCKING HOUSE ?”

I stiffen at the words hurled at my back. The Scottish accent is vaguely

familiar, and when I turn, I wince.

Grace. Her name is Grace Murphy. I know that now. And she’s a star forward
and co-captain on the girls’ football team. She’s also one of the two girls
formerly living at Lachlan house who now live in my old cottage.

I smile weakly.

“Grace, I’m so sorry about what happened with—”

“I’d tell you to shut your trap and fuck off,” she snaps, smiling thinly. “But
I’d hate to be responsible for you losing your shit again.”

She sneers at me as a girl I unfortunately recognize sidles up behind her.

Ainsley Hendershire, the snob-queen herself, who has gone very quickly
from trying to be my friend to looking at me with blistering scorn after the
incident with Jeremy Caldwell. Word has it, they’re dating now.

I guess the locker room urinal was spoken for.

“Oh, well if it isn’t the psycho princess,” she sneers.

Grace glances back at her, snorting before she turns to glare at me again.
Ainsley just leers at me, like she’s simply here to enjoy watching me get shit
on.

I swallow, but I keep my head tall. I can feel bad about what was done to
them, getting kicked out of their house like that. But I don’t have to feel guilt
about it.

Konstantin’s motives, even if they were a result of me, are not in my control.
I can feel shitty for living in Lachlan house instead of them. But I’m not
going to let guilt I know I don’t need to bear myself drag me down.

“Look,” I say thinly at Grace. “I am sorry about the house situation. I

honestly am. But I had nothing to do with that, okay?”

Her lip curls.

“Ahh, yes. It must be so hard on you to live there. My sincere condolences

—”

“Screw you,” I mutter, turning to walk away.

“If you feel so bloody bad about stealing our house,” she hisses after me.
“Why don’t you just use some of that little miss Bratva princess power of
yours and change it back—”

“Okay, first,” I hiss, whirling on her. “I’m not a fucking princess, okay?
Secondly, I have nothing to do with the Bratva, so piss off.”

Her face darkens, her lips curling.

“You father—”

“My father is fucking dead,” I bark loudly, which seems to instantly wipe the
sneer off Grace’s face.

“So is that why you’re fucking the Bratva, then?” Ainsley snaps.

She smiles cruelly.

“I mean, it just seems like that’s what Belsky’s do. What with your sister
being with Lukas—”

I roll my eyes and start to turn away.

“You know, I’ve heard the rumor about your slutty sister and your father.”

Every muscle in my body tenses.

“Is that what this is? I mean he dies, and you Belsky girls just feel a
compulsion to go find Bratva dick elsewhere? Tell me, did he diddle you too
—”

I whirl with every intention of murdering her—of legitimately killing her

with my bare freaking hands. But before I can wrap my fingers around her
neck, an arm snaps out, and a hand slaps her, hard.

Grace’s hand.
“Oi!” Grace snarls, shoving a shocked and appalled looking Ainsley away
from all of us.

The Scottish girl’s lips curl as she advances on Ainsley, making the blonde
back away.

“Fuck back off to whatever boys’ locker room you slunk out of, you vile
fucking slag,” Grace hisses at Ainsley.

The blonde heiress stiffens, looking furious, and like she’s about to say
something back. But when Grace advances on her again, Ainsley turns
abruptly and scampers off.

The Scottish girl turns back to me, her face grim.

“I’m sorry for that,” she says quietly. She frowns. “I don’t much like you, but
that wasn’t okay.”

“It’s fine,” I mumble, looking down. “And thank you. I… might have done
something a lot worse.”

“Wish I hadn’t stopped it, then,” she smirks thinly.

We stand in silence for a second, my toe kicking at the flagstones under my

feet.

“I…” Grace frowns. “I shouldn’t have just blamed you, as if it’s your doing.”

“It’s not,” I mutter.

“Yeah, well it’s still very fucking unfair.”

I resist the urge to scream that what “isn’t fair” is getting shot in the goddamn
head when you’re fourteen. What “isn’t fair” not knowing who the hell you
are, or how you got places. Or waking up every morning and maybe kind of
casually saying the names of everyone you know in the mirror while you
brush your teeth, so that you don’t forget them.

But that isn’t going to fix any bridges here.

“I’m sorry, again,” I mutter as I turn to walk away.

“You’re with him, yeah?”

I stop, turning to glance back at her.

“Konstantin, I mean,” she adds quietly.

I chew on my lip, unsure how to even begin to answer that.

“All I’m saying is, I read the news, Mara. We all know who Konstantin is,
and that those are his goons out there outside the walls of OHA acting like
this is a war zone instead of a prestigious academy.”

I want to tell her that it might be a war zone, and that’s why those men are
there. But, I’m not entertaining this anymore.

“We had a practice scrimmage the other day with Durnhill Academy get
canceled, you know.” Her eyes narrow. “Know why?”

I shake my head.

“Because their tour bus got held up at the front gates of OHA, by Russian
goons with guns, demanding they all show their IDs and open their bloody
bags, as if it was a military checkpoint, not a school.”

My face pales.

“So, if you’re with him?” she says thinly. “If ‘it’s complicated’, like your
face seems to be trying to tell me?”

Grace purses her lips and takes a step towards me.

“Then please tell him this mafia shit has to stop, or someone is going to get
hurt.”

All I can do I nod as she narrows her eyes at me, turns, and walks away.

“Y OU NEED to cool it with the guards stooging around the perimeter of

school.”

From the head of the dinner table, Konstantin casually looks up from his
phone, his brow furrowed. His eyes hungrily sweep over the Dior gown I’m
wearing, igniting the spark in me I was giddy to feel when I even put this
thing on.

But I keep my eyes narrowed.

“Excuse me?” He mutters.

“The Reznikov men you have stalking around Oxford Hills, and Heathington,
and Manchester.”

The corners of his lips curl, and he calmly puts his phone down before
bringing a hand up to stroke his jaw.

“You’re two minutes late for din—”

“Konstantin,” I hiss.

His face darkens. And I know damn well it’s because I just cut him off. I
stiffen, but I keep my jaw firm, not letting it show that I know I’m wandering
into dangerous territory here.

And by “dangerous” territory, I mean “liable to find myself bent over the
table with my dress around my hips and his palm spanking my bare ass.”
I squeeze my legs together, swallowing back the shiver of heat I feel at the
thought.

“Those men are out there to protect,” he mutters thinly.

“Protect what? You? Because of the civil war—”

“To protect you,” he growls quietly.

“I don’t need—”

“You ran off to fucking Odessa without a single mention, or reason that
anyone knows or that you can remember,” he spits. “Where you were fucking
attacked by a man loyal to my dead father, which means he was embroiled
with the other pieces of shit in my organization who also aren’t happy about
the change in leadership.”

“So now I’m in danger?” I blurt angrily. “I’m in danger because of your
fucking—”

“I think it’s fairly obvious you are,” he snaps, standing abruptly.

I shiver as his gun-metal grays lance into me, arresting me as much as they
ignite me.

“So, Mara,” he growls. “Those men outside the walls will stay, because I’ve
ordered it. To keep you safe.”

He steps towards me, and I tremble as heat surges in my core.

“Because you’re mine,” he grunts thickly as he comes to a stop right in front

of me, looming over me as my pulse spikes.

I swallow, wetting my lips as I glare up into his eyes.

“Says who?”
“Says me. I’m not sure who else’s opinion matters—”

“Uh mine, perhaps?” I spit back.

He smiles thinly.

“But you already know you’re mine, Mara,” he growls quietly.

I swallow thickly, sucking in a sharp breath of air as he slowly leans down,

until his lips are by my ear, turning me to jelly.

Turning my insides to liquid fire.

Making my thighs slick.

“Just like I know that you very much like being mine.”

His lips trail up the line of my jaw, until they’re millimeters from claiming
mine. I tremble, barely holding back the whimper as I ache for his kiss.

“However,” Konstantin growls quietly.

“You were two minutes late…”

My skin tingles. My thighs clench tight against the flood of heat between
them.

“Turn around,” he hisses thinly. “And bend over the table.”

I’m already so turned on that by the second spank, he can see my arousal
dripping down my thighs.

Thirty seconds later, when he’s driving his thick cock deep into my needy
pussy, I’m coming instantly.

Because he’s right.

I am his. And I do very much know it.

 14

“S O , this is how smart kids live, huh?”

I roll my eyes as Gaven grins at me. We’re sitting at a patio table on the back
veranda of Lachlan House, our breath curling in the late afternoon chill.

“The ones smart enough to come here when it’s being offered up on a
fucking platter do at least,” I toss back.

He chuckles, shaking his head as he looks over the ivy-covered Tudor home
behind us.

“Yeah, well…”

“For fuck’s sake. Will you just drop this class war shit of yours? You’re
smarter than any other student here.”

“Except my father doesn’t own any oil fields or social media companies.”

I sigh. This argument is so fucking stale, and it annoys the shit out of me. But
I keep having it with Gavan, because he should be attending school here.

Yes, every student here, despite their wealth and family power, is here
because of their intelligence. Bribing your way into better housing is one
thing, but OHA flat out does not allow students to buy their way into
admission if their intelligence doesn’t support it.

And even still, I’m not just bullshitting him. Gavan is beyond qualified to be
here intellectually. Okay, sure, maybe Vadim being a multi-millionaire
doesn’t put him in the same ballpark as the billionaires whose kids go here.
But it’s not exactly like he’s scraping pennies together. Hell, I’d even pay for
Gavan to go here if it was that much of an issue.

But it’s the money. It’s the privilege. It’s that Gavan has this perpetual chip
on his shoulder about the haves versus the have-nots. He’s John Lennon’s
“working class hero”… if he was also very good at killing people, I suppose.

“Alright, Jesus,” I grunt. “Do you have anything useful for me, or did you
just sneak in here to talk shit about my campus housing.”

My brother in everything but actual blood grins.

“Nah, I mostly just came to see how the other half lives.”

“The other…” I sigh, rolling my eyes yet again. “Your father is about to buy
a third summer house on Lake Cuomo. You still ready to tear down the
system, Rage Against the Machine?”

He chuckles, shoving a hand through his dark hair.

“I just like fucking with you, man.”

“Yeah, I know.”

He clears his throat. “No, but bullshit aside, things have been quiet out there.
We’ve got some people in Manchester with their ears to the ground. If any of
Dima’s shitheads come through there, we’ll know. We’ve also got a few
more stationed in Heathington, and I’m still holding it down at the farmhouse
just over the walls.”

“And?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing like that fucker the other night.”

He smiles thinly.

“Apparently, Dima got my package.”

“I’m sure you’ll be receiving a thank you card any day now.”

He grins wickedly. The “package” was the remains of the guy I killed the
other night who was trying to sneak onto the OHA campus—in several
individually wrapped pieces, tied with ribbons.

I sigh and glance at the time. Mara should be back from her afternoon classes
in about forty minutes.

“Got a date?”

“Something like that.”

I look up sharply, daring Gavan to say something. But he doesn’t. He knows

me well enough to see that needling me about Mara and this entire situation
is likely to bring down a wrath he has no interest in.

“Well, I’ll leave you to—”

He frowns, glancing past me.

“You have guests, Konstantin.”

I turn, and my eyes narrow. The patio table we’re sitting at sits beneath a
small gazebo-like structure covered in ivy. It affords privacy, but it also
means you can see out if you’re sitting inside of it.

And currently, what I can see is Lukas, Misha, and Ilya storming down the
path that winds its way towards the front of the house.
“Komarov, Tsavakov, and Volkov,” Gavan growls quietly. “And it doesn’t
exactly look like they’re here for dinner.”

I watch his hand stray toward the gun I know is under his jacket. I frown and
shake my head.

“I can deal with it.”

“Might help if I’m here too.”

“It might also just kick the gasoline all over the fire.”

He frowns.

“You sure?”

“I’m fine, Gavan. This isn’t my first dance with these three. This’ll be easier
if you head out, actually.”

His brow deepens, but he nods.

“I’ll call tomorrow with any updates.”

“Thank you, my friend.”

He claps me on the shoulder, buttoning his coat as he stands. I watch him eye
the other three heirs in their approach, but then he turns, following the side of
the house towards a hedgerow, keeping out of sight as he disappears.

I sigh as I stand and step out from under the ivy.

“I’m out back, before you go breaking my fucking front door in.”

My arms fold over my chest, and I lean against the side of the gazebo as the
three of them come marching around the side of the house, looking ready to
start something.

What else is new.

“Are we selling cookies today, ladies?”

Misha glares at me. So does Ilya, with that slightly unsettling green-eyed
wolfish look of his. But it’s Lukas that keeps his face coolly neutral as he
stops right in front of me.

“We’re supposed to be low-key here.”

My brows knit.

“Excuse me?”

“You know what I fucking mean, Konstantin. I mean us, as in the four of us,
with the strings that come attached to us that don’t come attached to the other
students here.”

“I believe the star keeper for the men’s football team’s last name is Hussein,”
I shrug.

I’m not wrong, and yes, it’s that Hussein.

“So, you were saying, about strings—”

“We’re talking Bratva shit, you asshole,” Misha growls. “It’s about keeping a
low fucking profile, Konstantin.”

I roll my eyes.

“The three of you threw parties here for almost four straight years that would
make the Rolling Stones jealous, while living in a goddamn mansion as little
kings of the school.” I snort. “Please, continue your lecture on low profiles.”

“That was school bullshit,” Ilya grunts. “This is Bratva business.”

“What exactly are we talking—”

“We’re talking about the fact that you have your men patrolling the walls of
OHA and searching the tour buses of visiting sports teams,” Lukas growls
thinly. “And it’s going to turn this school inside out until it eats itself if you
keep this up. Does that make sense?”

I smile.

“Perfect sense, I’m just not sure I actually give a shit.”

His eyes narrow.

“When I find out what you’re doing with Mara, I’m going to break you in
two,” he says thinly.

I groan. “Christ, Komarov. You and your fucking hero complex. What are
you, fucking Batman?”

“I’m whatever makes you drop whatever twisted fucking games you’re
playing with Mara—”

“I woke her up!” I roar suddenly, surprising even myself.

“That was me, Lukas,” I snarl. “I pulled her from that coma—”

“For what!?” He roars back, jabbing a finger into my chest.

“In trade for what?! Keeping her locked up in this fucking house with you? A
little conveniently forgetful plaything?”

My lips curl dangerously.

“Watch it.”

“You know, Konstantin,” Lukas says thinly, ignoring my warning. “I’m

concerned about what it is about her that attracts you.”

“You need to turn around and walk—”

“Is it that she might forget how shit in bed you were by the next morning?”

My smile is thin and lethal.

“You done yet?”

“You’re playing head games with my wife’s sister, Konstantin,” he spits.

“I’m not even close to being done. Is it that she’s Semyon’s daughter? Is that
your little twisted fucking angle here?”

My eyes narrow.

“Think long and hard if you of all people really want to go there, Komarov,”
I growl.

“I know what Lizbet and I are, and have,” he snaps. “And I’m not with her as
a finger to her dead father.”

He leers close to me.

“How about you?”

The air crackles around us as we face off, bristling, like two demi-gods about
to start pounding each other into the ground with lightning bolts.

“You don’t know shit about me, Lukas.”

“Which is exactly what concerns me. Sort of like my other worry.”

“Enlighten me,” I hiss.

He smiles dangerously.

“That you’re into her because somehow, she’s still kinda fourteen years—”

“Finish that fucking sentence and I’ll cut you in half right here.”

Ilya puts a hand on Lukas’s shoulder.

“Lukas,” he grunts. “That’s it. We’re done here. This is getting far too
personal.”

He glances past his friend towards me.

“All we’re saying is, lower the fucking temperature, Konstantin. We all know
you’re dealing with some shit within your own organization—”

“My organization is both fine, and none of your concern.”

“Your organization is currently setting up for war outside the gates of this
fucking school, which makes it very much our concern.”

He pulls at Lukas’s shoulder, turning him away from me.

“We’re leaving, now. This is done.”

But it’s not. My jaw is still grinding, and my temper is still sizzling to the
point of boiling. It’s the fact that for whatever reason, though we’re so much
alike, Lukas and I seem to always butt heads.

Somehow in this story, he’s come out of his life experience being the dark
hero—fucking Batman, showing up to gun fights refusing to use guns.

But I’ve come out the villain. The bad guy.

And it fucking pisses me off.

That’s why there’s always this pissing contest between us. Because Lukas
likes me being the bad guy. And I just want to watch him fucking fall from
grace.

So, I push. Hard.

They’re already turned and a few feet away when I smile and open my
mouth.
“You know, Lukas?”

I can see Ilya and Misha tense, knowing they were so close to walking away
without this blowing up. And here I am chucking sticks of dynamite at the
whole thing.

“With Mara and Lizbet being twins and all…”

I smile a thin, evil smile.

“You could say I know exactly how Lizbet’s pussy feels stretching around
my—”

He whirls like a fucking bear, charging me with a snarl on his lips as I grin
triumphantly at the hero falling. I even let him get the first punch in, which is
admittedly like getting hit by an actual bear. But he only gets one.

Then, I’m hitting him back.

The whole thing only lasts a second or two. After that, it’s Ilya and Misha
roaring at us and ripping us apart from each other. Lukas lunges at me, but
Ilya manages to keep him back. Misha hisses in my face, blocking me with
his impressive size.

“Back off and shut the fuck up, Konstantin!” He snarls into my face.
“Enough!”

I shrug, holding my hands up before I wink at Lukas. He grits his teeth, and I
know he wants to come at me again, but he holds back.

“The only reason I’m not joining him in kicking your ass,” Misha mutters. “Is
because we all—all of us—agreed that Oxford Hills Academy was fucking
Switzerland. Neutral ground.”

“And it is—”
“No, it’s not,” he snaps. “Not with your occupying army just outside the
walls.”

“I have enemies.”

“No fucking shit. We all have enemies,” Ilya hisses. “But that doesn’t mean
—”

“In case you’ve forgotten, Mara was attacked,” I snarl. “Someone tried to
take her from me.”

My words come out booming and rough, like stone dragging across stone.
And the three of them pause.

Lukas has been quietly glaring at me like he wants to stab me in the neck. But
suddenly, his tone seems to change.

“Why did she run?” he mutters.

I shake my head.

“I don’t know.”

He keeps looking at me.

“I don’t fucking know,” I snarl. “But maybe if you stick around glaring at me
like I’m a fucking predator, I’ll magically remember.”

Lukas sighs, the fight leaving him.

“Look, I didn’t come here to start shit with you—”

“Oh, c’mon now, Lukas. Let’s not say things we can’t take back.”

He shakes his head, rolling his eyes.

“If you’re done making jokes out of this, though, I’m serious about that
fucking army of yours outside the walls. Look man, I get that you’re trying to
protect her.”

His gaze hardens on me.

“You know I get that. But all you’re doing is raising the temperature. And
pretty soon, someone’s going to get hurt.”

“Correct. Anyone who comes here thinking they can get to her or hurt her in
any way are most certainly going to be hurt.”

Lukas sighs. “Alright, this is done. We’re leaving”

“No, wait,” I mutter dryly, smirking when Ilya flips me off.

The three of them turn to leave, but then Lukas hesitates, turning back to me.

“I want to help, Konstantin. With Mara, I mean. She’s my family, man. If

someone’s after her, use me. I’m whatever you need me to be with this.”

“I’ll throw up the bat signal if I need you.”

He sighs, shaking his head.

“You really don’t know what made her bolt to Odessa?”

“I really don’t,” I growl.

He nods, and then he’s turning to leave with Misha and Ilya.

I don’t know what made Mara run before. But suddenly, I realize I’m done
wondering and guessing.

I need to know what she knows—about every aspect of her, and my, past.

And I need to know now.

 15

I T ’ S LATE when I get home from Lordship Manor, after dinner with my sister,
Charlotte, and Tenley. My third “out of Lachlan House” evening of the week,
at that.

The house is mostly dark, and I actually wonder if Konstantin’s gone to bed
as I hang my coat and wander into the kitchen. I make a quick cup of herbal
tea, and then sip it quietly as I sit in the dark kitchen, looking at the pond out
behind the Tudor home.

Dinner tonight was “just the girls.” But, Ilya, Misha, and Lukas were all
home. It’s not like they had their own plans… they were at Lordship, they
just ended up doing their own thing in the billiard lounge room.

Charlotte laughed and said it was “guy time.” But, sometimes, all it takes is
for a little tiny seed of a thought to take root. And then that turns into a real
thought, which grows into a suspicion. Which flowers into a doubt.

Which is to say, I spent most of the dinner wondering if this was “just the
girls” because they actually wanted a little break from their significant others
for the night, or if they just didn’t want to make it obvious that my significant
other—or whatever you want to label Konstantin—wasn’t there.
I kept brushing it aside as a dumb worry in my head. But it kept coming back,
no matter how many times I told it not to.

It was still a fantastic time, though. Except after we were done laughing and
having a grand time, their guys came back upstairs. I remember Misha
wrapping his arms tightly around Charlotte, making her giggle as he bodily
lifted her out of the chair from behind and against his chest. It was like he’d
been dying to touch her after being apart from her for all of an hour and a
half.

Ilya was more subtle. But it was the same thing. He coyly took Tenley’s hand
and kissed it tenderly, before sliding into the chair next to her and tangling
his fingers in her hair.

And when Lukas sat in the chair next to my sister, she just seamlessly slid
into his lap, turning to kiss him with a big grin before his arms circled her.

And now here I am, alone in a dark kitchen, not even knowing if Konstantin
is asleep or not. Or if he even knows I’m home.

My brow knits as I sip the tea. I feel like I’m supposed to be bothered by this.
That this should be some sort of Cosmo-inspired “relationship red flag.”

But… who’s rules are those? What game is this supposed to even be? I’m
sitting here trying to force myself to be concerned about… whatever this is.
But I’m not.

Maybe this thing with Konstantin and I is radically different from what my
sister and Lukas have, or what Charlotte and Misha are, or Tenley and Ilya.

But maybe I’m actually really okay with that.

I let my mind wander back to the big public displays of affection. The need
for close, constant contact. And I start to wonder if that’s even something I
actually want.
Is that me? Do I want to go to dinner parties with Konstantin, and then slide
onto his lap at the table when I’m done? Do I want him lifting me out of my
chair as I squeal and playfully slap him? I mean it’s not like that sounds bad.
I’m just not sure if it makes me feel anything at all that I don’t have that.

But then, the big question is: do I really not want that? Or am I just making
excuses for the mad king of Lachlan House, who I happen to be falling for.

Again.

I sigh as I finish my tea, stick the mug in the dishwasher, and then head
upstairs to bed. In my room, I leave the light off as I peel off my sweater and
kick off my black jeans.

“No more games.”

The scream lodges in my throat, choking me as. I’m halfway down the
buttons of my blouse, when his voice has me whirling, eyes wide to see
Konstantin sitting in the chair by my windows.

“What the hell,” I wheeze, my heart thudding wildly.

“Konstantin, you scared the shit out of—”

“Why did you run.”

I go still. Even in the darkness of the room, I can see the sharp glint in his
eyes. The highly contrasted shadows in the lines of his grim face.

Something is off. He’s… moodier. Angrier. And even sitting, it’s like he’s
restless.

“What do you mean, why did I—”

“Why did you leave,” he rasps pointedly.

And suddenly, I understand he means why did I run when I left for Odessa.
I swallow as I shake my head.

“I don’t remember.”

“That’s extremely convenient.”

My eyes narrow.

“It’s not remotely convenient for me, actually,” I snap, glaring at him.
“Konstantin, what do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me the truth—”

“I don’t know the truth!” I hurl back angrily.

“I don’t! I have no idea why I left Oxford Hills—”

“Why there,” he growls dangerously as he stands from the chair, making me

swallow as he draws up to his full height in the darkness of the room.

“Why did you go back to Odessa? To that fucking garden?”

I close my eyes, inhaling deeply.

“If there was a piece of yourself you couldn’t see, wouldn’t you turn over
every rock and look behind every tree to find it?”

“No.”

My eyes snap open at how close his voice is, and I gasp when I find him
looming over me, inches apart from me.

“No,” he growls quietly, shaking his head. “I’d burn the whole fucking forest
down to find it.”

I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, raking them over the soft flesh as I steel
myself to hold his gaze.
“Is that what you’re doing with me? Burning me to the ground?”

His brow furrows, his mouth thinning slightly as he subtly shakes his head.

“No.”

“Then what are—”

“You, Mara,” he murmurs thickly.

I whimper when his hands slide out to grip my wrists. I tremble as he pushes
them behind me, pinning them both to the small of my back with one hand.
The other raises, and I shiver as the back of one thick finger drags down my
jaw.

“You are what I’ve been trying to find behind every tree and under every
rock. You’re not what I’d burn, Mara,” he hisses. “It’s the rest of this fucking
world I’d turn to ash in order to find you.”

His mouth slams to mine like a hurricane crashing into a rocky shore. I
whimper, reeling, my body molding to his on instinct. My skin aching for his.

My soul desperate to feel his invading it.

He devours my lips, kissing me deeply and possessively as the whole room

spins. His hand drops from my face down to my blouse. The rest of my
buttons scatter as he yanks it open, sending a throb of desire pounding
through me, melting deep in my core.

His shirt falls away, then his pants. We tumble backwards against the closed
door of my room as I find my panties being yanked down my thighs to tangle
at my knees. His mouth is on my lips, then my neck, then down the slope of
my breasts. His lips wrap around one nipple, and his teeth nip, making me cry
out.
Konstantin’s hand slides between my thighs, his fingers tracing up my
dripping wet folds until he centers on my clit. He growls into my chest,
moving from one nipple to the other until I’m panting so hard, I might pass
out.

His mouth drops lower, his stubble teasing deliciously over my skin. My
stomach caves as he drops to his knees, ripping my panties down to my
ankles and then off before shoving my legs wide apart. His tongue plunges
into me, and I cry out as my hands slide into his hair.

I moan as his fingers curl into me, stroking against the spot just inside as I
lose control. My body shakes and trembles, tightening as he demands the
pleasure from me. His mouth hums over me, sucking my clit between his lips
as his tongue dances across it.

He coaxes me harder, faster, ordering the orgasm from my core until there’s
no denying it.

Not this time.

Even though we’re alone in the house, I clamp a hand over my mouth as I
start to explode. I scream into my own palm, shuddering as I rock my hips
shamelessly against his mouth.

He slides up even as I’m still shaking. I’m still trying to find my breath as I
feel his thick cock head press between my slick lips. His hands grip my hips,
and suddenly and without mercy, he’s driving hard into me.

Exactly how I want it. How I need it.

I cling to him, clawing at his skin and attacking his mouth with the same
fervency he did with mine. I’m aware of being weightless, feeling his
powerful muscles lift me until my legs are around his waist and my sweat-
slicked back is to the door.
He groans, powering into me, fucking me hard against the door over and
over. I don’t cover my mouth this time. I just scream, begging him wantonly.

I want more.

I need more.

I’ll always need more with him.

His mouth hovers against mine, alternating between kissing me ferociously

and stealing my whimpered breaths. My nipples drag against his rock-hard
chest. His muscled hips grind against my inner thighs. His big cock fucks into
me over and over, until I see stars.

And then, he launches me past those.

The orgasm ignites like napalm in my core. I cry out, but his mouth crushes
to mine, captivating the scream of release, like it belongs to him and him
alone. He growls as his tongue dances with mine, plunging deep as I explode
for him.

He groans, his body stiffening as mine grinds against it. His cock surges so
hard, and I moan into his mouth as I feel his hot cum spilling deep inside of
me.

His mouth doesn’t leave mine. His hands don’t release me, and his fingers
stay tight on my skin as he turns and moves us to the bed.

He’s still hard and deep inside when he drapes me across the bed and reaches
for his pants. The sound of his belt being pulled through the loops makes me
shiver.

The way it feels when he shoves my wrists above my head and loops the
leather around them makes me moan eagerly. And the way he loops the other
end of the belt around the bars of my bed frame and pulls it tight makes me
want to come again, right there.

Luckily, I don’t have to wait long.

There still might be a gap missing. And maybe none of this is “normal” or
“like other people.”

But the present, and whatever this is, might just be good enough.

It might be a lot better than “good enough,” actually.

It’s perfectly untypical.

Just like us.

 16

“I NEED TO TALK TO YOU .”

Ilya turns sharply, coughing as he chokes on the spliff between his lips. His
eyes narrow—not dangerously or angrily, as I’ve seen him do to people he
considers threats.

No, his furrowed brow at the moment is one of confusion. Which makes
complete sense seeing as I’ve just surprised him alone up in the bleachers
overlooking the empty football pitch.

He cocks a brow, slowly dragging on his smoke as he turns, as if I might be

talking to someone else. When he turns back to me, his sharp green eyes bore
into mine, like he’s trying to pry into my thoughts.

Ilya Volkov has a way of unnerving people. Or outright scaring them into
submission with his gruff, borderline dick-head persona. Except, he doesn’t
scare me.

Not much scares you after you’ve been shot in the head. Or after you’ve
floated in the space between life and death for four years.

“Hmm,” he grunts, inhaling on his spliff. “So what are we talking about.”
“My father and Antin Reznikov.”

He smirks.

“Hi, Ilya, how are you? A bit cold out for nearing spring, isn’t it? Gee, I
wonder how our team is going to fare this season against…” He twirls his
fingers in the air. “Whoever the fuck we play in sports at this school.”

I smile.

“You done?”

His lips curl.

“I can appreciate diving into the meat of the conversation and skipping the
bullshit. What exactly are you after?”

“I know my father and Antin were both on the Bratva High Council.”

He nods.

“And I know they were also sometimes at war—”

“Now what on earth would have given you that impression?” He murmurs
darkly, miming pointing a gun at my head and pulling the trigger.

I smile thinly. “Call it a hunch. But I know they were also sometimes…
business partners, I guess?”

“And?”

I shrug. “So, which was it?”

“Por qué no los dos?”

My brow knits.

“Why not both.”

“No, I got that. I just don’t see how they could be at war and also business
partners, or friends.”

“I doubt they were ever friends,” he grunts. “But things change. Things aren’t
so black and white when it comes to this world.”

“The Bratva.”

He nods, drawing slowly on the smoke between his lips.

“There was a time when Komarov’s dad and my uncle were close to coming
to war.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Very close. Now, they’ve got one of the most iron-clad,
most mutually profitable business arrangements in the world.”

“But you’re saying they could go to war again.”

He frowns. “My uncle and Viktor Komarov? No, never.”

“Why not?” I shrug. “I mean what’s to stop it?”

He rolls his eyes.

“Peace, love, and goddamn puppies, I dunno.” He shrugs. “Money, for one.
Wisdom and foresight to see that being friends is in everyone’s far better
interests than being foes.”

“But my father and Antin—”

“Yeah, the key word there was wisdom.”

I grin, nodding.

“So you’re saying Semyon and Antin were too dumb to get past their own
egos.”
“I think I met your father all of once, and Antin maybe twice. But, yes,
basically. They were old school Bratva. That fight in the gutter shit with no
ability to see the potential in what the Bratva can achieve.”

“Which is?”

He shrugs. “The power and money-making potential of a global corporation,

paired with the strength and brutality of a criminal empire.”

“Got it.”

He nods, smoking quietly as he eyes me.

“What’s this really about?”

I shrug. “Nothing, I’m just—”

“You want to cut the bullshit and know if the father of the guy you’re
screwing might have been the one to put the hit out on you four years ago.”

My ears burn as my mouth thins. But there’s no denying it. Not with those
green wolfish eyes piercing me.

Okay, I get why Ilya freaks people out.

“Yes,” I say quietly.

He exhales slowly.

“Honestly? I don’t know. I think there’s a decent chance of it, though. I guess
it would just depend on if business between them was good or not at the
time.”

I frown. “Any idea where I’d figure that out?”

He grins. “Yep.”

Suddenly, he’s pulling his phone out. My brows furrow.

“Wait, who are you calling?”

“My uncle.”

My face pales. “Wait, Ilya! No, hang on.”

He is not seriously calling the head of the Volkov Bratva to dredge up old
drama between my father and—

“Hey, it’s me.”

I groan. Yes, he is.

“No, I’m good. Listen, Yuri, this is random, but I need to settle this bet I’ve
got with Tsavakov. Do you know much about Semyon Belsky’s dealings
with Antin Reznikov towards the end?”

Ilya nods at me, giving me a thumbs up as he puffs on his spliff.

“Nah, it’s just this dumb bet I’ve got with Misha. Just curious if Antin and
Semyon were fighting or kissing and making up in the last few years before
Semyon ate shit.”

He smirks at me. I just shrug.

“Huh, got it. Alright, thanks. Yeah, no, I’m good. I’ll call for a proper catch
up this weekend. You too.”

He puts the phone down and frowns.

“Well?”

“Yuri says as far as he knows, things were fine with them towards the end.”

My brow furrows. “There’s a but in there, isn’t there.”

He nods. “There is. Yuri also said he trusted Antin and your father with being
honest about their business dealings about as far as he could throw them.”
I sigh, blowing air through my lips.

“Well, crap.”

Ilya shrugs. “Guess you could always try a blood sacrifice over Semyon’s
grave. See if you can communicate with the afterlife or some shit.”

“Oo, yeah, visiting my shithead father’s grave. That’s definitely on my to-do

list,” I mutter dryly.

But then suddenly, a thought hits me.

I don’t need to whip out the Ouija board or Semyon’s spirit from the beyond.

I’ve got the next best thing.

N ADIA GROANS A SLURRED “ HUMMPH ” sound into the phone.

Maybe it’s not an appropriate one, but it’s basically the reaction I expected
when inviting my mother out for a one-on-one lunch in Manchester.

“You know I’d love to, dear, I’m not sure if my schedule—”

“You got to avoid me for four years,” I say icily. “I need you for one
afternoon.”

She makes a tsking sound.

“One afternoon, Nadia.”

“But in Manchester? Mara, dear, that’s just so far from Paris.”

I roll my eyes. “So, you’re living in Paris now?”

“Well, Jean is looking to move into the film industry—”

“Does he know he needs to do gay porn before he breaks into the straight
stuff?”

Jean, as in her on-again, off-again boy toy. The former male stripper turned…
I don’t know. Gold digger? Except Nadia is basically coasting on good graces
and maxed out credit cards at this point. I wonder if Jean knows that.

Nadia sucks in her breath.

“Don’t be disgusting, Mara.”

“Tomorrow, Manchester. Lunch.”

“Sweetheart, I’m afraid that simply isn’t—”

“I’ll send a jet.”

Her breath intakes sharply.

“You… there’s a jet, again?” She whispers hopefully.

Wow, shocker. Dangling the trappings of wealth and excess in front of Nadia
Belsky gets her attention. Who would have thought?

“A jet, in-flight staff, and cold champagne. I’ll even buy lunch, Nadia.”

She sighs. “Well, fine, I suppose. Someplace decent, I hope—”

“Don’t miss the flight.”

I hang up abruptly.

It’s time for some clarity.

T HE NEXT DAY , I ask Lukas for a ride to Heathington, where I’ve arranged to
be picked up by a private car. I could pretend we’re going to make it the
whole way there with him not trying to uncover what I’m up to. But instead, I
just tell him flat out that I’m meeting with Nadia. And for the obvious
reasons, it might be best if Lizbet doesn’t know.

Lukas agrees.

Two hours later, I’m smiling thinly as I take a seat across a white linen
tablecloth at a very fancy bistro from my mother.

“Well?” She sighs, avoiding my eyes.

“Well, what?”

“Well, what are we talking about? What part of this family are you exhuming
today to desecrate and besmirch?”

I roll my eyes at the dramatics as Nadia turns to snap at a waiter for a martini.

“Well, I was going to make small talk, but if we can both agree on that being
a waste of time, let’s get right to it.”

She groans, waving a limp hand.

“Fine. Let’s have it.”

“I want to know about Semyon and—”

“Your father.”

My lips thin at the interruption.

“What?”

Nadia glares at me. “Not Semyon. He was Semyon to me. To you, he was
your father. Show some respect, Mara.”

“I can’t imagine why I would,” I smile thinly.

She scowls.

“I want to know what the relationship between Semyon and Antin Reznikov
was.”

Her lips thin. “I assume you’re inquiring about a specific timeframe?”

I nod.

“Four years ago, is it?” She says icily.

“Yep.”

She sighs. “I’ve already told you, I have my suspicions that the Reznikov’s
were behind your unfortunate accident.”

“Yeah, but based on what?”

She scowls. “Pardon me?”

“What are your suspicions based on?”

She sighs, but then happily grins as the waiter sets her martini down in front
of her. I wait for her to slug back a gulp.

“Well, your dear father and Antin Reznikov had a complicated relationship.
Enemies, friends…” she waves her hand. “Just a perpetual penis-measuring
contest, if you ask me. They competed in all things… business, sports—you
know how your father enjoyed hunting? Well, Antin always had to try and
bag the bigger game. And it was the same with business deals, women—”

I frown.

“What do you mean?”

Nadia touches her lips, blushing like she’s got this big secret she’s dying to
divulge.
“Nadia—”

“Oh, it was the nineties, Mara,” she waves her hand dramatically, slugging
back more vodka.

“We were all at a party—Semyon and I, Antin and his wife, Kristina. We
were all drinking a bit too much, and maybe I danced a bit too long with
Antin. He was a very handsome man, Mara. Very sexy.”

I make a face.

“So you danced with Antin, and Semyon got jealous or something?”

“Well, the dancing didn’t help. The kissing him in the guest bathroom is what
really set things off.”

My face sours.

“Ugh! What?”

“Yes, well, your father—ever the on or off, black or white man he was, hit
back full force. I got a drunken kiss, and he went and had a full-blown affair
with Kristina Reznikov.”

I freeze, staring at her.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Well, I hate to tell you this, Mara, but your father was no saint—”

“No shit,” I hiss violently, loudly, garnering looks from another table. Nadia
looks scandalized as she shushes me.

“That’s quite enough, Mara!”

“No saint?” I choke, furious at the implication.

Furious for Lizbet.

“He was a monster—”

“Bite your tongue!”

“Open your fucking eyes!” I yell, loudly.

Nadia looks around aghast at the other tables and waitstaff glancing at us. But
all I see is my own fury at her. For standing by. For not believing Lizbet. For
blaming her for our father’s heinous acts.

“He abused Lizbet! He was an asshole to me! And he cheated on you a

hundred different—”

“That is enough!!” She suddenly screams at me.

Nadia swallows, glancing around the restaurant before slugging back half of
the rest of her martini.

“Oh grow up, Mara,” she hisses through clenched teeth. “This is what men
are!”

“Men don’t do what he did,” I hiss. “Not to Lizbet. Not to Lukas. Monsters
do what he did.”

My mother’s eyes lock coldly on mine.

“Well, I don’t expect you to understand after sleeping for four years—”

“Because of Semyon,” I snap.

“Mara—”

“So that’s why I got shot?! Because he was screwing Antin’s wife?!”

Nadia sighs, looking away.

“Who knows.”
I stare at her.

“Do you think that it might have something to do with it?!”

“It’s in the past, just let it—”

“It’s in my everything, Nadia!” I hiss furiously. “It’s in my present, my future

—"

“So change it!” she snaps.

She knocks back the rest of her drink, gathers her bag, and stands. I could
protest. I could demand that she sit and give me five fucking minutes of her
time. But I’m done. Over it.

This is a relationship and part of my past I can happily forget.

“You can wallow, or you can move forward, Mara,” she says tersely.

“Like you have? Marrying Jean?”

“Yes!” She snaps. “Precisely like that!”

Nadia shakes her head, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Just go live a little, dear. You’re at that school shacked up with Konstantin
Reznikov, aren’t you? Get laid! Have some fun! I don’t know…”

Her shoulders rise and then fall.

“I have to go.”

“Yes, you do,” I say thinly.

“The jet…”

“Will take you back to Paris,” I mutter.

“Well, lovely to…” she frowns, trailing off before she turns to eye me with
more clarity and truth than I’ve seen from her since we sat down.

“I’m going to give you some advice, Mara. Because like it or not, you’re still
my daughter.”

She tenses, glancing around the room, as if worried about something.

“Well?”

“Antin might be dead,” she says quietly. “But his cause isn’t.”

My brow furrows.

“His cause?”

“You might not like me very much, Mara. And I was fairly sub-par mother, I
admit that. But one thing I did do was keep you from some of the more
insidious aspects of your father’s business.”

“Yeah, that worked out really well, what with me getting shot in a Bratva war
—”

“I’m trying to warn you, Mara.”

I tense.

“Warn me about what?”

“How do you think it went when Konstantin had Antin murdered like that?
Do you imagine there was a parade? Happy patricide day?” She mutters,
shaking her head.

“No, there wasn’t. And I lived long enough on the peripherals of Semyon’s
world to know that it is certain that there are those still loyal to Antin. And
those still loyal to the king don’t look kindly on the brazen young prince who
has that king killed.”
Her lips purse.

“And they certainly don’t have any love for that brazen young prince’s
concubine, or girlfriend, or whatever in God’s name you’re playing at with
Konstantin.”

My blood chills as Nadia looks down her nose at me.

“You want some motherly advice? Something real after all these years? Here
it is: don’t go sticking your head into places you’re not prepared for it to be
bitten off in.”

She frowns, and for a second, it looks like she wants to say one more thing.
But then her lips purse shut.

“Lovely to see you, dear. My regards to Lizbet, if you would.”

Then she turns and walks out of the restaurant, leaving me with twice as
many questions as I walked in with.
 17

A S IF N ADIA ’ S COLD , cryptic warning wasn’t enough, suddenly, it’s

impossible to ignore the fact that Oxford Hills Academy has become a
guarded state.

It’s always had its own security, of course. But something is different.
Heightened. Much more obvious. And it’s not just me noticing.

The whole damn school is aware of Konstantin’s people prowling the

perimeter. They’re aware of men in dark suits with guns tucked into their
belts eyeballing any car or bus that enters or leaves Oxford Hills.

I go to class, or the dining hall, or anywhere, and every student within

eyesight looks at me like this is my fault. They look at me with disdain and
scorn. Or else with fear.

Neither feels very good.

It’s not just the students though. Even the faculty eyes me suspiciously when
I enter their classrooms. The rumor is, Professor Sonder had her car stopped
and her trunk searched the other day. Since then, she’s been talking to me
like I might order her to be guillotined if she asks me too difficult a question
in class.
I want to scream that this isn’t my doing. That these Bratva soldiers outside
the walls have nothing to do with me. But they do, in fact, have everything to
do with me.

That’s not even conceited though, it’s the truth. They’re there under
Konstantin’s orders, to protect me from any possible threat that might be
coming from the waring faction within his own organization. Those who
were loyal to his father, who might come after me.

But it’s an untenable situation, to say the very least. It’s like every day, the
temperature and the tensions at OHA gets cranked up more and more, until
you can almost see the way everyone is walking around like they might snap.

And yet the tension keeps mounting. The pressure keeps building. And pretty
soon, it seems like everyone is fully aware that at some point, soon,
something is going to give.

I’ VE GOT my head down and my headphones in as I walk across campus after

class. My feet crunch against the white gravel of the pathway, and I inhale
the chilly pre-spring air, with the faintest hint of flowers in bloom teasing my
nose.

I’ve always loved the spring. I love the way things open up, coming out of
their sleep. Which sounds like a product of my own experience with that. But
I’ve loved the season for these reasons even before my coma. And it’s so
bizarre to realize that this is the first spring I’m experiencing, consciously, in
four years.

On my headphones, the new Holly Humberstone song that Lizbet turned me

on to, ends. But I push the back button, starting the track over again. It’s just
a typical “missing you” type love song called “London is Lonely”—just the
right amount of melancholy and heartbreak to make it a fantastic slow pop
song.

But I love it. It’s like all that teen angst and melodramatic heartbreak I missed
out on all crammed into one three and half minute song. So it’s rare that I let
it end without starting it over to get my fix again.

I breathe in again, eyes down. But then suddenly, a shoulder rocks into mine.
I gasp, my heart leaping into my throat at the surprise. My headphones fall
out of my ears as I whirl, and then stiffen as I see the blonde girl sneering
back at me.

Ainsley Hendershire.

“Watch where you’re fucking going, bitch.”

I glare at her, rolling my eyes as I start to turn away.

“Jeremy’s nose is healing well. In case you care.”

I smirk, my headphones halfway to my ears as I turn.

“I quite honestly couldn’t care any less, Ainsley. Bye.”

I start to turn again, to head home.

“Tell that thug you’re fucking that he screwed up this time.”

My shoulders sag. I shouldn’t even engage her. But, curiosity gets the better
of me. I turn back to Ainsley, frowning.

“What are you blathering on about?”

“Jeremy’s father is Griffin Caldwell, you know. Do you have any concept of
the legal team he can bring down on Konstantin for assaulting Jeremy?”

My eyes roll.
“Yeah, I still don’t care. Bye.”

The headphones go back into my ears, and I start down the path again. But I
make it as far as the next stone statue that dots the waist-high hedge at regular
intervals—this one of St. Michael, I think—when Ainsley’s fingers yank the
headphones out of my ears.

I whirl, glaring at her under the watchful eye of Saint Michael.

“What the fuck is your problem, Ainsley?”

She sneers at me.

“My problem? You, Belsky,” she snaps. “You are my fucking problem.
You’re actually everyone’s problem, in case you missed that!”

I roll my eyes.

“The guards outside the walls have nothing to do with—”

“Oh please,” she laughs coldly. “No one is buying that, so save your breath.”
Her eyes narrow. “You don’t belong here, Mara. You never did, and you
certainly don’t now. Neither does your fucking sister, or any of those other
Bratva thugs. OHA is going down the fucking toilet letting people like you
in, and it’s a disgrace.”

I jut my jaw out, determined to not let her get to me. But, it still stings. It still
sucks to be laid into like this.

“There’s barely a month of school left,” I mutter quietly. “Then I’m gone. So
how about you just leave me the hell alone until then, okay?”

I start to turn.

“Everyone here hates you, you know.”

I stiffen, my eyes closing as her barbed words slice into me.

“You’re just trying too hard, Belsky,” she sneers. “Trying to convince
everyone you’re not this complete psycho head-case. Like it’s normal for you
to be here, at school, when you can’t even remember who the fuck you are.”

My lips thin, my breath coming shallow.

“Leave me alone—”

“And oh my God, are you seriously wearing a fucking Oxford Hills hat?” She
laughs coldly.

Suddenly, her fingers yank the knit beanie that was pulled down over my hair
off. I whirl, gritting my teeth and glaring at her as she mocks me.

“Wow, try hard much?”

She sneers at me as she slides the beanie onto her own head.

“What do you think, Belsky?” She smiles cruelly. “Think Konstantin would
fuck me too if I wore this school pride shit?”

My eyes narrow. My teeth grinding as her shrill laughs rake over me like
nails on a chalkboard. She leers at me, laughing as she turns, pulling my hat
tighter onto her head.

“Well, maybe I’ll go find him now, and see if I can turn his head looking so
hot with this dorky fucking hat on.”

She whirls, still laughing as she steps away from the statue looming over us
to prance back up the pathway.

Screw this. And fuck her.

I could chase. I could scream and cry. Or, I could just walk the hell away. So
that’s what I do. I glare at her once more before I turn and start to walk away
back to Lachlan House.
I swear I hear a whooshing sound, and then a thud, like something wizzing
rapidly through the air just hit something.

And suddenly, Ainsley screams.

But it’s a short, halting scream that turns into a choked gargle. I turn back in
confusion, and suddenly, my world comes crashing to a halt. My face turns
white, my mouth falling open in horror.

Ainsley stares at me in blank, abject horror as she falls to her knees. Her face
drops to the bloom of slick red seeping across her chest.

Her eyes flit to me, her choked scream gurgling horribly in her throat before
she tumbles to her side onto the white gravel.

I want to scream, but I can’t. I’m numb; cold. I’m frozen, actually, watching
as she lolls onto her back, gurgling on the blood dripping out of the corners
of her mouth.

Seeping from the bullet hole in her chest.

People are screaming. Two girls and three boys I don’t know come bolting
down the path, shrieking and yanking out phones as they stop short of
Ainsley. One of the boys yanks his jacket off, screaming at Ainsley as he
covers the wound with it and presses. One of the girls is screeching on the
ground, like she’s losing her mind. The other is sobbing as she turns to stare
at me in horror.

“What did you do!?” she chokes.

Nothing. I didn’t do anything.

But all I can do is stare, and feel cold, and feel numb. Until the freezing chill
creeps into my brain and into my eyes, turning them dim right before the
white gravel swings up to slam into me.
 18

“S HE WAS AWFUL , but she didn’t deserve this.”

I glance across the quiet living room of Lordship Manor at the sound of
Lizbet’s whispered words. She’s sitting with Charlotte and Mara on a sofa,
all three of them looking white. Next to them, on one of the high-backed
chairs, Tenley sits on Ilya’s knee—her looking horrified, him looking stone-
faced and stormy.

His eyes raise to mine, narrowing, before he turns back to the red-haired girl
on his lap.

Misha is prowling back and forth behind the sofa, looking like a caged
animal. Behind him, Lukas stands quietly, arms folded over his chest, as he
leans against the wall.

Glaring at me coldly.

It’s three in the morning, twelve hours since a sniper mistook Ainsley
Hendershire for Mara and put a bullet through her chest, about an inch to the
left of her heart.

She’ll live, though it’s not going to be pretty.

The shooter—a confirmed Antin loyalist, who got confused by Ainsley being
about the same build as Mara, and wearing the knit cap she’d just plucked off
of Mara’s own head while they were both out of sight behind the statute of
Saint Michael, is dead. Gavan put a bullet through his neck while the guy was
trying to make a run for it from the tree he’d been camped out in overlooking
the grounds.

But the fact that the shooter is dead, and the unintentional victim is going to
live doesn’t mean shit. And I’m not remotely naïve enough to think this
whole situation isn’t about to explode in our faces.

There’s a knock on the doorframe. I glance up, my tensing as two of the most
powerful names in the Bratva world step into the room, looking grim.

Yuri Volkov, the head of the Volkov Bratva, and Ilya’s uncle, glances at me
coolly, like he’s trying to read me.

Yeah, good luck with that.

I know Antin and Yuri frequently had issues with each other, even if they
both sat on the Bratva High Council. But I also know Yuri isn’t foolish or
emotional enough to confuse his issues with my father with me.

The other man, Viktor Komarov—Lukas’s adopted father—crosses the room.

He puts a heavy hand on Lukas’s shoulder, nodding at him. Then he turns
and walks up behind the sofa. He leans over it, putting his hands gently on
Lizbet’s shoulders before he leans down to kiss the top of her head in a very
fatherly way.

“Viktor,” she says quietly, turning to take his hand and squeeze it.

Charlotte stands, walking towards her husband and then murmuring

something quietly into his chest when Misha wraps his arms around her.
Lizbet speaks quietly to Lukas and his father. Ilya nods slowly as Tenley says
something to him and wipes her eyes.

Mara sits in utter silence, staring straight ahead. She’s been like this ever
since the shooting. Ever since the clamor of students just outside the grounds
of Lachlan House had me bolting to her side and holding her as she just stood
there, shaking.

Yuri clears his throat. He nods to the doorway, and a third man I didn’t see
and don’t recognize steps inside.

“Everyone,” Yuri rumbles in his deep voice. “This is Logan Kane. He’s a
friend, and he also sits on the board here at Oxford Hills.”

The man with the dark blue eyes and the hair barely silvered at the temples is
built tough, even if he’s dressed like a finance suit. He clears his throat as he
leans against the doorframe, his eyes sweeping the room.

“I’m sorry to officially be meeting you all under these…” his eyes land on
me.

“Circumstances.”

My teeth grit. I know they all blame me for this. And they can, I don’t care.
But that shooter wasn’t there because my men were patrolling the perimeter.
He was there for Mara.

He was there to take her from me, to hurt me, under the direction of my
enemies. And it was only because Ainsley picked that moment to unleash her
shitty personality on Mara that she ended up being the one accidentally
taking the bullet meant for Mara.

Logan takes a beat, frowning.

“I’ll be blunt. The board, the new president, Headmaster Lange…” he shakes
his head. “They’re freaking out about this.”
“Rightfully, I might add,” Yuri grunts from across the room.

When I look up, I see his cool blue eyes lancing coldly into me.

“Look, there’s no easy solution to this. The board and Headmaster Lange
were calling for a complete expulsion of any students connected to…” He
raises a brow towards Yuri and then Viktor.

“Oh fuck that,” Ilya snarls.

“I walked them back,” Logan says evenly.

I can appreciate the way he seems to talk to all of these Bratva leaders and
heirs without batting an eye, or looking remotely scared. Finance guy or not,
Logan has clearly dealt with the Bratva before.

“I’ve given them my own assurances, as has Yuri, and Viktor. So we’ve
brokered an agreement to let basically everyone stay.”

I smile thinly, shaking my head.

Basically everyone.

“I’m going to go out on a limb and assume that means everyone here but me,
yes?” I hiss quietly.

Logan levels his eyes at me, but doesn’t say anything.

“Konstantin,” Viktor Komarov sighs heavily. “Come to the table. Let’s

convene the council, so we can address this civil war that’s threatening to tear
your organization—”

“My organization is not your concern,” I growl.

“It damn well is,” he snarls thickly. “When it threatens the life of my
daughter-in-law’s own sister.” His eyes narrow. “I consider Mara as much
family to me as Lizbet, or my son. So, please,” he mutters darkly. “Tell me
how her almost taking a bullet isn’t my concern.”

“Come to the council table, Konstantin,” Yuri echoes, nodding at me.

I shake my head.

“I’ll pass.”

He lets the air out slowly through his lips.

“Then this is your war to fight. Not ours. As such, yes, it would be best if you
left.”

Yuri’s face darkens as he turns first to Viktor. They nod silently to each
other. Viktor clears his throat.

“We also think it would be best, Mara,” he says quietly from behind her. “If
you left as well.”

Lizbet’s face goes livid. She whirls, lunging to her feet as her head shakes
violently.

“No,” she snaps.

Lukas frowns, stepping forward to glare at his father.

“Viktor—”

“It’s not something we want,” Yuri mutters thickly. “But in the interest of her
safety, I think this needs to happen.”

Lizbet looks like she’s about to go nuclear.

“No! OHA is perfectly sa—”

“All due respect, Ms. Belsky,” Logan grunts. “OHA’s own security, coupled
with Mr. Reznikov’s, couldn’t stop this assassination attempt.”
“So… we’ll bulk up security!” Lizbet snaps.

“Viktor,” Lukas snarls. “Just bring in our own—”

“Having Mara stay with your mother and I, back in Chicago, is the safest
option, Lukas,” Viktor says gently. “And I think you know that.”

His son purses his lips, eyes flaring.

“Actually, that’s not true.”

Every eye in the room—even stone-cold-quiet Mara’s—turn to me.

“You can’t provide the safest place for her, because you don’t understand
what’s coming after her.”

My mouth thins.

“She’ll come with me, to Moscow.”

Lizbet’s jaw drops. Fury and fear cloud her narrowed eyes as she violently
shakes her head.

“No—”

“I have a penthouse there, in a building I own.” I look directly at Yuri, and

then Viktor. “It’s a fucking fortress.”

“That is not fucking happening!” Lizbet snaps.

“And I’m not asking permission,” I growl back.

Her furious gaze lasers into me.

“Does she get a say in—”

“He’s right.”
My eyes yank to Mara, who’s just opened her mouth for the first time in
twelve hours. She swallows thickly, turning to her sister, her teeth raking
over her lip.

“He’s right, Lizbet,” she says quietly. “If I’m here, things like what happened
today will keep happening.”

Her twin shakes her head.

“No. You didn’t do this, Mara!”

“But it’s because of me. Ainsley got shot because of me. And that can’t
happen again, ever.”

She shudders, hugging herself.

“No more violence.”

Her eyes raise, locking with mine. And even though I’m not patting her damn
shoulders from behind, or pulling her onto my lap, suddenly, it’s as if we’ve
connected. Like she’s squeezing my hand and telling me yes from across the
room.

“Mara, please—”

“Is Moscow the safest place for me?” She whispers quietly to me.

When I nod, she smiles weakly.

“Well, then that’s where I’m going until this can be stopped.”

“Mara—” Lizbet chokes.

Mara turns, taking her sister’s hands in her own.

“Hey,” she smiles wryly, bravely. “This was all just a temporary experiment
anyway, right?”
Lizbet sobs and throws herself into Mara’s arms, and they hug each other
fiercely. Over her sister’s shoulder, Mara’s eyes lift to mine, locking with me.

A silent yes.

A quiet understanding.

A fearless step, with me, into the unknown.

It’s time to go.

 19

L ESS THAN TWENTY - FOUR hours after I watched in horror as Ainsley fell
bloody to the ground, I’m getting out of an SUV in front of a massive,
modern looking building in one of the most upscale neighborhoods in
Moscow.

It feels like I’m running on fumes, probably because I haven’t slept in more
than thirty hours. But even on the plane ride here from Manchester, I couldn’t
even close my eyes, much less sleep. All I could see whenever I did was
Ainsley gurgling on her own blood.

Red dripping onto white stone pathways.

I shudder as Konstantin gets out of the car behind me. We’re flanked by two
walls of muscle—no less than eighteen bodyguards in dark suits, openly
brandishing automatic weapons.

Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore.

His hand touches my waist, and I shiver.

“Let’s get inside,” he murmurs darkly into my ear.

We’ve barely spoken since the living room at Lordship. Not because I’m
angry or anything. I’m just… still numb. I’m still trying to process what just
happened—not just watching Ainsley almost die in front of me. But also
watching that and knowing it was supposed to be me.

I know now that the sniper was aiming at me from a tree over a thousand
yards away. I know now that when I squared off with Ainsley, the statue of
Saint Michael was blocking us from view, and when she ran out wearing my
hat, the shooter pinned her for me and took the shot.

And I know as horrible a person as she is, I’ll never not feel like hell about
that.

The lobby of the massive, jet-black and tinted glass building is just as
foreboding and dark as the exterior—all cold stone, sleek glass, and sharp
edges. The whole contingent of guards from outside stays out there, and a
whole new group joins us inside—ten guards to escort us thirty feet across
the lobby to an elevator.

Inside, wordlessly, Konstantin takes my hand. My fingers tighten in his, like

I’m holding on for dear life, lest I fall apart.

I take a deep breath, keeping myself upright. His hand in mine helps.

“You’ll be safe here,” he growls quietly.

“She…” I close my eyes, shaking my head.

“Ainsley is in very good hands, Mara. She’s going to live and recover.”

I shake my head, eyes squeezed shut as the elevator rises.

“She… that was meant for me—”

“Don’t,” he snarls darkly, making me gasp at the intensity.

My eyes fly open, and I whirl to see him looming over me, his gun-metal
grays boring into me.

“You will not shoulder this, Mara,” he growls quietly. “This is not for you to
swallow. This isn’t on you.”

“He thought she was me—”

“And for that, I’ll fucking tear the people responsible apart,” he snarls
viciously.

I shiver as he pulls me close. His hand cups my jaw, the motion somehow
both terrifyingly possessive and achingly tender.

“But I’m not going to watch you do that to yourself out of a sense of guilt
you have no right internalizing. Do you understand?”

My mouth thins.

“Going to boss and command the guilt from me?” I snap.

His lips curl.

“I’ll spank it out of you if I have to.”

My core tightens. The sudden shift from dark fury to that primal way he can
make me squirm is jarring. But I know him well enough to know he just
swung us in this new direction on purpose. To distract me. To pull me away
from the edge of the pit I’ve been looking over since we left Oxford Hills.

He knows exactly what strings of mine to pull, and how tightly, and when.
And knowing that he knows that brings a heat to my veins.

I turn to him, feeling a throbbing pull—the need to be closer to him. The need
to taste his lips. But just then, the elevator door opens. I turn back, taking a
step as if to exit, but his hand grips me tightly, pulling me back.
“I would push you up against this elevator wall right now and literally cut the
clothes from your body before I fucked you exactly how I know you need
right now,” he growls.

My breath sucks in, and I shiver as he turns to let those gray eyes bore into
mine.

“But we have company.”

My brows knit.

“We—”

“And no one,” he hisses thinly, power throbbing in his tone. “No one but me
sees you like that. Not ever.”

Goddamnit, why is him being so ridiculously possessive so disturbingly hot?

He takes my hand, pulling me out of the elevator with him. And for the first
time, I actually see the penthouse we’re stepping out into.

Whoa.

I grew up with wealth. We lived in an enormous, stunning home in Odessa on

the most expensive street in the city. We had a chalet in the French Alps,
vacation homes in Spain, Macao, New York, and Mexico.

Point being, I’ve been around a lot of money before, and seen lavish
opulence.

None of it compares to Konstantin’s Moscow penthouse.

The whole interior is as powerful and black as the outside of the building.
The Georgian-paneled walls are a deep matte-black, the floors a dark, aged
wood polished to a gleam. Brass fixture accents compliment the darkness,
with soft lights giving everything a sultry tone.
Severe, stunning modern art hangs on the walls, mixed with black and white
street photography. And when he pulls me into the main living room area, my
jaw drops.

The matte-black Georgian paneling of the rest of the penthouse gives way to
a two-story wall of pure glass, with the gleaming lights of Moscow laid out
before us. A huge fireplace, framed in a heavy black, masculine mantel, roars
with crackling flames on one side of the room. On the other, a full grand
piano—matte black, of course.

And the sunken living area ringed with opulent, deep sofas makes me want to
wrap myself in blankets and never come up for air.

“This…” I swallow, turning to look at Konstantin. “You live here?”

“Lived,” he says quietly. “I spent some years here when I was younger, from
maybe ten until I was sixteen, living here. When my mother…”

His jaw tightens.

“My father tried to have the place sold. But the good memories I have of this
place outweighed the bad. So I bought it from him.”

I arch my brow.

“You bought a luxury penthouse from your father when you were sixteen?”

“No,” he shakes his head grimly. “No, I tried to buy a luxury penthouse from
my father when I was sixteen. But Antin was an asshole about it, so I ended
up buying the building instead.”

I smile, waiting for him to grin—to give a glimpse of his sarcasm or of this
being a joke. But it doesn’t come.

Yikes.
Instead, I turn to look at the piano.

“Do you play?”

“He wishes.”

I jolt, almost jumping out of my skin as I whirl.

The guy looks about our age—tall, built, and good looking, with dark hair
and eyes. He also looks vaguely familiar, and it’s annoying when I can’t
place him.

He’s wearing dark gray suit pants and a matching tailored dress shirt with the
top couple of buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up, showing almost as
much tattoo ink as Konstantin.

“If you keep staring, I’m going to have to fuck you right here in front of him
to remind you whose you are.”

I blush deeply, shivering as my eyes yank to the side to look up into

Konstantin’s. His jaw tightens, his gaze blazing with a metallic gray fire.

“Though, I’m a bit attached to this asshole, so killing him wouldn’t be very
fun,” he grunts, nodding at the stranger.

“Mara, this is Gavan, Vadim’s son.” He frowns. “Vadim is my second in

command, officially running things in the organization while I’m at OHA.
Gavan, Mara.”

“Pleasure to meet—”

“Nope.”

Obviously, I’m aware that Konstantin has a control freak streak in him. But
even still, the way he barks at the guy who’s clearly his friend when that guy
puts a hand out to shake mine is… jolting.
And kind of hot, actually.

The guy, Gavan, rolls his eyes.

“So touchy, this one,” he grins, nodding his chin at Konstantin.

“So forgetful that I’m his boss, this one,” Konstantin fires back.

Gavan smirks. “As if you’d let me forget that.”

He shrugs and turns to smile at me.

“I just like pushing his buttons.”

“Gavan is going to be close while we’re here,” Konstantin explains. “He’s

unofficially my head of personal security at the moment. So he’ll be making
sure you’re safe here, as he was at Oxford Hills.”

My eyes snap back to Gavan.

“You were at—?”

“My sincere apologies, Ms. Belsky,” he growls thickly, his face darkening as
he shakes his head.

“I failed, in letting that motherfucker with the rifle anywhere near those
walls.”

I swallow, a chill creeping over me as I remember the horrific gurgling

sounds coming from Ainsley’s chest. The red blood on the pristine white
gravel path.

Konstantin’s hand finds mine, squeezing, bringing me back out of that

horrible place.

“It was a lot of ground to cover, and we didn’t even know what would be
coming,” he says quietly to the other guy before turning to me. “Gavan is the
reason the shooter only got one shot off, for the record.”

I shiver, glancing back to Gavan, who nods stiffly.

“Even still, that failure will not be replicated here.”

His brow furrows as he nods sharply at Konstantin.

“Building is surrounded, and we’ve got men at every elevator, a group

stationed five floors below you, and spotters on every surrounding rooftop. If
Dima and his traitors come anywhere near this district at all, they’re fucked.”

Konstantin smiles thinly.

“Good. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

Gavan turns, nodding at me.

“And nice to meet you, Mara. I’ve heard a lot—”

“Goodnight, Gavan.”

The other guy grins at Konstantin’s gravely tone.

“Well, that’s my cue. Night you two.”

He turns, leaving the living area the same way we came in, until I hear the
sound of the elevators dinging.

Konstantin turns to me.

“Come on, I’ll show you around.”

The rest of the penthouse is as stunningly gorgeous as the first part I saw. We
wander through living rooms and a formal dining room, guest rooms with
jaw-dropping ensuite bathrooms, a home gym, a professional grade kitchen,
and a master suite that makes my heart skip, until finally we make our way
back downstairs to the main, two-story living area.

“You’ll be safe here,” he says quietly, turning to hold my hands in his.

“Gavan’s beating himself up about what happened at Oxford Hills, but he’s
the best at what he does.”

“You two seem close.”

He shrugs.

“We’re about the same age. And his father, Vadim, was one of Antin’s top
captains, so he was usually living close by to wherever we were living.
Gavan’s mom wasn’t ever in the picture, and mine adored him, so she’d take
him with us to the zoo, the movies, that kind of thing.”

The mention of his mother makes something click in my head. I swallow,

suddenly remembering the question I’ve been agonizing if I should or can
even ask him. Actually, it was on my mind yesterday, and I’d had every
intention of asking him at dinner before… well…

Before Ainsley.

“I was going to ask you about something… before…”

“Before Ainsley got shot.”

I swallow, nodding.

“Yes.”

Konstantin’s brow knits.

“Ask.”

“Your mother—”
Instantly, his eyes grow stormy. It’s the first indication that I’m heading
down a path I have no right to be on.

“I had lunch with Nadia the other day—”

“That’s unfortunate.”

I grin.

“Well, she said something…”

His eyes narrow.

“About?”

“About your mother…”

The growl rumbles in his chest.

“You know what, forget I said any—”

“No,” he grunts, the sound like gravel on stone. “Speak.”

My teeth sink into my bottom lip. I should abandon this, immediately. But
recklessly, I take a deep breath and just let it blurt out.

“She said my father had an affair with your mother.”

The room goes pin drop silent. I tense, trembling as Konstantin’s eyes narrow
dangerously, his lips curling like he might roar.

“That’s impossible.”

“Well, it’s possible—”

“It’s impossible,” he seethes. “That my mother would go anywhere near a

piece of shit like your father,” he snarls venomously.
I’m by no means offended, but I can tell by the lethal edge to his voice that
the words are meant to hurt.

My brows furrow.

“Is that supposed to rattle me? I hated my father—”

“And I fucking killed mine!” He snaps, whirling and suddenly storming away
from me.

But suddenly, he stops cold halfway to the staircase, and whirls back on me
with pure fury in his eyes.

“You,” he snaps. “Do not get to mention my mother. Ever. Is that

understood?”

All I can do I nod numbly, hugging myself.

“I’m sorry I said any—”

“Leave it.”

He turns sharply, and then disappears upstairs into the second floor of the
penthouse.

Shit. Well, that went well.

My shoulders deflate as I turn to meander across the floor. I step down into
the sunken living area, and then back up to stand by the windows, gazing out
at a city I’ve actually never been to before.

And now I’m here with Konstantin—locked in a gilded cage with the mad
tyrant king himself.

Again.
I close my eyes and let my forehead sink against the glass, surprised to find it
warm, even if it’s freezing outside.

Damnit.

Okay, that was out of line. I know what happened to Kristina Reznikov. I
know—or at least, I can try and imagine how shattering and horrific it must
have been for Konstantin to witness that, when he was sixteen years old.

And here I’ve gone throwing her ghost under the Semyon bus. I’ve basically
just told a guy who witnessed his mother’s brutal assault and murder that she
was a cheating slut who banged my disgusting father.

I wince. Yeah, I’m an asshole.

I turn and meander my way back through the living area, until I find myself
in the kitchen. I start poking around—at first, to find alcohol of some kind. I
might not drink, but I know Konstantin does occasionally. And I know at
least in the movies and in books that people who are in a rough spot
emotionally seem to want to have a drink.

But when I open the refrigerator, instead of the vodka I was hoping to find,
my eyes land on something else.

A dozen eggs, some sharp cheddar, bacon, and bread.

I grin.

I’m not a cook. There’s not a single real meal I could ever hope to whip up in
a kitchen… except one: cheesy eggs with bacon, and a side of toast. Instantly,
I remember that I used to love making this for Lizbet and me on Saturday
mornings.

And I’ve got all the ingredient right here.

F ORTY MINUTES and a mess and a half later, I’m walking down the second
floor hall carrying a tray. I stop in front of the master suite, and knock on the
heavy door.

“Come in,” he grunts from inside.

I carefully push the door open and slide in, carrying the tray of food.
Konstantin is sitting at a desk, but he looks up as I enter. The scowl on his
face seems to crack and melt as his brows arch.

“What is this?”

I smile meekly.

“A peace offering.” My brows knit. “Konstantin, I’m sorry. That was so out
of line, and I had no right to—”

“I was wrong to bark at you,” he grunts. “I just…”

“You don’t need to explain anything,” I say quietly.

I walk over to the desk and set the tray down in front of him.

“It’s not gourmet, but it’s about as complex as I can do in a kitchen.” I smile
wryly at him. “I’m so sorry for bringing anything like that up.”

He’s staring at the food. I cringe. Oh, God, he hates it. I was going for quirky
cute, but looking at the heap of half-burned eggs, greasy bacon, and fully-
burned toast? It looks like shit.

“We… um, there’s other food in the kitchen, or we could get delivery or—”

“Why are you nice to me?”

The sheer sincerity and genuine curiosity in his voice, along with the soft
tone, take me off guard when he looks up at me.

“You have every fucking reason in the world to hate me, or tell me to go fuck
myself, or to call me out when I act like an asshole. And yet you don’t.
You’re just nice to me,” he growls quietly, brows knitted. “Why?”

I swallow. I don’t need to dwell on or come up with the answer.

It’s right there in front of me.

“Because you’re the only one who knows me,” I whisper quietly. “Because
you don’t treat me like I’m made of glass. Because you see me brutally and
honestly, without worrying that your gaze is going to bruise me.”

He stands, and my heart thuds against my chest.

“Because I was asleep for four years, and you woke me up. Because I was
lost, and you reached out and grabbed me tight—”

His hand grabs my waist, and I whimper as he yanks me into him. The other
slides up to cup my jaw, angling my lips up just before he crushes them with
his.
 20

“H OW IS IT ?”

I smile as I slump back against the ridiculously comfy couch that rings the
sunken living area.

“It being what?”

Lizbet sighs. “Moscow? The apartment? Being under guard twenty-four-

hours a day?”

My lips curl.

“The apartment is incredible. And it’s not like there are guards and bars
everywhere. We don’t even see a single other person.”

“So, you’re just trapped up there? Like his own little captive princess—”

“Lizbet.”

She stops short.

“Yeah?”

“At a certain point, you’re going to need to stop assuming the worst when it
comes to Konstantin, okay?”
She blows air through her lips.

“I’m sorry.”

“Look, I know you don’t approve—”

“I never said that.”

I snort. “You most definitely have. Vocally and clearly.”

She makes a “hmph” sound.

“But this really is good for me. He is good for me. And I really…”

I blush, swallowing quickly.

“Uh, you really what?”

I ignore the word that wants to claw its way to the surface.

“I really like him, okay? There, I said it. Now can you get over whatever
nefarious plans you think he’s concocting? I mean he’s not Darth Vader,
Lizbet.”

“That’s just the Jedi mind tricks he’s using on you to convince you otherwi
—”

“Lizbet.”

She sighs.

“Okay, okay. Seriously, okay. I’m done.”

“Thank you. He…” my blush returns with a vengeance.

“He makes you happy.”

“Yeah, he does.”
“I can tell.”

I grin.

“How’s Oxford Hills and everyone?”

“Things are… okay here. People were pretty freaked out about what
happened with Ainsley. There’s a rumor her parents are trying to sue the
school, too. But she’s awake and out of her surgeries. She’s going to be okay.
Cora Laurent Facetimed her the other day.”

I breathe a sigh of relief.

“And nothing coming down on you or Lukas? Or anyone else at Lordship?”

“Nope, seems the vitriol lands squarely at yours and Konstantin’s feet.”

I smile wryly. I’m fine with that. Especially since we’re not even there.

My brows knit.

“Hey, can I…” I shake my head. “Never mind.”

“No, what is it?”

My nose wrinkles. “I… need to, or, I want to ask you something.”

“Okay?”

“It’s about Semyon.”

The line goes quiet.

“I’m sorry, Lizbet, forget I said—”

“It’s fine,” she says quietly. “What is it?”

“I saw Nadia a little while ago. I mean before Moscow.”

Lizbet groans. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yeah,” I make a face. “We had lunch.”

“Sounds awful.”

“Yeah, it went about as well as you might imagine. But, she said
something…” I take a breath. “She told me Semyon had an affair with
Kristina Reznikov.”

The line goes quiet again, and I wince. Finally, I hear my sister take a slow,
measured breath.

“It’s not that I can’t handle talking about him,” she says with an edge to her
voice. “It’s just that I don’t give a single shit about him. Or anything he was
involved in.”

I nod. “No, of course. Forget it, really.”

“I honestly have no idea if that’s true or not, Mara. Maybe he did? Maybe
Nadia’s been shitfaced for the last three decades and has no idea what she’s
talking about. I just don’t care.”

“Consider it forgotten. It doesn’t even matter.”

She sighs.

“There’s someone else you could ask, you know.”

I frown. “Who?”

“The only other adult who basically lived with us during those years. The one
who wasn’t perpetually drunk, or a vile piece of shit.”

Slowly, my lips spread into a smile.

“Thank you.”
“I T IS REALLY YOU , ZAYCHIK ?”

Twenty minutes later, I’m grinning into the phone as Grigori answers his.

“It’s me.”

“Mara, I… I should have—”

“Grigori?” I smile wryly. “Let’s skip the part where you’re mad at yourself
for not being there.”

“But I should have been,” he snarls. “To stop that piece of garbage who tried
to—”

“I’m fine,” I say quietly. “And I’m not your responsibility anymore.”

He grunts.

“You will always be my responsibility.”

I grin. Grigori exhales heavily.

“How is Moscow?”

“Cold.”

He chuckles. “At this time of year? Nyet, little Mara. It is spring in bloom
now.”

I giggle.

“And Mr. Reznikov?”

He’s trying, but I can hear the edge of concern and wariness in his voice.

“He’s good too, thank you. We’re very safe and protected here.”
“I am not concerned about the we,” he growls.

I smile. “Well, I am good. And very, very well protected.”

“Good,” he grunts. “That is all I care about.”

I chew on my lip.

“Hey, can I ask you about something?”

“Da, anything.”

“It’s about my dad.”

He grunts. “I will help if I can.”

“Did you know much about his private life?”

“His private life? Hmm…” Grigori breathes deeply. “No, not very much.
What are you looking for?”

I glance up at the staircase and the walkway that runs along the top half of the
huge two-story living area. Down the hall, Konstantin is having a phone
meeting in the office space.

“My mother told me the other day that Semyon had an affair with Kristina
Reznikov.”

The line goes absolutely silent.

“Grigori?”

Still nothing. But I can hear the deep, rhythmic, furious sound of the huge
bodyguard inhaling and exhaling.

“Grigori, are you—”

“Affair?” He snarls suddenly, making me jump.

“Who calls this thing affair?”

I swallow. “My mother.”

He snorts, scoffing angrily, hissing before a few vicious sounding words in

Russian tumble out.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to ask, because I have no idea if she’s making stuff
up—”

“I worked for your family a long time, Mara,” he hisses thinly. “I was loyal
to your father, because he was my boss. But as a man, he…”

“My father was a vile piece of garbage, Grigori,” I say thinly. “You don’t
have to sugarcoat this for me.”

He sneers a word in Russian.

“Your father was a monster, Mara,” he snarls suddenly, sounding angrier

than I’ve ever heard him.

“I know—”

“You do not know the half of it,” he hisses.

“So tell me.”

I swallow, steeling myself.

“Tell me.”

“Affair?” He sneers. “Nyet, that was no affair. It was assault. He sexually

assaulted her.”

My stomach churns. My blood runs cold.

“And he is the reason she died.”

Reality glitches. I freeze, chilling as I replay Lukas telling me about
Konstantin finding his mother—witnessing the way she was brutally…

Oh my fucking God.

Jesus Christ. What if my father was there that night? What if Semyon was
part of that horrific assault and killing of Konstantin’s own mother, which he
witnessed?

My face turns white.

What if Konstantin knows my father was there.

“I… I have to go.”

I choke as I hang up on Grigori, feeling numb. In a daze, I stand, and before I

know what I’m doing, I’m moving to the staircase and climbing it.

It’s not until I’m opening the door to the office that I stop, wanting to scream
at myself “what the hell are you doing?”

Konstantin looks up as he hangs up his phone. He grins when he sees me.

My heart wrenches.

I want to tell him. I have to tell him, because he deserves to know. But then
he grins at me, his brow cocking and this devilish look on his face.

He looks happy.

I swallow.

I’m not taking that from him. Not now. Not like this.

“I’m done with that meeting early.”

I step into the room. My arm reaches back, and I pull down the zipper at the
back of the dress I’ve been wearing. The whole thing drops to the floor.
I’m not wearing anything underneath.

Hey, rules are rules.

Konstantin growls quietly, his smile turning predatory and hungry as his eyes
sweep over me. They leave goosebumps in their wake. My nipples harden as
his eyes dance over my breasts, and they leave me wet when they drag up
between my legs.

His hand raises, and two of his fingers slowly crook at me.

I’m instantly even wetter.

“Come here.”

I flush as I step out of my dress and pad slowly towards him.

“You’re done with your meeting. My schedule is clear…”

He turns in his chair as I approach, and I whimper as I sink down onto his
lap.

“What ever should we do with ourselves?” I purr.

Konstantin growls, and I moan as his hand suddenly snakes up into my hair,
gripping it tight. He leans close, rasping against my ear.

“Take my cock out.”

I shiver as I reach between us. My fingers find his zipper, and the throbbing
thickness beneath has me moaning softly. I slowly unzip and then unbutton
his pants, and then reach inside to wrap my fingers around his cock. Slowly, I
pull him out, whimpering as I feel his thick length pulse hotly against my
thigh.

“Now you’re going to guide me into that pretty little pussy,” he growls.
“You’re going to slide down every inch and take me all the way inside.”
I moan as I center him and then start to sink down onto his thick cock.

“Konstantin…”

“All of me,” he rasps against my ear, his hand tight in my hair, the other on
my ass, guiding me.

And I keep going, sinking further and further onto his size until I can feel his
balls against my ass.

“Good girl.”

I whimper as the two words tease over my neck.

“Now make that pussy come all over my cock.”

His mouth finds mine, slamming into it as I start to rise up on him. I sink
back down, gasping into his lips as he fills me up all over again. My hips roll
as I start to move faster, bouncing on his big cock as the pleasure engulfs me
from the inside out.

His muscles coil against me. His hands grip me tightly, possessively. His
bruising kiss sends me reeling as he pounds his hips up to meet me, ramming
his cock deep inside as I start to fall apart.

The wave grows bigger, surging taller and taller. Until suddenly, it’s crashing
over me, and I explode.

I scream into his mouth as I come, my walls clenching and rippling around
him. He groans, sinking himself deep to the hilt as his thickness surges. His
hot cum spills into me as I cling to him, reveling in him.

Melting against him.

Needing him as close as I can get him.

The past has no place here. And so I banish it there, to where it belongs.
The future is us.

The future is this, right here.

 21

I T ’ S cold out on the balcony. There’s also an element of danger, me standing

outside like this, with Dima and his loyalists out there looking to dethrone
me. But after almost a week inside, no matter how big the penthouse is, it
feels good to be outside.

No matter the cold, or the danger.

The risk is mitigated, of course. I’ve got my own men on neighboring

rooftops—ex Russian Special Forces types who know how to spot a would-
be sniper. But even still, I’d never bring Mara out here.

If there’s even a sliver of a percent chance of her being harmed, forget it.

Besides that, the fact that there are eyes out here is another reason I doubt I
could have Mara out here with me. The windows of the penthouse are one-
way tinted. Even with the lights on full inside, I know if I’ve got Mara spread
out naked across the living room floor with my cock sinking into her sweet
pussy, there’s not a wandering eye—friendly or not—who might see her.

Having her out here on the balcony carries too much risk because the thought
of making her come with all of Moscow laid out before her, glittering like
jewels for my queen, is too enticing.
And no one but me will see her like that. Ever.

The midnight wind whips at me like iced daggers. But I breathe it in. I open
my arms, jacket unzipped, embracing it. Letting it try it’s hardest to cut me
down, and knowing it won’t.

What I told Mara before was true, about me trying to buy this place when
Antin was trying to offload it. I remember the way that prick smiled at me
when I presented him with an offer better than anything he was going to get
from any other perspective buyer.

“Your sentimentality makes you weak, Konstantin. Apparently you’ve learned

fucking nothing from your mistakes in that regard.”

My eyes narrow at the glittering, cold city before me. Eventually, I ended up
forming a shell company, and using that to buy the whole fucking building.
Antin was furious when he found out it was me, even if he’d made a mint
with the selling price.

It was because of my mother. Because we lived in this place as a family—or

at least, as much of one as we ever were. He knew I had happy memories of
this place, including ones of her here.

For whatever reason, after she was killed, Antin’s way of processing it was to
purge her from his memories. He burned every picture that included her.
Tossed every video she was in. He erased her from our collective past.

I was so angry at him for that, just like I was angry the night she died, when
he just wasn’t angry enough. He was never angry enough about it.

So when I bought this place in spite of his efforts to stop me, it was a
thumbed nose at him. It was me staking out a claim—drawing a line in the
sand where he would not cross and delete her from my memories.
Since buying it, I’ve basically had the whole place redone. Because along
with the good memories of my mother, this place is filled with the haunted,
pained ones involving my father.

So I erased him from this place. I painted over every trace of him. Threw out
anything he might have picked to occupy the space. Forget fucking sage
brushing, I had the place ripped down to the boards and built back without
his touch or memory.

But she stays a part of this place. She’s in too deep into the foundations and
supports to ever be erased.

I inhale deeply, feeling the cold in my lungs. Turning, I step back towards the
door inside and crack it open. My eyes stab through the darkness of the
bedroom, landing on Mara’s sleeping form.

The sheet is half-slipped off of her, giving me a tantalizing view of her bare
shoulder, and part of the curve of her hip. She shivers, the chill from outside
dancing across the space between us to prickle her skin.

I shut the door, keeping it from her.

My phone buzzes. I slip it from my pocket, surprised and slightly concerned

to see Vadim calling me so late.

“Talk to me.”

“We have them.”

My lips curl.

“You’re serious?”

“Da,” he growls triumphantly. “Dima, along with all of the other captains he
took with him, along with almost all of their men. I had one of ours—you
know Gustav Karanov?”
I nod, recognizing the older captain who’s a close friend of Vadim’s.

“I had him make it seem as if he was defecting, and Dima, the stupid prick,
ate it right up. Gustav messaged me an hour ago that Dima was holding a full
meeting.” He chuckles darkly. “They’re all here, and we’re all outside, ready
to take them.”

I smile viciously.

“Excellent work, Vadim. Where are you?”

“Just outside Moscow,” he grunts. “I don’t know if it’s because you and Mara
are here, or just bad coincidence. But with Dima, I’m going to assume the
worst.”

My mouth thins as I turn to glance back at Mara again, through the glass.

“We’re ready to move in on your command, Konstantin.”

“Do it,” I snarl dangerously. “But Vadim?”

“Da?”

“Take him alive.”

“Consider it done. I’ll call you shortly, as soon as we have them.”

When we hang up, I breathe slowly. My blood hums, my body tensed and
coiled, as if ready for a fight. But then I turn, and the fury seeps out of me as
I let my eyes drink in the shape of her sleeping just inside.

“Your sentimentality makes you weak, Konstantin. Apparently you’ve learned

fucking nothing from your mistakes in that regard.”

Antin was both right and wrong. I learned much from my mistakes with
Mara. I learned to grow hard, and brutal. I learned to put up walls and use any
methods necessary to tear down those keeping me from my objectives or
enemies.

And yet for all the pain, for all the bloodshed, for all the ruin that my
obsession with her wrought before… I’m right back where I’ve always been.

Hopelessly entwined in her. Weak. Brought to my fucking knees with one

smile.

My phone buzzes again. I drag my eyes away from the object of my ruin,
narrowing them out over the city as I wordlessly answer the call from Vadim.

“It’s done.”

My lips curl triumphantly.

“We got all of them, Konstantin,” Vadim growls victoriously. “Dima, his ten
captains, and all of their men. The entire resistance, all of Antin’s loyalists.
The fucking fools didn’t even trust each other and had a no weapons policy
for the meeting.”

He snickers darkly.

“Like fish in a barrel, Konstantin.”

I grin. “And Dima?”

“Very much alive and looking like he’s severely regretting that reality.”

“Good. Keep him somewhere safe and keep him very much uncomfortable.”

“You’ll want to take your time with him, I assume?”

For coming after Mara? I’ll cut him apart with rusty fucking scissors.

“Yes,” I grunt. “But let’s make him sweat for a week or so first.”

“It’s done.”
He pauses, clearing his throat slowly.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing, it’s just…”

“Speak, please.”

“Look, know that this isn’t something you need to worry about. It’s that as
we clean house, and with this victory…” he chuckles. “You know me,
Konstantin. My mind never sleeps.”

“Yeah, it’s why you’re invaluable to me.”

“It’s not my blistering wit and charm?”

I chuckle. “What’s the never-sleeping mind lingering on tonight instead of

basking in the glory of ending a war?”

“A loose end.”

“What sort of loose end.”

“A mole.”

My brow furrows. “Go on.”

“Your father had an insider in the Belsky organization. At times a spy, at

times a saboteur.”

“Who?”

“I don’t actually know. But he was very close with your father. He went
to…” he clears his throat.

“Say it.”

“He went to that place, at times. With your father.”

My lips thin.

“What place.”

“You know the place I’m talking about, Konstantin,” he says quietly.
“Montenegro. The black house with the black door.”

I flinch as bile rises in my throat.

I remember the red room.

The man I knew, with the knife to the man I now know.

“So they were pieces of shit together,” I hiss.

“Da,” he grows. “Yes, they were. Though after Kristina…”

My jaw clenches.

“I’m sorry, forget all of this.”

My eyes close. “No, keep going.”

“After your mother… he went quiet.”

“Who, the spy?”

“Da. I don’t know the details, because I don’t even know who he is or was.
But I know after that, the insider went dark.”

I frown. “Killed?”

“No idea. But I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

He doesn’t immediately answer.

“You took us here, Vadim,” I growl. “Take it to the end.”

He sighs. “Fine. Because though I don’t know who this man is, I know he
and your father were very close.”

“And?”

“And someone’s been laying flowers on Antin’s grave.”

I stiffen, my jaw grinding.

“What.”

I’m fully aware that while I knew my father as a monster, there were those
that loved him. Dima, for instance. But even people in his community—
church officials who he donated heavily to. Politicians he did the same for.
They saw Antin as a benevolent Robin Hood of sorts. A criminal who “gave
back.”

They didn’t realize that wolves hide within sheep. They were unaware that
my father’s utter inhumanity had a bottomless capacity for cruelty. They
didn’t know of his involvement with Crna Kuça, the vile house of horrors
where men like him, and Semyon Belsky gave in to their most base,
sickeningly appalling desires.

Where they inflicted unimaginable pain and sundering on children.

But this is how monsters keep being monsters. By hiding in plain sight.
Antin’s “benevolence” was bought character. He thought it absolved him of
his sins.

It didn’t. And I’ve made it my mission to make sure it never does.

To that end, I’ve had a team of men permanently stationed around the
graveyard in St. Petersburg—Antin’s place of birth—who’s exclusive job it is
to make sure not a single human on earth can visit that piece of shit’s grave.
Furthermore, they have material on them—proof—to show these would-be
sympathizers exactly who my father was.

This is why Vadim saying someone has been leaving flowers at his grave is
disturbing.

It means someone is driven enough, and skilled enough, to get past my men
to pay homage to a monster.

“How?”

“I don’t know, and our men are the best, and they don’t know either.
Whoever he is, he’s good.”

“And still seems to have allegiance to Antin.”

“Which is even more worrying,” Vadim growls.

“So, he’s out there?”

“I don’t know it’s him. But, I think it’s likely.”

I rake my nails down my jaw.

“Okay. Double the men at the graveyard in St. Petersburg.”

“Done.”

“We’ll look into this. For now, though?”

He chuckles.

“For now, I will stop laying the worries of a paranoid old man on you.”

I grin.

“Vadim?”

“Da?”
“I couldn’t do this without you. Any of this.”

He chuckles. “Well, that’s complete bullshit, but thank you anyway.”

“It’s not.”

He snorts. “Please, Konstantin. I’m the old guard. The future is you.”

“And Gavan.”

He’s silent for a second before he speaks.

“The two of you could conquer the world, Konstantin.”

“Well, you don’t get to check out quite yet. I think we can both agree Gavan
and I need adult supervision.”

He chuckles heartily. When I hear the flick of a lighter, I sigh.

“Oh, leave an old man be with his vices, Christ,” he mutters.

I grin. “Enjoy the smoke. You earned it. Congrats on your victory, Vadim.”

“On ours,” he throws back. “Breathe easy, Konstantin. And maybe take that
girl outside.”

I grin.

“Goodnight, my friend.”

“Be well, Konstantin.”

When I hang up, I take one last deep breath of cold, relishing the sting of it;
letting it ground me in this moment of victory. Then I turn and slip back
inside the bedroom. I shrug my jacket off and then peel the rest of my clothes
off before I slide into bed behind her.

Mara stirs slightly as my arms circle her.

“You’re cold…” she murmurs sleepily.

“Sorry.”

“No, I just want to make sure you’re warm.”

My heart surges, almost like it’s growing bigger, like the fucking Grinch at
the end of that movie. My lips pull into a grin as I lean down to kiss her bare
shoulder.

“I’m perfect,” I murmur into her skin. “Go back to sleep.”

She just nods, snuggling back into me as her breathing becomes steady again.
I hold her like that, keeping her close—keeping her against me.

My mind is wide awake. But it’s not because of the night’s events. It’s not
because of the victory against Dima humming in my veins.

It’s because despite the paint, and renovations, and purging, being here still
has Antin’s words rattling through my head.

“Your sentimentality makes you weak, Konstantin. Apparently you’ve learned

fucking nothing from your mistakes in that regard.”

I’m awake, because I know deep down that Mara needs to know truth.

The only problem is, when she learns about the past, our future is dead.

The truth means this right here ends.

And I’m not sure I am, or ever will be, prepared for that.
 22

I’ M ALONE in the bed when I wake up. I have the vaguest memory of
Konstantin leaving and then coming back to bed late last night. I smile,
remembering the way he pulled the sheet up over me, circling me with his
arms as I drifted back under.

Since we’ve arrived, Konstantin has had an entire wardrobe brought in for
me. I mean hundreds of pieces of clothing, from jeans and t-shirts to elegant,
several-thousand-dollar gowns.

Completely unsurprisingly, out of the entire queen-sized wardrobe I now

own, there’s like five pairs of panties in the whole lot.

This morning, I slip into cozy sweats and one of his t-shirts. I have easily a
hundred on my side of the enormous walk-in closet. But I like wearing his.

I like smelling like him.

Barefoot on the warm wood floors, I pad downstairs. The smell of bacon has
my stomach gurgling as I peek into the kitchen. But, all I see is the mess left
from someone cooking. And there’s no Konstantin in sight.

“We’re eating outside.”

I gasp, whirling as I clutch at my heart. My pulse thuds as I drag my eyes up
his built frame. He’s dressed like me—gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt.
But good Lord do they both fit him well. Too well.

My skin tingles, and teeth sink into my bottom lip. Then I frown as I replay
what he just said.

“Sorry, we’re what?”

He grins.

“This way.”

He takes my hand, guiding me through the living area to the sliding door that
leads out to a huge, half-covered terrace. But I pause, holding back when he
starts to slide the door open. We’ve been strictly inside since we arrived here,
due to the threat of attack from the Antin loyalists within Konstantin’s
organization.

“Uh, are we….”

“Safe?” he nods. “As of last night, yes.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that the people who were trying to hurt you aren’t going to be
hurting you, ever.”

His face darkens.

“They’ve been dealt with.”

I swallow, staring up at him.

“Wait, seriously?”

Konstantin nods.
“So I thought we could have breakfast outside, and get some actual fresh air.”

“Fresh and freezing air,” I shiver, looking warily outside at the weather that
even looks cold.

“Oh this is balmy for Moscow.”

I grin.

“And,” he adds, turning to push a button on the wall by the door. Outside,
canvas sides roll down from the overhang over the terrace, closing a part of it
off.

“The heat lamps are also on.”

A smile curls across my lips, and I nod.

Konstantin leads me outside, sits me down, drapes me in a blanket, and then

ducks back inside. A minute later, he comes back out with two plates of eggs
and bacon, and a pair of slippers for my chilly feet.

“So, the danger is over?”

He nods.

“So…” My brows knit. “We could go back to Oxford Hills?”

Konstantin’s mouth thins, his jaw tightening.

“If you wanted to,” he growls quietly.

I drag my teeth over my lip.

“And… if I don’t?”

His lips curl as his eyes drag up to mine.

“Then I think staying here for a little while longer at least is a good idea.”
I grin widely. But then, the gears in my head start turning.

“Yes?”

I blink, my attention focusing back on him.

“Hmm? I didn’t say anything.”

He arches a brow, knowingly.

“Get out of my head,” I mutter, grinning.

“What is it.”

I clear my throat. “Um, how do you feel about house guests?”

He sighs. “You want Lizbet to come visit.”

“Bingo.”

“I’m guessing she comes as a package deal with Komarov?” he grunts.

I shrug my shoulders. “Yeah, she does. Think you two can refrain from
killing each other if I invite them?”

He grumbles, muttering to himself in a way that makes me grin as I slide out

of my chair and move to his side of the table. Sink into his lap, wrapping my
arms around his shoulders.

“I’ll let you spank me.”

He smirks.

“You’ll beg me to spank you anyway.”

I blush deeply.

Guilty as charged.
“Fine, they can come.”

I grin, kissing him deeply.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“I’m still going to spank your ass.”

“I’m still going to beg.”

T WO HOURS and one very sore butt later, I’m back on the patio. This time,
I’ve dressed a bit more for the weather in a winter coat, and the overhangs
flaps are up, letting me feel the chill air and warm sun on my face.

“What?! Really?!”

I laugh as Lizbet shrieks into the phone.

“Yes, really! I’m dying for you to come!”

“Wait, so this group of separatists who were loyal to Antin, they’re all…
dead?”

“Or… something,” I murmur quietly.

I mean I didn’t ask to see death certificates, but I’ve got my own assumptions
after Konstantin said it was all “taken care of.”

“So, come back to OHA!”

My lip twists in my teeth.

“Why do I get the impression that playing house in a luxury penthouse with
Konstantin is slightly more appealing to you right now than a month of
school?”
I grin. “Because you are very astute.”

My sister laughs. “Well, then we’re there! Seriously! This sounds incredible!
Can we just say next weekend and make it official?”

“Or tonight?” I say hopefully.

She giggles. “Well, some of us still have school, slacker.”

“Okay, okay,” I sigh impatiently. “Next weekend, then.”

“Count on it. Oh hang on, Lukas just walked in.”

She muffles the phone, but I can hear her say something in the background,
then his grunted response, then her whooping excitedly.

“We’re in!” She crows into the phone. “Both of us—wait, we are both
invited, right?”

“Yes,” I grin. “Wait, this is so exciting!”

“I know! I can’t wait! Oh, hang— Mara, Lukas wants to talk to you, and I
need to start writing this paper. Talk soon about next weekend?”

“Definitely. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Then I hear Lukas’s deep, gravely voice.

“Mara, I have something important—”

“Lukas, if you’re trying to scare me into coming back, I’m hanging up.”

He chuckles darkly.

“I’m never trying to scare you,” he sighs. “But, I found something I think you
need to hear.”
My brow darkens.

“Digging into Konstantin, you mean,” I say sharply.

“No, actually.”

He clears his throat.

“Hang on, let me step outside.”

I hear the sound of a door opening and then shutting.

“Why are you stepping outside?”

“Because Lizbet is in there and I need to tell you that I’ve been digging into
your father.”

I swallow, suddenly cold despite the jacket.

“Oh.”

He sighs. It’s not like discussing Semyon is palatable for him, either.

“Look, this thing with Semyon and Konstantin’s mother that Nadia told you
about?”

My blood chills.

“You mean the thing she called an affair that was actually my father being a
monster and hurting someone?”

“Yes,” he says thinly, his voice edged. “I looked into that on my own.”

I shiver.

“What did you find out?”

“That Konstantin has an uncle.”

I frown. “He does?”

“Well, yes and no. In fact, there’s a chance he doesn’t know that he does.”

“Lukas, I’m not following.”

“So, Kristina had a brother. It’s been buried, but…”

“But you like to dig.”

“Pretty much. It’s actually how she and Antin met. This brother, a Jakov
Boyko, worked for Antin’s father. Who, by all accounts, was such a piece of
shit he makes Antin look like a soccer mom.”

I grimace.

“Then when Antin took over, Jakov became one of his top commanders.
Antin marries Kristina Boyko, has Konstantin, and then Jakov just sort of
disappears.”

I frown, chewing on my lip.

“I mean, it’s the Bratva, Lukas. He probably got killed or something?”

“He didn’t though. Jakov Boyko still exists. Technically, at least. He actually
still collects, and cashes, service disability checks from the Russian military.”

“Okay, so… he does exist?”

“Not, but that’s it, Mara. No address, no tax records… he’s a fucking ghost.
He gets his checks delivered to a random rotation of PO boxes across three
different continents. But there’s not even a passport issued to Jakov. And
those checks get cashed through various proxy companies set up in countries
with no public records.”

I bite my lip.
“Well, that’s weird, I guess. But—”

“But you’re wondering why I’m telling you.”

“Basically.”

“I’m telling you this, because I’m worried.”

“About?”

“I hear Konstantin squashed out the rebellion in his ranks.”

“Yeah, last night. It’s why you guys can come visit because we’re safe now
—”

“I’m worried that you’re not.”

I shiver. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that based off the ‘affair’ bullshit Nadia mentioned, Kristina
Reznikov, formerly Boyko, was sexually assaulted by your father. I don’t
know if that occurred during the night she died, when Konstantin witnessed
that horror, or if it was from a time before.”

My body tenses, my heart twisting at the thought of Konstantin having to

have that memory clawing at his memory.

“From Nadia’s telling, it seems like it might have happened right after she
got caught making out with Antin. So, before the night she was killed, by
maybe fifteen-to-twenty years. Either way though, this Jakov guy—a
decorated former Russian military type, who worked closely with one of the
more brutal Bratva leaders in recent history—has a sister who gets sexually
assaulted by Semyon Belsky.”

My blood chills as what he’s saying sinks in.

“And my last name is Belsky,” I whisper coldly. “You think… I mean…” I
swallow. “You think Jakov is still out there harboring a grudge on my
family?” I choke.

“I didn’t until I had someone I know hack into the bank records of the sniper
who shot Ainsley.”

I frown. “He worked for Antin—”

“He worked for Antin.”

“Yeah, and then Dima, when they split off—”

“No, he didn’t,” Lukas growls. “Or if he did, he wasn’t being paid for it. Not
by Dima, at least.”

I shake my head.

“What are you saying?”

“The guy used to work for Antin. But he went AWOL from the Reznikov
organization a couple of years ago. Seems like he worked freelance for a
couple families—just small-time muscle gigs here and there. But then a week
before Ainsley get’s shot, a hundred-thousand pounds shows up in his bank
account.”

I swallow, shivering as my breath starts to come heavier.

“So he was hired?”

“Yeah, by a shell company registered in Odessa.”

It’s getting colder outside. Or maybe, that’s just me.

“Ukraine has some tough laws blocking company officers from public
records, so that’s a dead end. But the bank transfer itself?”
“Yeah?” I croak, hanging on his words.

“Mara, it came from a bank branch in Moscow, which is across the fucking
street from one of the PO boxes Jakov uses.”

My heart is thudding loudly in my chest. I swallow, suddenly uneasy about

being outside, despite being twenty stories above the streets, and watched by
Konstantin’s own spotters.

“Dima probably was trying to get to you, when he sent Bagan after you. But
—”

“But someone else wants me dead.”

Lukas doesn’t say anything.

“Lukas—”

“Do you feel safe with Konstantin?”

“Yes.”

I don’t even flinch or think about it for a second. The answer falls out of my
mouth like the truth it is.

“Yes, very.”

“Good. Then I also think you should stay in Moscow for a while. I’m going
to keep digging into this.”

I nod numbly.

“Okay… thanks,” I croak.

“Look, I didn’t mean to terrify you—”

“Well…”
“This could absolutely be nothing, you know,” he growls. “This is just what I
do, like you said. I dig. And when I dug into this, it sticks out funny to me.
You don’t need to live in fear, I just want you to be careful, Mara. And if
with Konstantin is where you feel safest, then stay with him.”

I nod.

“We’ll see you next weekend, yeah?”

“Yeah, for sure…”

“Okay, talk to you soon.”

“Bye, Lukas.”

I hang up. My skin prickles, like goosebumps creeping up my spine. I turn,

my eyes scanning the rooftops around me. But the chill up my spine only
grows, until I whirl and rush inside, slamming the sliding door shut behind
me.

“Did it get colder outside?”

I jump, whirling before I breath, seeing Konstantin standing there.

“Uh… yeah.”

He frowns. “What’s wrong?”

I chew on my lip.

“Mara.”

There’s no escaping Lord Reznikov when he latches onto something. He’s

like a tracking dog like that.

“Do you think we’re safe now? I mean with Dima and his crew being taken
down?”
“Yes.”

His brow furrows.

“Is that what you’re worried about?”

I shrug a shoulder. “I dunno. Maybe a little. Do you think there could be

anyone else out there who wants me dead?”

He frowns deeply, and then shakes his head.

“No. And if there is, I’ll find them, and I’ll remove them.”

I swallow, moving into him as his arms circle me.

“No one is going to hurt you, Mara,” he growls. “No one. And with Dima out
of the picture, believe me, the Reznikov Bratva runs this city. If we missed
anyone, or any loose ends, Moscow is crawling with my men. They’ll be
found out, if they even exist.”

I take a shaky breath, nodding as I press my face to his chest.

“Okay.”

Suddenly, I frown, realizing there’s music playing over the speakers.

“Who is this?”

He grins when I pull away, cocking an ear to listen closer.

“Jeff Buckley. He’s a favorite of mine.”

“This is gorgeous.”

“I know. The song is ‘Lover, You Should Have Come Over’.”

The man’s hauntingly beautiful tenor voice croons out the lyrics over jangled
guitars, and it’s like it sends a bolt of something directly to my heart, by way
of my soul.

My body turns, and yearns for a sleep that won’t ever come. It’s never over.

“He’s incredible,” I choke. “Is this new?”

My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder. All my riches for her smiles, when
I’ve slept so soft against her.

He shakes his head. “It’s from the early nineties. He’s dead now, actually.”

For some reason, even though I’ve literally just heard this person’s music for
the very first time, knowing he’s dead makes me incredibly sad. I wince,
brushing my face against Konstantin’s cheek to blot at the single tear in the
corner of my eye.

Sweet lover, you should have come over.

“Tonight,” Konstantin growls quietly.

He reaches down, tilting my face up, his thumb brushing another tear away as
I smile.

“We’re going out.”

My brow arches. “Out-out?”

“Dress up. I’m showing you my Moscow.”

I swallow, chewing on my lip.

“Is it—”

“You’re safe,” he murmurs thickly, his voice edged and possessive. “You’ll
always be safe with me.”

My lips pull into a grin, and I nod as his mouth descends to capture mine.
“I need to make a bunch of phone calls before we do, though.”

“Okay. I have a date with every piece of music Jeff Buckley ever wrote,
while you do that.”

He grins. “Good.”

He kisses me again, and then turns to walk up the stairs to the office.

“Hey, Konstantin?”

He stops at the staircase, turning to me.

“Hmm?”

I just blurt it out.

“Do you have an uncle?”

His brow furrows, and he shakes his head.

“Nope. Antin had a younger sister, but she died young. My mother was an
only child.”

No, she wasn’t.

I swallow the cold lump that forms in my chest.

“Okay.”

“Why?”

I shrug.

“Who knows,” I grin, rolling my eyes as I tap my head. “Crazy, remember?”

He smiles at me curiously. But then nods.

“We’ll leave at seven.”

“Perfect.”

Konstantin disappears into the office to yell into his phone. And I spend the
next few hours drowning myself in music so good I’m actually angry I’ve
gone this far without hearing it before.

I feel too young to hold on, and too old to break free and run.

Too deaf dumb and blind to see the damage I’ve done.

Sweet lover, you should’ve come over…

 23

T ONIGHT , I’m showing you my Moscow.

I spent four years in an incomprehensible darkness. While the rest of the

fourteen-year-olds in the world grew older, and found love, and went out
dancing, and learned about alcohol, and flirting, and sex, and drugs, and Jeff
Buckley?

I slept a dreamless sleep.

And like everything about me, apparently, Konstantin doesn’t just seem to
know this… he gets it, too. He gets it in a way literally no one else I know
truly gets it. Not even Lizbet.

So when he takes me out on the town, it’s immediately clear this isn’t “just” a
date, or whatever. It’s not just him trying to show off in a city he may as well
be king of, or to flaunt his power and wealth.

He’s taking me out for me. He’s showing me what a night out even means.

And I soak. It. Up.

Dinner isn’t even some absurdly expensive steak house, or the top Michelin-
rated spot in Russia or anything. It’s the pierogi house where Konstantin’s
mother use to take him and Gavan when they lived here. We are comically
over-dressed for the modest, casual spot, too—me in a black Versace gown
and heels, and him in a stunning dark gray suit.

But it doesn’t matter. I’m having a blast. And we’re completely alone, too.
No bodyguards—or at least, none that I can see, and I’m looking for them.
Gavan drove us here, but Konstantin told him to take off after he did. When
my brow wrinkled in worry, Konstantin just lifted his jacket, showing me the
gun tucked into a holster under his arm.

After that, I’ve realized I’ve stopped worrying about anything at all.

“Spasibo druzhishche,” Konstantin grins as the guy our age sets down our
second platter of pierogis.

“Konechno, gospodin Reznikov,” the young man nods stiffly.

He clearly knows who Konstantin is—I mean he just called him Mister
Reznikov. But he’s grinning, as stiff as he is. It’s not as if he’s scared of my
dinner date. It’s more like Leonardo DiCaprio just sat down in his shop.

“Vse v poryadke?” He says, turning to smile at me.

I pause. Konstantin clears his throat and starts to answer for me.

Until I answer for myself.

In Russian.

“Da, eto vkusno. Bol'shoye spasibo.” Yes, it’s delicious. Thank you so much.

The guy grins from ear to ear, nods at Konstantin, and then turns to leave us
with our dinner. I keep my face neutral as I stab at another pierogi with my
fork.

“Just gonna leave that one out there, huh?”

I grin, my lips curling and my face blushing as I raise my eyes to his.

“Hmm?”

He smirks.

“Vash russkiy vernulsya.”

“Yes, my Russian is back,” I say smugly, grinning. “Well, a little. Actually I

may have just used everything I have.”

He chuckles, reaching for the small, chilled carafe of vodka by his plate. He
pours a heavy splash into his glass and raises it.

“To your memory,” he says quietly.

“Wait, hang on, I don’t have anything to cheers with.”

He nods at my bottled water, but I shake my head.

“What? No, I can’t cheers with water.”

“I’m confident that you can. Have a little faith, Mara.”

I roll my eyes, turning until I catch the young waiter’s eye. When he smiles
and comes over to the table, I point to the carafe by Konstantin’s plate.

“Drugoy, pozhaluysta.” Another, please.

He nods, smiling as he turns to walk to the bar along the far wall.

“What are you doing?”

I glance back at Konstantin, who’s looking at me with slightly narrowed

eyes.

“Making a proper toast.”

“Mara—”
“Konstantin.”

He arches a brow, his face a mix of amusement and parental-like concern.

“You understand that alcohol can effect your memory, yes?”

“I’m not doing shots or a keg stand. I just want to have a drink. Is that okay?”
I say tersely.

He doesn’t say a word. He just smirks at me and leans back in his chair,
looking amused. The waiter returns, setting the small carafe and a matching
small glass down before he leaves again.

I pour the clear, cold liquid from carafe to glass and then lift the glass to my
nose. It wrinkles as I sniff. Konstantin chuckles.

“Don’t you dare make fun of me,” I pout.

He grins, shaking his head.

“I’m not. I’m impressed.”

“With yourself, for corrupting me?”

He smirks. “I’ll take the blame for many things. But this is all you. I think the
Russian in me is impressed that you go eighteen years without a drink, and
your first one isn’t bubbly, or something pink and fruity. It’s just cold
vodka.”

I grin back, raising my glass and touching it to his.

“To…”

“You,” he growls.

“And you.”

“Us,” he murmurs quietly.

My cheeks burn.

“To us.”

“Vashe zdorov'ye,” he toasts.

“Vashe zdorov'ye.”

The vodka is ice cold as it spills over my tongue. I wince, and my eyes
instantly water. But I can see him sitting there, watching… waiting for me to
spit it out or choke.

So I don’t.

I swallow back the strong, medicinal tasting liquid, my eyes watering as it

burns like napalm down my throat. Then, keeping it together with the
strength of a god, I set the glass down, and smile innocently.

“An Oscar-worthy performance.”

I giggle, finally sputtering and coughing a little at the burn still roaring in my
throat.

“Oh fuck you.”

He grins, reaching across the table to take my hand.

“Got that out of your system now?”

I meet his eyes, smirking defiantly.

“Nope.”

I pick up the glass, keeping my eyes locked on his as I swallow back another
sip.

Okay, now I’ve got that out of my system, I think as my eyes sting with tears.
One more thing on the “I’ve been asleep for most of my teens” checklist.
Go to school? Check.

Meet a boy who’s all sorts of wrong for me? Check and very fucking check.

Get in trouble, make mistakes, live and learn? Yep.

Have sex? I blush. Check, check, and very check. All the checks.

Now, I’m adding “go out on the town and drink alcohol” to that list and
crossing it off.

Happily.

As we wolf down another plate of pierogis, Konstantin laughs as he tells me

about how his mother used to ask the waitstaff here to bring Konstantin and
Gavan’s Cokes out in champagne flutes. Or how Gavan had a running math-
off going with the owner, who was himself a sort of math prodigy.

“Those two went a whole summer, trying to race through these hard as fuck
problems with a timer going. Oleg wasn’t even trying to let him win or
anything. He was legitimately going head-to-head with a ten-year-old.”

“So, Gavan’s pretty smart, huh?”

“He’s a fucking genius. I mean that literally.”

“Has he ever thought about OHA?”

Konstantin rolls his eyes.

“I’d have an easier time convincing a rock to enroll.”

I giggle, and he grins at me across our empty plates. I want to tell him that his
mother sounds so amazing, and funny. I’m actually jealous, given the mother
straw I drew in life. And I want to tell him how lucky he was to have a
woman like that in his life. But… no.
However pure my intentions, I know bringing her up will only cause him
pain. And tonight is about leaving pain behind, and starting new.

Konstantin glances across the table at me.

“Should we move on?”

“Oh there’s more?”

He grins.

“Belsky, we’ve only just begun.”

T HE PIEROGI PLACE was modest and low-key. It was nostalgia, without any
frills or finery.

The nightclub we go to next is the exact opposite.

Huge, rough looking bouncers in black suits and sunglasses break into big
grins when they recognize Konstantin. Lines are skipped. Doors open for us.
A concierge takes our coats, and a second leads us down into the depths of
what was once a nuclear bunker and is now Club KGB, the hottest club in
Moscow.

My jaw drops as I stumble to a halt near the bottom of the stairs. My eyes
widen, my pulse racing as I gaze upon a scene unlike anything I’ve ever seen
before.

Pulsing red lights bathe the place in a sultry, erotic tint. Bass music thuds and
thumps sensually. Beautiful people dressed like rock stars and royally cavort
all over the dance floor spread out before us.
And it suddenly hits me that I’ve never once been in a place anywhere close
to this.

I swallow, suddenly nervous for some reason. Like I’m an imposter here.
Like I don’t belong, and that at any second, one of these beautiful people is
going to turn, stare at me, and laugh before they tell me to go home where I
belong.

Konstantin’s hand finds mine, squeezing hard and breaking my zone-out. I

swallow, turning to look at him with a worried lip between my teeth.

“I—”

I gasp as he suddenly pulls close to me, one hand sliding around to the small
of my back as his lips brush my ear.

“No one belongs here more than you.”

I melt a little. Again, it’s like he literally reads my thoughts. Like he just
knows what I’m worrying about before I even begin to put it into words.

He pulls back a little, his piercing gray eyes boring into mine.

“Come,” he purrs, pulling me gently down the last few steps onto the main
floor.

“Maybe…” my mouth falls open again as I stare at a stunning woman in what

basically looks like a mesh bikini top dancing and grinding between two
equally stunning, shirtless, muscled men.

I swallow thickly, pulling my gaze away. This is so far out of my element it’s
a joke.

“Maybe we could just find a booth or something—”

“Mara.”
My name from his lips into my ear is like a velvet tongue between my legs. I
whimper, shivering as I find myself pulling closer to him.

“Dance with me.”

He pulls me with him onto the dance floor. And this time, there’s no
hesitation. All my eyes see are his. All I feel is the thudding of the music in
my core, the feel of his strong hands on me, and the heat of his body against
mine.

The rest of these people melt away. The worry and the self-doubt, the
hesitation—it’s gone. Lost as I lose myself in him.

My blood sears like napalm through my veins. My body breaks free of all
inhibitions, swaying and grinding with the music. I turn, pressing my ass
against Konstantin, shivering as his hands slide up my ribs, teasing against
the sides of my breasts.

My arms curl up around his neck, and I let the eroticism of dancing like this
take me under. His muscled body and thick bulge press into me. His hips
grind hard against mine, and his lips tease over my neck as we sway and
move.

Sweat covers me in a glistening sheen. Heat pours off both of our bodies, and
my dress clings to every curve of my body as I grind into him, needing more.

And more, and more, and more…

At some point, I’m aware of kissing him—devouring his lips and tongue,
without a single care that people can see us. My back is against the bar, and
we break apart just long enough to take the two glasses of chilled vodka from
the bartender.

His eyes meet mine. Our arms wrap around each other, his glass going to my
lips, mine going to his. We both drink them down in a gulp, basically drop
the glasses to the bar top, and then crush back together.

His kiss is cold, and tastes of the vodka mixed with him, and it’s like a drug.
It ignites me, and I moan hungrily as I taste the liquor from his tongue.

We’re back to the dance floor, my back to him—grinding and swaying,

moving without a care or a single inhibition. But then I turn, and his hands
slide over my hips, pulling me into him. I moan as his lips sear to mine,
kissing him as we move to the sensual music, letting the world fade out
around us.

“T O BE CLEAR , no more drinks for you tonight.”

I grin, sticking my tongue out at him.

“Tyrant.”

“Lightweight.”

I giggle. “I’m not drunk. I’m just…”

He grins. “Drunk?”

I roll my eyes. “Tipsy.”

“How delicate of you.”

I laugh, turning to slide my arms around his waist. I look up into his eyes,
stand on the tips of my toes, and kiss him in the chill of the Moscow night.

“Two is my limit,” I murmur against his lips.

“Good. Because I want you conscious later.”

I blush, grinning at him. “Oh?” I bat my eyes innocently. “What comes later
—”

“I want you fully aware of me when I bend you over the end of our bed, lift
this gown, and make your ass red with my hand. I want you fully aware and
aching for it when I wrap your hair around my fist and fuck you hard like a
bad girl.”

My core melts. My thighs clench tight together as heat pools between them,
and my breath catches.

“I… yes,” I stumble. “That.”

He grins wolfishly. “I’ll call the driver—”

“Actually.”

He arches a brow, looking back to me before he frowns and turns to follow

my gaze across the street.

“You’re joking.”

“Not even a little bit.”

“Is this the vodka?”

Maybe. But only a little bit. What it is one more checklist item to cross off.
One more mark of teen rebellion and living life without consequences that I
never got.

“No,” I shake my head. “No, this is all me.”

“You’re sure?”

I nod as I turn to look at him, feeling very sober, and more sure than I’ve ever
been about anything.
“Positive.”

His lips curl. “Well what are we waiting for?”

His arm circles around my waist, pulling my hip against his as we cross the
street.

To the tattoo parlor.

 24

MY SHOULDER FUCKING HURTS .

Even with my jacket off of that side of me—even with just the thin, gauzy
material of the Versace gown against it though the bandage, it aches horribly.

And yet, I’m grinning as we step out of the elevator back into the penthouse.

“Okay, we’re back. Show me.”

The lord of the land himself grunts the command like an order. It only makes
me grin even wider.

A month or so ago, I might have jumped to follow a command like that from
this man. Now, it just makes my pulse thud with excitement, and my heart
beat a little faster. Now it makes me smile.

Now he just makes me smile.

I turn to taunt him a little with a sly grin.

“So bossy—”

“Show me the fucking tattoo already,” he mutters.

My lips curl devilishly. He’s grumpy because he has no idea what I got.
Which, admittedly, is cheating. We both walked into that tattoo shop with
every intention of both of us getting something. Konstantin went first,
because I was nervous. And I sat with him, watching the way he closed his
eyes in a zen-like manner, his face neutral and painless.

I got to watch as the bearded tattooist inked the words across a blank spot on
his forearm that made my heart skip and my lips smile.

Too young to hold on, and too old to break free and run.

It’s a line from “Lover, You Should Have Come Over,” the Jeff Buckley
song that just became my favorite song of all time as of today.

But when it was my turn, I told him he couldn’t come in the room with me.
And watching the battle between him being furious and him trying to not be
such a tyrant play out on his face was intense.

In the end, he only barely agreed so long as the tattooist was the heavily
inked female artists in the shop, not the guy. Which was a double win,
because she’s the one who’s portfolio I’d been pouring over when we first
walked in.

When it was done, and I gushed a thank you to her at how stunning the work
was, I got it bandaged up. Then I pulled the shoulder strap up my gown back
up over it, gingerly, and stepped out of the room to a pacing Konstantin.

Now, here we are: home, where I promised I’d show him what I got.

“You know, you should really learn some patience—”

“I have zero patience when it comes to you,” he growls thickly.

I shiver.

“So I’ve noticed.”

His lips purse, his eyes hooking into me.

“Well?”

“I don’t know why you’re so eager to see the Nike logo on my shoulder.”

His brow arches in bored amusement.

“Hilarious.”

“No, I’m just kidding.”

“Good, now show—”

“It’s a portrait of Elvis.”

He growls deep in his throat, making me grin as I twirl away from him and
saunter down the hall towards the living area. Konstantin’s heavy steps
following me make my pulse thud and my skin tingle with need.

But it’s so. Much. Fun teasing him and drawing this out like this.

“Goddamnit, Mara,” he grunts as we step into the dark living room. “Show
me the fucking—”

“Do you really play the piano?” I turn, smiling innocently before I nod at the
grand piano across the room.

His brow furrows deeply in frustration. But he sighs.

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. My mother liked when I played, so I took classical training for
like, ten years.”

My brows shoot up.

“Okay, we’ve been here this long and you’re just now telling me you can
play? And well?”

“And?”

I laugh. “Well!? Play me something!”

His lips curl.

“Show me the tattoo.”

“Play for me.”

His mouth thins in frustration.

“Show.”

“Play,” I tease, mimicking his deep voice.

He growls lowly.

“Fine,” he grunts, glaring at me as he strides past me to the piano. He yanks

his jacket off and tosses it aside. He unclips his holster, draping it and the gun
it contains over the back of a chair. Then he sits down at the bench and cracks
his knuckles.

“Fine, I’ll play something. But when it’s over, you’re showing me that
fucking ink if I have to rip that goddamn gown off of you to see it.”

I shiver, aching at the thought.

“Okay, deal. But if it’s chopsticks, I’m going to feel pretty cheat—”

His fingers begin to dance over the keys, and everything stills. Because when
they do, the sound he creates is stunning. My eyes bulge, mouth hanging
open in shock as I watch his hands dance over the keys.

Konstantin isn’t playing the piano. He’s painting in sound.

I walk slowly across the dark living room, lit only by the lights of Moscow
outside. I stand by the wall of glass, arms crossed as I watch him in awe. The
piece is one of Chopin’s Nocturnes, I think. It’s vaguely ringing a bell from
the few years I haphazardly hacked away at piano lessons before discovering
running.

But I’ve never once heard it sound so beautiful. I’ve never once had it dance
through my very veins, and tease across my skin.

I bite my lip, blushing. Because as I stare at his fingers, and at his muscled
and inked forearms rippling as he does, I realize watching Konstantin play
the piano is outrageously hot.

His shoulders tense and coil. His jaw grinds, his face grim and tight, as if he’s
fighting against the gorgeously delicate sounds he’s creating.

My skin tingles, nipples hardening against the cups of the gown. My thighs
clench, and I tremble as I feel the aching pull of need deep in my core.
Slowly, still watching him, I push the shoulders of the gown down over my
arms, wincing only a little as the right one slips over my bandaged tattoo.

I peel the dress down over my hips, and then let it fall, just as Konstantin
finishes the Chopin piece.

“Now,” he growls quietly in the darkened room. “I’m going to turn around.
And if you don’t show me that fucking tattoo, I’m going to cut that fucking
dress off—”

His mouth halts as he turns. His gun-metal grays swirl like liquid mercury as
he drinks in every inch of me, slowly. He stands, and I shiver despite the heat
of the room as he moves towards me.

“Trying to distract me?” He purrs thickly.

I shake my head.
“Trying to tempt you, actually.”

“You never have to try with that,” he growls as he steps towards me.

I tremble, my nipples aching hard, my thighs slick with need for him.

“But I’m still going to see that tattoo now.”

I drag my teeth over my bottom lip, nodding as I slowly turn away from him.
I shiver as I feel him draw closer, and I reach back to pull the tape off the side
of the bandage. Gingerly, I peel it down, until I pluck it away from my skin.

I tense, biting my lip hard as I wait for his reaction. When he’s silent, I wince
and turn to look at him with concern.

“Oh, God, you hate—”

“It’s fucking perfect.”

I blink, realizing he’s staring at the tattoo in awe, his eyes locked on the
words etched across my skin.

My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder.

“It’s fucking perfect,” he chokes.

He leans closer, and I tense.

“Does it hurt?” he murmurs gently.

I swallow, looking at him over my shoulder, naked and almost pressed

against the glass.

“A little. It—Konstantin—!”

Without warning, he leans close, and his lips press to the skin just to the side
of the tattoo. I hiss, gasping as pain lances through me. Until suddenly, the
wet, silken touch of his lips ignites a flame in me that surges to the surface.
He sucks at the tender skin, making me wince again before the pleasure melts
through me.

“Konstantin…”

“It feels good when I kiss the pain, doesn’t it?”

I nod, biting back a moan when he does it again. My legs quiver, and the
throb between them pulses with aching need. My hands press against the
glass wall in front of me, and my face crumples with pleasure as I press my
cheek to it as well.

“It shouldn’t,” he growls. “But it does.”

He sucks a little harder at the tattoo, and the moan comes raw from my throat.
His hand slides down my hip, then over my ass, making me shiver with
anticipation. When he slides it between my legs from behind, I whimper as
his fingers push through my slickness.

Konstantin groans as he sinks two fingers into me. His thumb brushes my
clit, making me cry out. And then suddenly, he sucks my skin again.

I whine in pleasure and pain, aching for more of both as his lips and tongue
dance across the tender, raw skin.

His palm comes down with a sharp spank against my ass. I moan, pushing
back into him. But then his mouth sucks just to the side of the tattoo again,
making me gasp. I’m still reeling from that—and he’s still fingering my
dripping wet pussy—when he spanks me again.

Spank, suck. Spank, suck. And the whole time, his fingers are curling against
my g-spot while his thumb rubs my clit.

I start to come undone.

His hands fall away from me. I whine in frustration before I hear the sound of
his clothes hitting the ground. When he moves back into me, his mouth
instantly drops to the tattoo again.

Pleasure and pain drag me back into the abyss as his knee spreads my eager
thighs. I whimper when I feel his thick cock ease against my slit. His hand
grips my hip firmly, and he groans as he starts to drive into me.

“Yesss…” I hiss, clawing at the glass and fogging it with my moans. His
muscles coil against me as he pushes deeper and deeper… and deeper. My
eyes roll back, pleasure overwhelming me as his gorgeous, thick cock fills
me to the brim.

He groans against the nape of my neck, his muscles flexing against me. His
one hand stays on my hip, and the other snakes around and up my front to
cup my breasts. He pinches a nipple between his thumb and forefinger just as
his mouth drops back to the tattoo. I cry out in the heady mix of ecstasy and
agony, crumpling into him as my body starts tremble.

His hips slam into me, his abs against my ass. His groans rumble across my
skin, his fingers digging into me. His cock plunges into me, hitting the
perfect places so exquisitely. The world blurs around me, and I beg him for it
harder, and deeper.

Konstantin hisses against my ear as his hand slides up to tangle in the hair at
the back of my neck. His other one snakes down to roll a finger over my clit
as he pounds his cock deep into me over and over.

I let go. I cry out, and I can feel my body begin to detonate and come apart at
the seams. I open my eyes, about to turn my head to kiss him as I come. But
just then, suddenly, with the lights outside and the darkness in here, I catch
our reflections in the glass in front of me.

Something’s off.
Something’s wrong.

Reality shifts, blinking and glitching as if there are two frames of a photo
overlaid, both trying to be the one on top.

First, I see what I know I see: me, my mouth open, my eyes half shut, with
Konstantin behind me, his face twisted in grim pleasure.

But then, I see something else. Something under the surface.

I see me, the same way, but different. I see myself as if looking at a
reflection.

Or a picture.

My mouth is open, my eyes half shut. But it’s… different. I’m not moaning
in pleasure.

I’m screaming.

There’s no opulent apartment around me. There’s dirt, and gravel. And blood.

Wait. Stop. Something is wrong.

I see Konstantin, too. But he’s not grimacing in pleasure as he plunges into
me. He’s yelling something. He’s angry.

There’s a gun in his hand.

Oh God.

I want to scream. I want to explode. I want to fall through the glass and make
this all go away. But instead, ignoring my mind, my body begins to clench
and explode.

No… no, no, no…

The orgasm shatters in me, wrenching me apart as I cry out, even as the
realities glitch and flicker in front of me. And as I explode, suddenly, the
final piece clicks into place.

The piece my mind erased when I was attacked back in Odessa.

And suddenly, I remember.

This isn’t a glitch. I’m not going crazy. This is a memory.

And when it all hits me, it feels like I’m going to break in two. I’m still
coming on Konstantin’s cock, but at the same time, I’m remembering the
phone with the glittery case.

The pictures of breakfast.

The pictures of me, dying.

With the man currently making me come for him—the man I’ve fallen for—
standing behind my bleeding body with a gun in his hand.

The final orgasm detonates through me like a bomb. I’m choking and
gasping, trembling in the aftershocks before suddenly, I’m whirling and
shoving him away from me.

“Mara—”

“Get away!”

His face hardens, his brow furrowing deeply.

“Hold on, what—”

“Don’t you fucking touch me,” I hiss, backing away from him. I fumble back,
flailing my hand until I find what I’m looking for.

“Mara, stop, what the fuck is happening—”

His eyes narrow as I whip my hand around, leveling the gun I’ve just yanked
out of his holster at his chest.

His mouth thins. And suddenly, I know.

I know.

I’m not crazy. I’m not remembering this wrong. I know what happened. And
I suddenly understand that he knows too.

“Mara, stop. Let’s talk—”

“We’re not going to talk,” I croak, my voice like broken glass as I steel
myself, teeth bared.

“Throw me my dress.”

He inhales slowly.

“Put the fucking gun—”

“Now, Konstantin!”

His jaw grits, but he reaches down, his eyes never leaving mine. He grabs the
dress and holds it out.

“Throw it.”

It lands at my feet. I keep the gun on him, my pulse thudding so loudly in my

ears I can barely think.

All I know is, I need to get out of here. I need to get away.

I need to run from the man who tried to kill me four years ago, and who has
just spent the last three months making me fall in love with him.

I yank the dress up, haphazardly tugging it up and over my breasts, hooking
the straps over my shoulders. I back away from him, towards the hallway to
the front door, plucking up my coat along the way.

“Mara, stop it,” he snarls. “Stop, let me fucking explain—”

“No,” I shake my head, numb.

Numb to the world. Numb to him.

“Don’t follow me.”

I turn and bolt down the hall to the elevator. It opens, but as I step inside, I
hear footsteps racing after me.

“Mara!”

I whirl, stopping him halfway down the hallway as I raise the gun. I punch
the button for the lobby, and the doors start to close as our eyes lock.

“Stay the fuck away from me, Konstantin.”

The doors shut with a clank, and the world begins to crumble around me.
 25

I T ’ S NOT the first time I’ve had a gun pointed at me. But it’s the first time
since I was sixteen that coming face to face with that has made me feel fear.

Not fear for myself, even though the safety was very much off when Mara
just leveled the Glock at my chest.

Fear for her, and this thing she and I have. Fear that everything I’ve tried to
move past and put behind me—all the time I’ve spent ripping myself open to
rewire and rebuild myself with her—has been for nothing.

And when I watch the doors close between us, and see that rage in her eyes
blink out of sight, I know.

We’ve come to the place I never wanted to go with her. The point of no
return. The place where the past, though dead and dying, uses its last ounce
of life to tap it’s finger against the dead-man’s switch.

The elevator dings, and I snarl, whirling to run back naked through the
penthouse to my clothes, and my phone.

Which isn’t there.

Fuck, she’s smart. She’s taken that, along with my gun. I hiss as I yank my
pants on and bolt up the stairs to my office. Inside, I rip open drawers until I
find one of my burners and power it on with a snarl on my face.

The second it’s lit up, I’m mashing Gavan’s number. I know he’s downstairs,
and I know I trust no one else but him to stop her without hurting her.

Or touching her at all more than he absolutely needs to.

But his phone rings and rings before going to voicemail. I call him three more
times before I switch tracks, and call Fedor, the top ranking guy aside from
Gavan downstairs.

“Boss—!”

“In a second, the elevator is going to open, and a girl with a gun is going to
—”

“She’s gone, Konstantin!”

My vision narrows, tunneling to dark points as my teeth grind.

“She fucking what.”

“Not thirty seconds ago! She came out smiling. Gavan turned to ask her what
was going on, and she pulled a fucking gun on him!”

Fuck. Fuck.

“What the fuck do you mean she’s gone?!”

“She took Gavan’s car, and Gavan. She had the gun on him as he drove—”

“Get everyone,” I hiss, bolting barefoot and shirtless for the elevator. When it
opens, I jam the lobby button before it starts to drop.

“What do you mean, every—”

“I mean get everyone!”

The doors open, and I swarm out of the elevator like a hurricane. Like a
plague upon the earth. My men outside give me odd looks, being barefoot
and shirtless. But no one says shit.

“Keys,” I snarl as I bolt past Fedor.

He tosses me the key fob for the matte black Range Rover parked at the curb
as I jump behind the wheel. The engine roars as I turn to him.

“Find them. And Fedor?”

“Da, boss—”

“No one fucking touches her. If anyone hurts her, I’ll cut their fucking head
off.”

He nods grimly. “You have my word.”

I roar away from the curb, hammering my thumb on Vadim’s number.

“Konstantin, I just heard—”

“I need to find them, now,” I hiss.

My foot grinds the gas pedal into the floor, sending the SUV barreling
recklessly through the streets of Moscow.

“Vadim, she has a gun on—”

“I know,” he grunts quietly. “Gavan will be okay. I’m going to call one of our
tech people to triangulate his phone. In the meantime, I’m going to have
people fan out to the highways out of the city, the trains stations, Pushkin
Airport…”

He clears his throat.

“Konstantin—”

“Don’t ask me what happened,” I warn.

“I’ll call you when I hear something.”

He hangs up. I drop the phone into the passenger seat and grit my teeth, my
eyes unblinking and narrowed as I track traffic ahead of me while I weave
and dodge through it like a maniac.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not like this, at least.

The truth was always going to come out at some point. I just wasn’t ready for
it.

I wasn’t ready to lose her.

Ten minutes of me losing my fucking mind and almost killing about a dozen
pedestrians later, my phone rings.

Vadim.

“Tell me you fucking found—”

“She’s at the airport—not Pushkin International, Vnukovo.”

The private jetport for the city’s rich and elite. Cars honk, and pedestrians
scatter as I yank the wheel to the side, almost tipping the fucking SUV before
I gun the engine and roar off towards the other side of the city.

“Ground the fucking jet!”

“It’s done,” he says tensely. “Konstantin—”

“She’s not gonna hurt Gavan, Vadim,” I grunt. “She’s not.”

T HE GUARDS at the gate see me coming a half mile away. For a second, I see
them start to draw guns and lower the barricade to the airfield. But then I spot
Fedor, who’s beaten me here, running at them, waving his arms.

The guns go down. The gate goes up.

Yeah, they know what the fuck Reznikov means in this city.

I blast past them, tires screeching as I skid to a stop next to my jet. A few of
my men are already there, in standoff positions behind car doors, guns drawn.

“Put your fucking weapons away,” I hiss.

One of them glances at me questioningly. My eyes narrow.

“If I have to repeat myself—”

Eight sidearms lower as Fedor sprints over.

“Boss,” he pants, sweating from the run across the runaway.

“They’re inside?”

He nods. “Da. The pilots and the stewardess were on board and are
barricaded inside the cockpit. She’s not leaving. But she has a gun, and Mr.
Tsarenko—”

“Got it.”

I turn, teeth grinding as I eye the open door to the jet at the top of the wheeled
staircase.

“Keep those guns down.”

I start to walk up the stairs.

“Boss—!”
“Keep them down, Fedor.”

I walk slowly up the stairs, pausing at the doorway.

“Whoever that is, if you come in, I’ll fucking shoot!” Mara yells from inside.

I pause, lips thinning. She’s not going to shoot. Well, she’s not going to shoot
Gavan as a hostage.

Jury might still be out on if she’d shoot me.

“Yesli ty voydesh' vnutr', ya budu strelyat’!” Mara belts out, mirroring her
earlier warning in slightly off Russian.

I draw in a breath, set my jaw, and step into the jet. When I turn to the right,
our eyes lock, and her breath intakes sharply. Her blue eyes whirl and churn
like a stormy sea, her lips curling in fury at me.

“You,” she chokes.

My eyes dart to Gavan, who’s standing slightly in front of her, with her—my
—gun being pressed against his side.

“Mara—”

“Get out!” She suddenly screams—her voice both furious and panicked.
Fearful.

I hate that she fears me.

“Mara, listen to me—”

“I’ll never fucking listen to you again,” she hisses, tears rimming her eyes.

“Mara—”

“I said get out!”

Her hand yanks up, pointing the gun at me. Christ, her whole fucking arm is
shaking, her body trembling as she tries not to hitch her breath.

But she’s pointing it at me.

She’s pointing it at me, not Gavan.

I step towards them, and she flinches. Suddenly, the gun starts to pull back
towards Gavan.

“No,” I growl quietly, shaking my head. “No, keep it on me. At me, Mara.”

“Gladly,” she snaps.

The shaky hand holding the shaky gun far too tightly swings back to me. I
glance at Gavan again, nodding slightly. He swallows, nodding back. Like
me, this isn’t the first time someone’s had a gun on him.

But Mara’s on the verge of unhinged. She’s manic, and I doubt she has any
experience whatsoever with firearms.

The worry isn’t that she’ll snap into a rage and murder Gavan. It’s that she’ll
flinch again and accidentally paint the ceiling with his fucking head.

Or mine, for that matter.

“Mara, listen to what I’m saying.”

“Like fucking hell—”

“You know me. You know the real me, and you know who I—”

“I know you’re a fucking liar!”

My jaw tenses. I nod.

“Yes.”
She glares at me.

“And I know you’re a fucking psychopath!”

“There’s probably some truth to that.”

“I know you… I know…” her eyes blaze, a swirling fury of pain, fear, and
hatred that cuts into me like a blade.

“I know you—”

“Think,” I hiss, stepping closer to them. “I need you to think, because I need
you to remember—”

“I remember just fine—!”

“Do you?!” I snap.

She flinches, and my breath chokes as the gun barrel waives dangerously
over me.

“You remember that day, huh?” I hiss through gritted teeth. “You remember
everything that happened all of a sudden?”

Tears rim her eyes as she slowly shakes her head.

“Fuck you,” she chokes, her chest hitching. “Fuck you for everything you did
to me—”

“So that’s a no?!” I snarl, stepping even closer, until I’m almost right in front
of them.

“That’s a no on remembering how that day played out?!”

A tear rolls down her cheek, breaking my heart.

“I… you…” she sobs quietly. “The picture…”

I grab the front of Gavan’s shirt and yank him behind me, shoving him back
towards the door.

“Kon—”

“Get out.”

I don’t turn away from her. But I hear him move to the door and then step
outside. Then, it’s just Mara, me, and the ghosts of the past trying to rip us
apart.

“You motherfucker,” she hisses through the tears burning down her face. Her
face crumples in pain and fury, her lips twisting as the gun waves in my face.

“I remember,” I grunt thickly. “I remember fucking everything.”

She sobs, her fingers twitching around the stock of the gun.

“You know me, Mara,” I hiss. “I know you fucking know me. So look at me.”

Her eyes start to squeeze shut.

“Look at me!” I roar.

She chokes, sucking back the tears as her eyes snap to mine.

“Look at me, and ask yourself—really, really fucking ask yourself—if you
can imagine me trying to kill you.”

His throat clenches as she swallows.

“If it’s a no? Then put down the gun. But if you think it’s a yes?” My mouth
thins. “Well, if it’s a yes, then you’d better fucking shoot me right now.”

Her eyes still, locking on mine.

I reach out, and my fingers wrap around the barrel of the gun. She tenses,
clenching it tighter. But then her face goes white as I step right into her and
pull the gun to press the barrel right against my throat.

“If it’s a yes, pull that fucking trigger,” I hiss.

Our eyes fuse, crashing together—furious blue ocean slamming into the gray
rocky shore.

And suddenly, her hands fall from the gun. In one motion, I safety it, toss it
to the side, and catch her as she collapses into me.

She sobs, clenching at my shirt and then beating my chest with her fists as I
hold her tight.

So fucking tight.

We don’t say a word as I reach down and slip my arms under her back and
under the backs of her knees. I effortlessly scoop her up, letting her numb
face turn into my chest.

At the door to the jet, Gavan is right outside on the first step.

“Get them all out of here,” I growl quietly.

He nods, glancing at Mara with a small smile. No anger. No vengeance for

sticking a gun in his face. It’s like he understands her. His eyes swivel back
to mine. I nod, and he nods back. Then he turns and walks down the stairs,
barking orders.

He and the men outside pile into the other cars before driving off a distance.
When Mara and I finally walk down the stairs to my Range Rover, we’re
alone.

And silent.

She almost goes limp, in a sort of catatonic state as I slip her into the
passenger seat and buckle her in. She stares straight ahead, not saying a word
as we drive back to the penthouse.

But the silence for now is fine. Because in a minute, there’s going to be so
fucking much to say.
 26

HE’S GOING to kill me.

It’s the first thought that sinks into my heart the second I realize I’ve let him
take the gun from me.

Because that’s what he does to me: disarm me. That’s what he always does to
me, with words crafted to sink like blades under my skin. With hands built
for tearing down my walls, and lips perfectly formed to kiss, suck, and bite
their way into my most inner sanctum.

Until my guard drops. Until my defenses are gone.

Until he’s flayed me bare to plunder the remains.

I even somehow, insanely, want to twist this on myself. I want to call myself
crazy—that I’ve concocted all of this in my head, connected the wrong dots
the wrong way. That I’m putting the pieces back together upside down and
sideways, or from two entirely different puzzles.

And when he takes the gun from me, and I let him, I might actually be crazy.

I’ve just given a loaded gun to the man who tried to kill me. And at that
point, I go numb. When he carries me from the plane, I just let go. I go limp.
Because there’s nothing left to do.

Fight him? He always wins.

Shoot him? I wish I could. I think I wish I could. But I know I’m not capable
of that, even if the gun was still in my hand.

I stare straight ahead, unblinking and frozen as we drive through the city back
to the penthouse. I can see Konstantin turning here and there to let those gun-
metal grays stab into me. But me not turning to look at him isn’t a defense, or
a cold shoulder.

It’s just that I’m incapable of doing anything but stare straight ahead, as if
I’m being led down the hall to the electric chair.

To my doom.

To my final undoing, after months of this man slowly unraveling me in every

possible way.

Part of me wants to stop fighting what is clearly an eventuality and just let it
happen. All roads lead to Reznikov. No matter what path I chose, I would
have ended up here anyway, back in his clutches.

Maybe because I’m wired this way, to be forever drawn to his darkness—to
be sucked into his void of absolute power.

But more likely, because he would have always willed this outcome. And
Konstantin’s will is as useless to fight as gravity itself.

At his building, the car comes to a stop. There are guards waiting outside,
between the car and the front door, but no one comes near us. It’s Konstantin
that walks around, opens my door, and undoes my seatbelt.

I hate that I shiver when his hands touch me—that my core tightens and
pulses with an aching need when his fingers brush over me as he undoes the
seatbelt. I know I should fight this as he scoops me into his arms and turns to
the building.

But, he’s gravity. He’s a black hole, sucking in the very light of the sun itself.

There’s no fighting that.

He doesn’t let me go, even in the elevator. He just stabs those eyes straight
ahead, his face lined and grim, and his arms holding me tightly. The doors
open. I turn away from looking at the penthouse, because it feels like a
finality.

Like this time, now that I’m back in this beautiful prison, I’m never leaving it
again.

Wordlessly, he carries me through the dark and opulent penthouse, into the
living area with the twinkling lights of Moscow laid out before it. But he
doesn’t stop there. We climb the stairs, but instead of heading down the hall
to the left that leads to the master suite, or straight ahead to the other guest
rooms, entertainment room, and his office, we turn to the right, down a small
little hallway that ends in a dark black door.

My heart thuds. Dread chills me veins as we come to a stop in front of the

door. And when he sets me on my feet in front of it, facing it, it suddenly
hammers home.

This is it. This is the end.

I’ve spent months piecing my life back together. But I know now that the
fragments he passed me and showed where to glue back weren’t real.

They were beautiful lies. They were Konstantin cutting his way inside of me
—tightening the strings, and pulling them how he wished. Distracting me.
Captivating me. Insidiously feeding into my need for boundaries, and to feel
connected.
For months, I’ve wound myself up tighter and tighter in him. Until I’ve
somehow, insanely, decided that what I felt for him was real.

And now, he’s going to kill me.

“I’m going to show you something.”

They’re the first words we’ve spoken since the plane, and they rasp over me
with a vicious power. All I can do is swallow, not even nodding my head as I
stare at the door.

He reaches past me, putting a key in the lock, and then turning it with a sharp
and heavy clicking sound. He twists the knob, and my breath sucks in, ready
for the horrors beyond. Maybe a torture room. Maybe some kind of psycho
Dexter-style kill-room.

Or maybe just a dark abyss where no one will find me.

He’s fucked with my head and had my body, and now he’s going to finish
what he tried to do four years—

The door swings open, the light clicks on, and I falter.

It’s a library. No chains. No torture devices, or body bags. No weapons. It’s

just a small library, or more like a reading nook.

The world is still as my eyes drink in the small little desk to one side, and the
soft, cozy looking high-backed chair in the far corner. A large bookshelf
spans one of the walls, filled with paperbacks and hardcovers.

“What…” I swallow. “What is this?”

Konstantin says nothing. Shivering, I slowly turn to glance at him over my

shoulder. The stormy, mercurial gray swirling in his eyes is more intense and
more volatile than anything I’ve ever seen in him before. I tremble,
swallowing before I drag my eyes away to look back at the room.
Slowly, I step inside.

Konstantin stays silently by the door. But I step carefully across the room, my
eyes drinking it all in.

The room almost looks like it belongs to a child. Or, at least a teenager much
younger than us. There are comic books in a stack on the corner of the desk.
Next to them, a notepad that looks like someone was trying to write lines of
poetry across it.

My eyes stop on a framed black and white photo on the wall—a young boy
who’s clearly Konstantin, grinning in pure happiness as he’s hugged from
behind by a beautiful woman with the same dark hair and gorgeous gun-
metal gray eyes as the boy she’s holding.

It’s his mother.

A lump forms in my throat, but I can’t linger on it. I don’t know what this
place is, but I know I need to drink it all in.

My eyes move past it, across the wall where there are more pictures. A young
Konstantin and another boy who might be Gavan, at a football game. Another
one of them dressed in ridiculously now-outdated fashion from years ago, at
maybe age twelve, throwing up rock-n-roll devil-horn hands and sticking
their tongues out.

There’s a map, with push-pins, like places visited: London, Paris, Phuket,
New York, Tokyo, Sydney, Buenos Aires, São Paulo, Milan, Rome,
Athens…

I smile at the Jeff Buckley poster, and next to it, a small collage of older
posters of classic movies —Star Wars, Shawshank Redemption, The Royal
Tenenbaums, Mulholland Drive, Citizen Kane, The Silence of the Lambs.
And a whole host of movies I absolutely adore, too: The Princess Bride, Fear
and Loathing in Las Vegas, Pulp Fiction, Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo and Juliet.

I glance back at Konstantin. His eyes are still stormy and intensely focused
on me. I shiver as I turn away, my eyes going back to scanning the room.

More framed pictures. More posters. A mounted fish on a plaque.

I walk quietly over to the bookshelf against the wall. My eyes start to scan
the spines of the books, before suddenly, I freeze.

The entire middle shelf is Shakespeare.

Every play. Every collection. Multiple editions. Almost all of them well-read,
and stuffed with bookmarks and colored post-it notes.

I swallow as I glance back at him, chewing on my lip.

“You read Shakespeare?”

“Yes.”

I turn back, trembling. My fingers slide over the books until they stop at an
especially old, frail looking leather-bound copy of Romeo and Juliet, off to
the side on its own on a little display on the shelf.

I reach for it, but I hesitate, as if waiting for him to tell me not to touch it, or
to leave it. When he says nothing, I lift the book from its little display, and
gingerly open the cover.

My eyes bulge at the name hand-written in ink across the top of the first
page: Franco Zeffirelli, the director of the famous 1968 version of Romeo and
Juliet.

I start to smile, realizing I’m holding his copy of Romeo and Juliet. When
suddenly, something glitches.

Something’s wrong.
Someone’s been shot.

The world seems to slow and dim around me, the thudding of my heart
growing louder and louder until it’s all I know. My eyes blink, my mouth
falling open as I slowly turn to trace my gaze over the walls again.

The posters. The fish—a bass. The shelves full of Shakespeare.

A clarity I’ve been both searching for and dreading.

A reality that’s suddenly so real it feels like it’s mocking me for not seeing it
right in front of my face.

Oh my God…

My chest tightens coldly. My eyes drop back to the book open in my hands.
There’s something else written in it—down beneath the title on that first
page. Handwritten, in the same style as the lines of poetry across the notepad
on the desk behind me.

Something written I can’t see, because my eyes are blurred. Because my heart
is racing so fast it feels like it might explode. Because my head is swimming
as the truth I’ve both wanted to see and wanted to run from comes exploding
to the surface.

I reach up, shaking as I wipe the tears from the corners of my eyes, and let
them read the words written across the page.

Alas that love, so gentle in his view,

Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof.

To Mara, with all of me.

My world splits in two, rendered into shattered pieces as the sob rips from my
throat. I choke, the book falling deftly from my cold, numb fingers. I start to
fall, before my hand juts out, gripping the shelf in front of me as I suck in air.

“Mara—”

“You lied to me.”

My words feel like a blade, slicing through the air. My eyes are narrowed in
fury, lips twisted in horror. I suck in another heavy breath of air, trying to
ignore the aching pain in my center, like I’ve just been punched.

Or shot. Again.

“Yes.”

The roaring in my ears intensifies, deafening me, blinding me as I suck in air

and whirl to stare at him.

Fury. Pain. Need. Want. The aching hunger or answers. The wrenching fear
of never wanting to know this truth.

Questions explode through my head, shaking me to my core before I squeeze

my eyes shut and violently shake my head. My fingers stab up through my
lavender hair, shoving it back as I choke on reality itself, and a truth I’ve
always known, even if I buried it.

Kontantin is Romeo.

Romeo is Konstantin.

The world and reality itself glitches as I stagger back, clutching at the shelf
behind me to steady myself. I draw in ragged, choked breaths as I slowly
drag my eyes up to his.

“You lied to me.”

He nods, his mouth thin. His eyes a swirling vortex of gray pain.
“I did.”

“You fucking lied to me!” I roar, hissing as I jab a finger at him.

His shoulder tense, his chest rising and falling with his breath as the very air
crackles between us.

“To fuck me?!” I snarl, feeling sick, and cold. “Is that why!? I called you out
for being Romeo—who you fucking were—and you lied to my fucking
face!!”

He says nothing, his eyes narrowing as his jaw grinds.

“Just to fucking screw me?!” I balk. “Is that it?! That’s your sick, fucking
twisted little—”

“You didn’t love me.”

His words rumble quietly in the small room. His eyes ignite with gray fire.

“And I was young, and foolish, and hurt. So I made a me you would love. I
made the me I wanted to be, but couldn’t.”

I slowly shake my head, tears stinging the corners of my eyes.

“Why?” I croak. “Why would you—”

“Because I love you.”

The words slam into me, fingers reaching into my chest to squeeze my heart
tightly. My mouth falls open, pulse thudding in my ears as I stare at him.

“You…” my head slowly shakes, my eyes never leaving his as they narrow.

“You shot me.”

His brow wrinkles, his face darkening.

“That’s what you remember?”

“That’s what I saw,” I choke.

“Mara—”

“I saw you, Konstantin.”

My words are brittle, frail, even though I want them to be angry. I want them
be a fury that rains down on him. Not a sadness that flays me open.

“On my old phone. Bagan sent it to me, and there were pictures on it from
that day, in Krasnova Garden. Pictures of me falling, dropping my phone,
with blood everywhere.”

His face twists and contorts, his lips pulling back viciously.

“With you, standing behind me,” I whisper in a strangled voice, staring at

him. “With a gun in your hand.”

My head slowly shakes, and a single tear trickles down my face from the
corner of a blurred, wounded eye.

“That’s why I ran back to Odessa,” I blurt. “I was looking for answers. And
now?” I choke on a sob, my head still slowly shaking as my heart breaks in
two.

“Now you’re standing here, saying that?”

I start to cry openly, sobbing. Konstantin’s face crumples. He moves towards

me, but I choke out another sob, putting a hand up.

“No,” I whisper, sucking in poisonous air.

“No. You can’t say that. You don’t get to say that to me.”

“I have to—”
“No!” I bark, trembling as I back away from him, my eyes wet and furious.

“You don’t get to tell me you love me after trying to kill me!” I scream. “You
never get to say—”

“Sit.”

He barks the order, and I stiffen.

“What?”

“Sit,” he thunders, snarling as he points to the chair in the corner.

I swallow.

“You’re not listening—”

“It’s your turn to listen.”

I gasp as he grabs my arms, pushing me gently but firmly back until my legs
hit the edge of the cozy chair. I tumble back, falling into it as he looms over
me. I glare defiantly up at him.

“What now?” I hiss through clenched teeth. “Going to finish what you—”

“Are you done?” he snaps.

I glare at him.

“I’m going to tell you everything,” he growls quietly.

“More words,” I sneer. “More lies to try to and twist me up so that I forget
how you almost killed—”

“I didn’t almost kill you, Mara,” he says coldly.

He lowers down, until he’s eye level with me, his gun-metal grays piercing
me like ice as he grips the arms of the chair.
“Actually, it was the opposite.”
 27

I STARE AT HIM , still numb. Still reeling.

“I—what? I—”

My eyes narrow.

“Fuck you,” I hiss, my voice broken. “No more fucking games, Konstantin.
No more lies—”

“You don’t remember.” His eyes narrow at me. “I know you don’t
remember.”

I sneer at him. “What the hell are you saying—”

“Stop talking.”

He swallows, his mouth thins, nostrils flaring. The tattoo ink on his neck
ripples as he tenses his jaw.

“It started with Romeo.”

“You mean your lie—”

“Yes,” he snarls, his eyes narrowing. “I lied, Mara,” he hisses. “I lied because
I loved you.”
Even now. Even with what I’ve just been slammed with. Even with the tears
in my eyes and the icy claws of betrayal sinking into me… he says those
words, and I fucking melt. My heart surges, taking my breath away.

Arresting every part of me until I realize I’m staring into his eyes.

Mine narrow as I yank myself out of that trap.

“I fucking loved you so much it hurt. But I knew how you saw me. I knew
what you saw me as.”

“I know what I see you as—”

“You saw the villain,” he snaps. “You saw the monster in training; heir to a
mad king. You saw a cruel, cold, calculating boy who scared you.”

My lips thin.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he growls quietly.

I swallow, chewing my lip.

“Exactly.”

“So you made up a pretend you?”

His eyes narrow.

“Yes. And no. As Romeo, I could be everything you wanted. I could be the
me you’d want, and love back—”

“You mean you could lie—”

“I mean I could shed the chains and the bullshit staking me and branding me
forever as the next of kin to a man I hated,” he snarls quietly. “I could be the
me I wanted to be.”

He smiles a cold, twisted smile.

“Do you want to know what my father did when he found me reading Romeo
and fucking Juliet? Do you want to know what Antin fucking Reznikov, mad
king of the brutal Reznikov Bratva did when he found his son and heir
reading goddamn sonnets?”

I shiver.

“He threw it in the fire, broke my nose, and told me no son of his would grow
up, and I quote, ‘to be a cock-sucking queen.’ His eyes narrow lethally. “I
was eleven.”

My stomach churns, bile rising in my throat. I’m reminded that Antin and
Semyon for all their bitterness and rivalries, were at times friends. They went
to the same hellish secret society to commit the sort of heinous acts that
almost broke Lukas.

“My mother…”

His eyes narrow.

“This room we’re in. It was an old servant’s quarters, and she had it walled
off, with a hidden door behind a bookcase, where the door now stands. She
gave me a place I could be me, in secret. Where I could read what I wanted to
read. Write what I wanted.”

Konstantin swallows, his eyes swirling dark gray as they bore into mine.

“Where I could escape to talk to CapriciousCapulet.”

My heart wrenches.

“You mean where you could lie to her—”

“No,” he snarls. “No. Where I could be me with her. Where I could drop the
violence and the fury, and the constant sickness and cancer of my father’s
wrath.”
“But you still lied to meet me,” I say quietly. “Konstantin, pain or not, the
circumstances don’t matter. You lied to me…”

“Yes. I did.”

“And we…” I look down.

“I can’t remember that day… just those pictures.”

I raise my eyes.

“Those fucking pictures you saw are not the story,” he growls thickly.

“So tell me.”

His mouth thins.

“This will hurt.”

“Nothing hurts me.”

“Remember you said that.”

I swallow.

“We’re them, you know,” Konstantin murmurs, pain lancing across his face
as he looks into my eyes.

“Montague and Capulet. Two houses, both alive in indignity. In chaos and
violence. In bloodshed. I’m my father’s son, and you’re Semyon’s daughter.
So I don’t know if you even knew—”

“Knew what?”

His jaw sets, eyes narrowing.

“That it was all a setup. That day, I mean. I don’t mean you pulled the
trigger, but you were the bait, Mara.”
I stare at him.

“Semyon knew you were talking to Romeo online, somehow. And he knew it
was me—his rival’s son. They were at odds at the time, and he knew you
were meeting me in that garden, and that I was coming alone.”

I look down.

“I really was in Greece. Antin was cementing a business treaty with the local
mafia that ran the port of Athens. He brought me to show me how business
was done. How great a man he was,” he sneers.

“But I left. I snuck away, took the jet, and flew to Odessa.”

Konstantin breathes quietly, dragging his eyes back to mine.

“Your father let you go that day, because you were bait—knowing or
unknowing. He used you, Mara, to have his rival’s heir killed.”

My face starts to crumple, anguish ripping at me.

“Antin found out I’d left Athens. He tracked the plane and sent some of our
people to chase me down.”

I open my mouth, then close it. There’s a question I’ve wanted to know the
answer to for months—before Konstantin, and OHA. When I was still laying
in a hospital bed in London, re-discovering my past by way of emails from a
boy named Romeo.

But I’m scared to know. I’m scared of remembering.

But I have to.

“Did we meet?”

His eyes close. And my heart stabs a little as he nods.

“Yes. I was standing there, my back to you when you walked in. I turned,
and…”

He smiles a thin, sad smile.

“You were so angry,” he murmurs, his lips curling. “Christ, you were so
fucking angry when you saw it was me.”

The tears start to fall hot down my cheeks, my heart wrenching as my soul
starts to fragment.

“But you saw me, Mara.”

My mind flashes. My breath chokes suddenly, gasping, my eyes wide as I go

reeling backwards into the chair. Synapses fire, neurons flashing and
sparking in my scarred, broken head.

And suddenly, my face twisting in pain and horror, the missing piece clicks
into place.

The curtain gets pulled back.

The blanks get filled.

And I remember.

The heavy wooden door clicks shut behind me. I swallow, heart racing as I
turn to step past the manicured trees and flower beds into the center of the
walled Krasnova Garden. I gasp, my heart climbing into my throat as I see
the silhouette of him, his back to me, holding something wrapped in paper
and a bow in his hand.

“Romeo?”

I see his shoulders stiffen, and then slowly, he turns. He turns, and he steps
out of the shadows, and my world careens sideways off the tracks.
“No…” I choke when I see him. “No… no, no, no.”

“I am who I am. Just as you’re who you are,” he says quietly. “I can’t
change that, just like I can’t change you.”

He steps closer, and my pulse thuds My skin tingles. My feet move me

forward, taking over for me.

“This is me, Mara,” he hisses. “This is the real me.”

“You… you knew who I was?”

I’m staring at his dark gray eyes—gray like the color of metal. Or swirling
mercury.

“What if I wasn’t me,” he growls thickly.

“What if you weren’t you. And what if I was just someone who loves you,
with all that I am, and all that I wish I was.”

I’m crying, but I start to laugh. My heart begins to shatter, but in wonderful,
exquisite, explosive ways, igniting me from the inside out as the tears fall
down my cheeks. He reaches up, cupping my face and brushing them away
with a thumb.

“I love you,” I whisper.

“I know.”

He lowers his mouth, butterflies exploding in my stomach. Chemicals roaring

through my veins like napalm. Our lips sear together, and I fall… down,
down, down.

Lost in him.

Two houses, both alike in dignity.

A rose by any other name.

A tale of woe.

We get one kiss, and then everything falls apart.

Gunfire explodes outside the garden, ripping us away from each other as we
whirl. I remember Konstantin pushing me behind him, hissing as he snarls at
the door. There are men screaming from outside the garden, and the pops
and bangs of the gunfire crescendos.

The door slams open, and a man I don’t recognize staggers in, bleeding from
holes peppered across his chest. I choke on a scream as he staggers towards
us. But he collapses dead to the ground by our feet, his gun skittering across
the gravel.

Konstantin grabs me, pulling me towards the back wall of the garden as I
yank my phone out, to call for help.

And then all I know is white light and pain.

I feel the sting of something hitting the back of my head. I see the world go
sideways, blurring as I start to fall.

I can vaguely see the shape of a man storming in through the garden door. I
see him raise his arm at me, holding something.

Konstantin is roaring the word “no”, over and over. My eyes swivel, and
through the hot copper sting of red in my eyes, I see him yank the gun of the
fallen man off the ground. He raises it, blasting it over me. A man roars in
pain.

I turn back in time to watch the shadow fall and go still.

“MARA!”
“MARA!”

Konstantin is screaming my name from behind me as I stare ahead blankly at

the blood pooling around me. The phone in my limp hand, and my own blank,
deathly face staring back at me as it all goes dim and cold.

Someone’s been shot.

Someone’s dying.

Me.
 28

W HEN SHE BLINKS BACK to me, her face wrenches. My heart twists and splits
as I watch the visceral agony of that memory shattering her as she starts to
sob.

It’s the same visceral pain I feel.

“Antin’s men who were tracking me found Semyon’s men about to storm that
garden to kill me.”

My voice feels far away. Like it’s still trapped back there, watching her fade
from me.

“I was trying to pull you towards the back wall when one of Antin’s men I
didn’t know charged in shooting. You went down—”

I choke, my eyes glassy and my blood cold.

“You went down, and I just snapped when he charged you with the gun to
finish it off. I didn’t care who he was—that I didn’t know him, but knew he
was one of Antin’s men. I just grabbed the gun off the ground and started
blasting him to hell. And then…”

I swallow, my eyes locking with hers.

“Then I watched you die.”

My mind flashes, playing out the horrifying moments when I realized she
was being taken from me, when I’d only just gotten her. The way her eyes
rolled back, the way the blood just kept pooling under her.

Antin’s men rushing in, stepping right over the guy I shot like it was nothing.
And grabbing me.

“No,” I snarled at them, fighting to get back to her side.

“We need to go, Konstantin!” One roared as two others grabbed my arms and
yanked me towards the door.

“No! Get the fuck off—”

“The police and half the Belsky fucking army are a street away,” the man
boomed in my face. “We are leaving, now.”

I remember looking back, my heart ripping in two as I watched her lying

there, taken from me.

“Get the fuck off of me!!” I roared. “She’s hurt—!”

“She set you up, kid.”

One of the men yanking me away just stares at me grimly, the truth all over
his face.

“She fucking set you up, boy.”

I go numb, turning to stare at her body with fury, hatred, and heartache as I
let them drag me to waiting van.

There’s the rest, of course.

There’s the fact that the violence didn’t end that day. An eye for an eye.
Blood to stain out the blood from before.

But she doesn’t need that. I know she doesn’t need that, because I know,
without hesitation, that I was lied to—the day they pulled me away from
Mara’s body and told me she’d done this to me. And then the day my mother
was killed, when my father said the same thing.

Lies. It’s all been lies.

She didn’t set me up. She wasn’t Semyon’s willing bait.

She was a pawn, just like me.

So she doesn’t need to know about my mother. She does need to know that
two years later, Semyon had my mother brutally attacked and killed, and then
called it payback for putting his daughter in a coma—the daughter he’d sent,
to bait me into a trap.

The one that sprung on her, instead, in the most cruelly unfair twist of irony I
can imagine.

Mara is sobbing. I reach for her, to brush the tears away—to steal away this
pain. But she flinches, her eyes flashing as she sinks back in the chair away
from me.

“But it was all lies,” she chokes.

My jaw grinds, pain seeping through my soul.

“No—”

“You lied to me to make me fall in love with—”

“I would do anything for your love!” I snarl viciously. “Anything!” I hiss,

grabbing her arms as a madness overtakes me.
“I would kill for you. I would cheat. I would lie, steal, destroy, burn down
fucking kingdoms for your love.”

She chokes, her eyes wide as they fall into mine.

“I’d torch the world to get to you, Mara,” I rasp like a whispered, broken
prayer.

The room stills. She shivers, and her hand extends slowly, her fingers
slipping into mine. Her other hand reaches for my face, cupping my jaw as
her face crumples.

“Konstantin—”

“It was always you.”

She chokes, shaking as her eyes plead with me.

“Love me.”

“I always have.”

My mouth slams to hers, muffling her cries, drowning in her moans.

Putting the pieces back together.

For good.

So I’ll wait for you, love.

And I’ll burn.

Will I ever see your sweet return?

Oh, will I ever learn?

Lover, you should’ve come over.

‘Cause it’s not too late…

 29

I’ M CRYING as his lips sear to mine. But it’s not pain. It’s not heartache. It’s
not my undoing as I unravel at the seams.

It’s putting things back together. It’s remembering.

And suddenly, truly, I remember it all.

I remember the way my heart wrenched when it was him that turned around
in that garden, this gun-metal gray eyes igniting my insides. I remember the
way he held me so possessively and yet so gently. I remember the taste of his
lips.

But mostly, I remember knowing—knowing, in every single corner of my

body and soul—that this was it. That with him, I was both lost and found at
the same time—swirling together in a rush that stole my breath and stopped
my heart.

And I know now, that’s what’s kept me drawn to him these last few months.
It’s not his threats. It’s not that he was this tyrant I was afraid of.

It’s that the heart remembers what the mind might forget.

And I know I’m never going to forget any of this, ever again.
My hands grip him tightly, yanking him into me like this might all evaporate
like a fever dream. I moan into him, his tongue seeking mine as I whimper
and crush my lips to his. He groans into me, his hand skimming up my arms
to grip my shoulders tightly, pinning me to the chair as he devours my mouth.

His fingers slip under the straps of the gown I’m still wearing. He pulls them
down my shoulders, letting the dress peel down my body until I feel warm air
against my nipples. I slip out of the dress, but then my hands instantly go
back to him, cupping his face as I whimper for more against his lips.

Konstantin groans, his muscles flexing as he peels the dress down further.
My ass lifts, my body shivering as he drags it over my hips and then pulls
away from my mouth to peel it the rest of the way down my legs.

His hands skim up my legs, making me tremble, and then moan as his lips
kiss one of my calves. His mouth draws higher—moving faster and faster as
he groans deeper, and my whimpers grow higher.

Powerful hands spread my legs open, and I choke on a gasp as he nips and
then sucks hard at my inner thigh. He groans, dragging his teeth over my soft
skin as I cry out, my hands falling to tangle my fingers in his hair.

His tongue drags over my slit, and I moan deeply, my hips bucking to push
against him. Konstantin growls into me, the sound rumbling deep in my core
as his tongue plunges into me. He hums against my pussy as his tongue slips
higher to curl around my clit, making me cry out.

But suddenly, I’m whining as he pulls away.

“Wait—”

“Turn around.”

I shiver, my eyes opening to lock with his.

“Turn around, Mara.”

I shiver, my teeth raking over my lip as I twist in the chair and turn onto my
knees. I blush, feeling his eyes drag over my ass, down between my legs to
where he can see all of me.

His palm slaps down hard against my ass, and I moan wildly as I cry out.

“You’re mine,” he groans thickly.

His hand spanks the other cheek, and I whimper, teeth sinking into my lip.

“This,” he snarls, sliding a hand up to cup my slick, eager pussy and drag a
thumb between my lips.

“This is mine.”

His thumb keeps rolling my clit, making my eyes roll back. His hand spanks
down across my ass again, dragging a moan from my throat.

“And this.”

His hand moves aside, and suddenly it’s this tongue dragging through my
folds, dancing over my cit. He growls into me, spanking one cheek and then
other, making me scream in pleasure as I push my ass back against his
demanding tongue.

“All of you is mine, Mara. Now, then, forever.”

His lips hum over my clit, sucking on the aching nub hard as his tongue
swirls around it. His hand caresses my ass tenderly before suddenly giving it
a sharp spank.

Then again. And again as I cry out into the chair.

And then suddenly, I’m exploding for him.

The orgasm wrenches though me, shattering me as I moan deeply. My body
shudders and detonates for him, coating his tongue with my slickness. He
groans, his mouth lingering on my slit as I whimper for more.

Which he gives.

Slowly, he drags his tongue up my seam, and then over my ass, making me
gasp as pleasure melts into me. His tongue and lips keep going, sucking and
licking and nibbling up every single bump in my spine, his big hands firmly
keeping me bent over for him.

I haven’t been aware of him taking his pants off. But they’re gone, and I
know that when I feel the hot, swollen head of his bare cock slip between my
lips.

“All of you is—”

“So take what’s your—”

“Fucking gladly.”

He rams his cock into me, making me choke as pleasure explodes through
every inch of me. His thickness spreads me wide open, plunging so fucking
deliciously deep that my toes curl.

His hands pin me there, bent over against the chair, grabbing my hips as his
cock saws out and then back into me. Konstantin groans, pumping harder and
faster making me claw at the chair as I beg for more.

Aching for him. Wanting all of him. Wanting him to fuck me until all I know
is the feeling of us joined like this, forever.

He grinds deep, making my legs shake and my breath rasp before he slowly
slips out of me. His hands move over me, and I turn into him, crushing my
mouth to his. I whimper as I taste myself on his tongue, needing more of him.
I slink back into the chair, my legs spring wide, my hands grabbing his hips
as he guides his cock back into me.

“More,” I choke, pulling at his hips as he growls and rams into me hard. He
grips my thigh with one hand, pounding into me as the other one slides up
front. His fingers tease over my nipples, pinching them and making me cry
out before his hand slides higher to wrap around my throat.

I jolt, reaching for him and entwining my fingers with his as our eyes lock.

“More,” I moan.

Our bodies slam together, grinding and surging until there’s no turning back.
Until the fire catches and detonates.

His mouth slams to mine, and suddenly, I’m exploding for him. My walls
ripple and clench around his huge cock, the cry of ecstasy erupting from my
core to tumble out of my lips and into his.

Konstantin groans as he buries himself, throbbing and pulsing as his hot cum
spills deep inside of me. I wrap myself around him, dragging my nails over
his skin and gripping him, keeping him there.

Needing him there.

And he knows it.

His arms circle me, holding me tightly as he kisses me slow and deep. We
sink together, both of us knowing we’ve just hit the reset button.

It’s not the beginning of us.

But it’s the beginning of the new beginning. And we’re only getting started.
 30

“I CAN ’ T WAIT to see you tomorrow!”

I grin as Lizbet squeals into the phone.

It’s Thursday night, and she and Lukas are flying to Moscow tomorrow right
after morning classes, putting them here in time for dinner.

And I’m so freaking excited to see them, I could burst.

“We’re going to have so much fun!” I grin.

I glance over to where Konstantin is sitting across the couch from me,
reading a book.

“So much, fun,” I say pointedly, smirking at his sullen face.

He wrinkles his nose, but then he grins.

“Okay, fine, we’ll have fun,” he grunts under his breath.

I giggle and needle him with a toe, yelping when he grabs my foot and tries
to tug me over into him.

“Oh, and I hope this isn’t odd, but… Grigori wants to come, too.”
I beam.

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah, Lukas and I took a night out to go to that French place in downtown
Heathington, and he walked by, so I mentioned we were coming to visit
you.”

She laughs.

“He wanted to be extra clear that he completely understands if it’s a no. But
he’s got business in Moscow or something and was going to fly commercial
this weekend anyway. So, we invited him to hitch a ride with us tomorrow. Is
that okay?”

“Yes!” I scream, grinning from ear to ear.

Konstantin frowns, glancing up at me questioningly.

“Komarov knock your sister up or something?”

I roll my eyes, sticking my tongue out at him as I playfully kick at his hip.

“No,” I giggle, holding the phone away. “Grigori wants to come visit too. Is
that okay?”

His brows knit.

“Who the fuck is Grigori?”

I hold up a finger and turn back to the phone.

“Of course he can come! That’ll be so much fun!”

She sighs. “How come I never got a personal bodyguard like you got
Grigori?”
I grin. “You should have taken up running. Remember? I got him assigned to
me because he used to hold the sprinting and distance running records in
Special Forces boot camp.”

“Whatever. That is so unfair.”

I laugh. “And you did have a bodyguard! He was just…”

She groans.

“Ugh, Boris. He was the worst. He was gross, and he stank like cheap cigars.
I got the short straw on that one.”

We both laugh, and then Lizbet sighs.

“Okay, I’ve gotta run.”

“Call me when you’re in the air?”

“I will!” She squeals again. “Oh my God, this is going to be amazing. Can’t’
wait to see you!”

“I can’t wait to see you too!”

When I hang up, Konstantin is still frowning.

“What?”

“Who’s Grigori?”

I grin slyly, detecting the hint of jealousy.

“Oh, no one. Just my Special Forces ex-boyfriend.”

He arches a brow. I smirk as I hold my hands about a foot apart

“Huge di—”

“I know you’re joking, but don’t even fucking finish that sentence.”
I grin. “Jealous?”

“No.”

I shriek when he grabs me and suddenly yanks me onto his lap, making me
gasp as I feel the hard, thick bulge against my pussy.

“But this Grigori fucker sure is going to be when I’m done with you.”

A S IT TURNS OUT , though he does take them up on the flight to Moscow,

Grigori can’t actually make it to dinner. The company he’s working for has a
last minute systems test he needs to be present for. So he texts me about
doing lunch the next day instead.

But just under twenty-four hours after Lizbet and I’s phone call, I’m barreling
down the hallway and launching into her arms as she steps out of the
elevator.

“Yes!” I scream. “You’re here!”

I hug her fiercely, and then jump into Lukas’s arms, ignoring the icy stare
that one gets from Konstantin.

When I pull away, Lizbet and Lukas turn to face the tyrant himself.

Lizbet smiles first.

“Thanks for having us. I know it might not have been easy to—”

“Hey, Belsky?” Konstantin grunts.

He steps forward, eyes me, and then smiles a wry, crooked smile.

“I’m glad you guys came.”

She grins as she suddenly hugs him tightly, ignoring equally scowling looks
from Lukas this time. When she pulls away though, he and Konstantin square
off for one second before Lukas sighs.

“We good?”

Konstantin shrugs.

“We were always good, Komarov.” He smirks. “Believe me, there’d be no

question about it if we weren’t.”

Lukas grins and sticks his hand out. Konstantin takes it and they shake
firmly.

“Wow, great, tensions laid to rest, treaty signed,” Lizbet sighs. “Can we open
wine now?”

Lukas grins as he slips an arm around her. I hang back with Konstantin as my
sister and her husband lead down the hall.

“Now was that so hard?” I giggle quietly, leaning up to kiss his lips.

“I’m going to be taking it out on your ass later,” he growls deviously.

“Good.”

D INNER IS INCREDIBLE . I’m fully aware it’s Konstantin showing off—aimed

at Lukas, most likely. But I’m not going to complain when he has food from
Moscow’s top 3-star Michelin restaurant, Svin’ya, delivered directly from the
restaurant, along with one of its sous chefs who plates it in the penthouse
kitchen.
The wine flows—at least for the three of them; I’m good after my one foray
into drinking—and the laughter fills the apartment. I show Lizbet my tattoo,
and she freaks the hell out before she starts gushing about how beautiful it is.

“So,” Konstantin finally grunts, leaning back in his chair next to me as he

eyes Lizbet.

“Who’s this Grigori.”

She snorts. “Oh, just Mara’s ex-boy—”

She snorts and starts laughing when she sees me rolling my eyes and burying
my face in my hands.

“The more I keep hearing this joke, the more I think I might have to go find
this motherfucker and shove him in front of a bus.”

Lukas grins. “Might be that the bus is the one not walking away after that.
He’s a goddamn tank.”

My sister giggles. “He’s Mara’s old personal bodyguard. He was assigned to

her when we were like ten, all the way up until…”

She looks down quickly, her lips thinning.

“He was at Krasnova Garden that day,” I say quietly, half-turning towards
Konstantin.

His face darkens. “And he lived?”

I nod. “Just he and I. He got shot through the shoulder and was presumed
dead because he lost a lot of blood from it. Same as me.”

His face darkens, and he flinches slightly when I mention that day. Like even
remembering that memory rips him right back there.
I haven’t mentioned all of the new information I’ve learned about that day to
Lizbet. And I might not ever. There’s no need to, really. What happened that
day is the past, and rehashing the why, or the decisions and hatred that led to
what happened to both of us isn’t going to change anything.

Putting it behind us and looking to the future, though, will.

“And now he’s this big fancy security expert living in Heathington.”

Konstantin frowns.

“He lives in Heathington?”

Lizbet smirks. “To be near this one, because he hasn’t gotten the memo that
he’s not her bodyguard anymore.”

I roll my eyes.

“He’s my friend, okay? I think it’s sweet that he moved close by to Oxford
Hills.”

Konstantin grumbles next to me. I blush, realizing the jealousy—however

unfounded or however much he’s playing it up on purpose—is strangely
really hot. I chew on my lip as I slip my hand under the table to find his next
to me, squeezing tightly.

Lukas chuckles. “I don’t think the posh, uptight residents of Heathington feel
the same way, considering their new neighbor is a six and half foot tall
former Bratva gunman covered in mafia tattoos and facial scars.”

Konstantin smirks. I roll my eyes.

“It’s one scar on the side of his face, c’mon. And besides, he got it rescuing
puppies from a car crash.”

Lizbet manages to keep the grin in check for about half a second.
“I’m sorry, what?”

“His scar! He got it when he found this car crash on the side of the road with
all of these puppies still in—”

“How old were you when he told you that?”

I scowl. “Ten. So?”

Lukas clears his throat.

“And he was Special Forces?”

“Yeah?”

He grins and shakes his head.

“Oh you sweet summer child.”

Konstantin, Lukas, and my sister crack up.

“Oh fuck you all.”

“Hey, speaking of Oxford Hills…” Lizbet eyes me.

“Is this about Grigori?”

She sighs. “No, school. Are you ever coming back?”

I frown, my lip twisting as I shrug.

“To be determined.”

“You should,” she says pointedly. “You’re smart, and a degree from OHA is
an amazing thing to have.”

Lukas nods. “I agree. Look, money aside—I mean it’s not as if anyone at this
table needs a pedigreed degree to go out and find a job. We’ve all got more
money than we’ll ever know what to do with, and thrones waiting for us with
our names on them. But the prestige a degree from OHA brings opens a lot of
doors.”

I shrug, reaching for my water.

“Well, maybe I just prefer closed doors. Makes me feel safer.”

Lukas smiles wryly, and my sister rolls her eyes.

“I think you should finish, too.”

I arch a brow as I turn at Konstantin’s words.

“What?”

“You should graduate, get the fucking degree. She’s right; you’re smart. And
so is Komarov. It opens a lot of opportunities.”

“That why you enrolled?” I tease.

Konstantin smiles hungrily, his eyes sparking as they bore into mine.

“Amongst other reasons.”

I shiver, heat throbbing through my veins as he squeezes my hand

possessively

“Well, we’ll see. I’ve missed a lot.”

He shrugs. “So test out of everything, take the finals, and then you can walk
away.”

My brow furrows. “I don’t know if they allow for—”

“I’ll pull some strings.”

My eyes narrow a little at him.

“No, no bribes. No threats, no pulling strings for me. If I do this, it’ll be on
me.”

Konstantin’s lips curl in the corners, and I see something glinting in his eyes.
Pride, maybe?

“I mean pulling strings as in making them aware of the very much

extenuating circumstances surrounding your time at OHA. I’m sure, given
your previous tests and work so far, that they can grant a little runway in
allowing you to test into the finals. Especially since their own security failed
in stopping a would-be assassination,” he growls thickly, rage lacing his
words.

My frown melts into a grin.

“Well, maybe I just like it here better?”

“Maybe I’ll have to evict you.”

Lizbet snorts a laugh. Konstantin grins at me, his hand squeezing mine on his
thigh.

“Fine,” I smile flippantly. “I’ll just move in with Grigo—”

“I’m going to fucking gut this guy.”

The table erupts into laughter as I drop my head to Konstantin’s shoulder, our
fingers entwined.

The past is the past, and it’s going to stay there. We’ve both got scars from it,
but we’re here.

We’re us.

And that’s not going anywhere.

 31

I SCOWL FURIOUSLY when the phone buzzes next to me. Not because of who it
is. But because it’s pulling my attention away from the open bathroom
doorway, where Mara is currently facing away from me, bent deliciously
over the tub to test the water temperature.

Her ass is bright red with my palm prints, and even from here, I can see the
glistening white of my cum dripping down her inner thigh.

I smile darkly.

Now this is a sight and the sort of morning I could get very used to. And
have, actually.

The phone rattles again, and I grit my teeth as I yank it to my ear.

“What is it, Vadim?”

“You’re needed.”

I stiffen, eyes narrowing. “What?”

In the bathroom, thankfully, given that this sounds like a call I actually need
to take, Mara slips into the sudsy water of the tub, hiding herself from my
hungry eyes.
“It’s Dima,” Vadim sighs with exasperation.

“Does he have complaints about his accommodations?”

My second in command chuckles darkly.

“No, but he has words. And he says he’ll only speak them to you.”

I frown. “What sort of words?”

“That I don’t know. But, given that Dima has become quite used to sleeping
with women a third his age, on silk sheets, after stuffing his gut with good
food and drink over the last couple of decades?” He grunts. “I’m going to
guess, yes, it has something to do with being chained to a chair in a
windowless room for the last week. That and him probably having an idea as
to his own imminent fate.”

“Yeah, well, mutiny and treason have consequences.”

Fuck around and find out, Dima.

“Which I would happily carry out right here and right now,” Vadim grunts
thinly.

I’m tempted to give that to him. But curiosity is prickling my ears.

“What do you think?”

He sighs. “I think he’s a self-saving bastard who’s at rock bottom right now,
and he knows it.”

“He’s not getting out of shit,” I growl.

“Nor should he.”

My lips thin.

“But he doesn’t need to know that, now does he.”

“Meaning?

“Meaning,” I grunt. “Desperate men say and do desperate things, Vadim.

You never know what he might say.”

He’s silent for a second.

“He might be using this to try and get under your skin.”

“I’m not scared of a little shit like Dima, Vadim. I’ll be fine. Where are you?”

He sighs. “Our warehouse in Krasnoselsky district. Need me to text you the

add—”

“I know where it is. I’m on my way.”

“Konstantin—”

“I’m a big boy, Vadim,” I grunt. “Nothing he can say is going to hurt or scare
me. I’ll see you soon.”

I drop the phone onto the bed as I watch Mara step out of the tub and wrap
herself in a towel. She turns, padding into the bedroom before she realizes
I’m staring at her hungrily. Instantly, her face burns pink as she sinks her
teeth into her bottom lip.

“What?”

“You,” I growl. I crook my finger, beckoning her to the bed.

Mara groans. “I would—”

“So do.”

She blushes, grinning.

“I have to get ready for lunch.”

And truth be told, I need to get going myself. I’m actually curious about what
Dima has to say, as much as I’d much rather stay here fucking Mara into the
goddamn mattress. But there’s no such thing as a quicky with her and I.

“With Grigori,” I grunt.

She rolls her eyes. “Stop.”

“Stop what.”

She grins as she saunters over into the walk-in closet.

“Your jealousy, even when you’re just giving me a hard time, is extremely
attractive.”

“You know, giving the enemy your secrets is generally a bad idea.”

She grins as she walks out in panties and a blouse and pads over to the bed.
She leans over me, bending low to kiss me.

“So we’re enemies now?”

“Perhaps we should arrange a truce.”

Her eyes spark with hunger.

“And what would that entail?”

“You, on your back, with your ankles by your ears.”

Her eyes bulge. I do enjoy shocking and scandalizing her like this. Even if
it’s hardly scandalizing if I know damn well she’s as eager for the filthy
things I say to her as I am.

“I think I could be persuaded to come to the negotiating table,” she purrs in a

husky, needy tone.

I sigh. “But I have to run.”

She stares at me, slowly shaking her head as her lips curl.

“You ass.”

I grin, slipping out of bed, smirking as her eyes snap like magnets to my bare,
thick cock.

“And you have lunch with dear Grigori.”

She sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed as she pulls stockings on, followed
by a skirt. I slip into a dark, casual suit and step out of the closet.

“Which you’re still not too happy about, I can see.”

My brow arches, a smile teasing my mouth as I step close to her.

“The thing you should know about me,” I growl. “Is that when it comes to
you, I have a bit of a jealous streak.”

She giggles. “Oh? Just a bit of one?”

My brow cocks.

“Well,” Mara grins. “You know you have nothing to worry about, right?”

“Obviously.”

She laughs, rolling her eyes.

“Grigori is like an uncle to me.”

“And you trust him with your life?”

“Yes,” she answers without any hesitation, which I latch on to.

If Mara trusts him implicitly? Well, I don’t know if that means I do, too. But
it’s a step in the right direction. Even if I don’t relish the idea of her meeting
a man I don’t know for lunch—however platonic their relationship was when
she was younger.

It’s not that I don’t trust this Grigori. It’s that I don’t trust the devil inside
every man. The sort of devil that comes prowling hungrily in the company of
an absolutely stunning young woman like Mara.

“Konstantin, being with Grigori is the safest I could be in this city.

Anywhere, actually.”

I sigh. “Fine, go have lunch.”

“He acquiesces, despite her not asking for permission,” she teases back.

I grin as I yank her close and kiss her fiercely.

“I love you, you know,” she murmurs quietly.

My lips curl. My pulse thuds hard in my ears.

“I love you, too.”

 32

G RIGORI ’ S PLAN is to pick Mara up here, at my building. Trust is trust. But

trust is also earned. I make sure five of my men are going to be here to greet
him, with one specifically assigned escort him upstairs, and then escort them
both back down on their way to lunch.

That taken care of in advance, I slide into the backseat of my car, and I’m off
to Krasnoselsky, to see what Dima the traitor has to say.

Vadim looks up as I step into the room outside of the windowless cell that
was once a meat freezer, where we’ve been keeping Dima.

“Shall we hear what this piece of shit has to say?”

Vadim’s brows knit.

“Kostantin, I think someone else should do—”

“I need you to stop worrying about me,” I growl.

He frowns. “That’s my job.”

I grin at him as I pat him on the shoulder. “Go take a drive. I’ll speak to him
alone.”
He opens his mouth, but I shake my head.

“That’s what they call an order, Vadim.”

He scowls. “Fine.”

Then his brows furrow.

“Don’t let him try and fuck with your head—”

“Goodbye, Vadim.”

When he’s finally gone, I turn to the two men standing guard, and nod. They
unlock the big chain holding the former meat freezer shut and pull the door
open. My eyes land on the grizzled looking, silver-haired fuck sitting in the
dark inside, handcuffed to the hard metal chair he sits on.

“Dima, my friend. How are you finding your stay with us here at the Four
Seasons, Moscow?”

His lips curl into a sneer as I step into the room and flick on the single
hanging bulb hanging from the ceiling. The men close and lock the door, as
instructed, behind me.

“Ahh, the prodigal son,” he rasps.

“In the flesh. Now what the fuck did you want to tell me?”

I’m already bored of this. I’m already ready to walk out when he inevitably
dangles some piece of non-information in front of me, or promises me
money, or whatever. It won’t matter.

Dima Pavlishchev isn’t leaving this meat closet alive. Period.

“How is your little whore?”

I stiffen, my eyes narrowing. But I don’t humor him with a response, nor do I
let him know how close he’s just pushed me into breaking his face against the
wall.

“Was there actually something so pressing that you needed me to come here
to tell me? Because I can promise you, Dima,” I snarl. “Wasting my fucking
time or talking ill of her is not going to improve your chances.”

He snorts. “My chances. Please, Konstantin. I made my play, just as you did
when you had your own fucking father killed by disloyal little bastards like
yourself and Vadim. So, don’t bullshit me. We both know I’m not ever
leaving this room.”

I shrug. “How long it takes you to leave it, and at what level of pain and
misery is still up for discussion.”

He swallows. I smile widely.

“So?”

“If you want to kill me, little prince, go ahead and kill me.”

I growl, my teeth grinding as I turn to leave.

“But I guess the truth dies with me, da?”

I stiffen, eyes narrowing to slits as I pause. Goddamnit.

I don’t want to, but I turn anyway. It’s like he’s found a little thread, and he’s
tugging at it. And I can’t seem to just walk the fuck away.

“Fine,” I hiss quietly. “Fine, we’ll play this fucking game. What is it, Dima?
What is it you’re not telling me?”

He grins. “There is so much I am not telling you, little prince,” he chuckles.

“There is just so much of the past you simply don’t know. And now?” He
smiles. “Now you never will.”

“Well, that’s too bad. Oh well,” I mutter dryly.

I turn to leave again.

“Tell me… how was it when you heard that your little whore was the bait that
almost killed you that day?”

I stiffen, eyes narrowing. Dima chuckles to himself.

“Ahhh, now how do I know about that?” He snickers as I turn to level my

gaze at him.

“Maybe Vadim told me, no?”

He chuckles.

“But, no. No, of course not. Not that little Boy Scout Vadim. He’s too loyal.”

“The Bratva is loyalty,” I snarl. “Which is exactly why you’re the one in this
room, and I’m the one leaving you here to die.”

“Wrong,” he snaps. “The Bratva is a fucking game, where we all play to

win.”

“Oh? Well, in that case too, it seems you’ve lost, Dima.”

His lips curl dangerously.

“Have I?”

My eyes narrow. He starts to laugh.

“Ahh, my little prince. So naïve. Still not seeing the full picture at all.”

“Goodbye, Dima.”

“He knew all about your silly little pen pal games,” he spits.
I stiffen, my jaw ticking.

“Your father, I mean,” he sneers. “About you and the Belsky girl. Pathetic,”
he slurs. “The son of a man like that, sending poetry, making little jokes?
With some Belsky bitch?! Pining away like a little girl, instead of going out
and fucking, like a man!”

He sneers at me in disgust.

“Antin even vouched for you to come visit the club with him.”

My blood turns to ice.

“Montenegro,” I spit coldly, my voice quiet.

“Da, yes!” He grins. “Crna Kuça. You know I myself used to accompany
your father there from time to time.”

“Then you truly deserve to die alone in a dark pit in the ground,” I snarl.

“You know why he brought you that day? To make a fucking man of you!”
He snaps. “To let you taste blood, and maybe your first taste of a woman or a
girl.”

Bile rises in my throat.

“Perhaps my tastes didn’t involve carving out my sense of morality and

leaving it at the door.”

Dima rolls his eyes.

“That place was a house of horrors for psychopaths like Antin,” I snarl.

“That place was a hall of kings!” he roars back. “And leaving your mortality
at the door is what is required to be the kind of leader your father was!”

“I will never be the kind of man my father was,” I hiss thinly.

“Finally, we can agree on something! You will never be the great man your
father—”

“Great men,” I snarl, “Don’t—”

“Great men do what is necessary!” Dima barks at me.

His smile thins as we glare at each other.

“You still think I’ve called you here to lord things over you?” He chuckles
darkly. “No, Konstantin. I’m going to tell you everything. I’m going to leave
you crying like a little bitch over the ashes of your life before I die here.
That’s my last gift to you.”

My eyes are unblinking when they lock with his.

“Nothing you can say to me is going to make me lose one single wink of
sleep—”

“Antin had your mother fucked like a cheap whore and then killed.”

The world itself seems to glitch and short-circuit in my head. A fury as bold
and as destructive as a hurricane slams into me, wrenching me in two. I whirl,
blind, shoving my fingers through my hair as my lips pull back in a vicious
snarl.

And yet, I keep it inside. I don’t explode, like I know he wants me to.

Deep down, buried so far down in my soul I forgot it was there, is the fact
that this is a truth I’ve at least entertained before.

When I’ve forced myself to dig deep, and try and truly swallow the
magnitude of my father’s evil—with his association with that vile club. With
the way he treated me, and my mother, and literally anyone around him.
Deep down, I’ve always known it was him. I’ve just never wanted to accept it
as reality.

I’m angry. I’m so fucking angry. At the world. At those men. At myself for
running. And at my father, for not being angry enough.

He’s not. Fucking. Angry. Enough.

“Did you miss your mamma, little boy?”

My heart stops for a second, my vision darkening to slits as I remember that

night—the night my father found out my mother was brutally assaulted by a
group of men, who then shot her in the head.

In front of me.

And he wasn’t fucking mad. Not at them. He was mad at me.

“Oooh, now why do I get the impression I don’t need to force you to accept
that as truth?” Dima chuckles quietly behind me.

I grind my teeth to dust as I slowly turn, a maniacal fury carved over my face.

He smiles broadly.

“You know it’s true, don’t you? But you want to know why, don’t—”

I pull back my jacket and slide my hand to the gun under my arm. Dima
grins.

“Go ahead, Konstantin. Shoot me, since you can’t shoot your father—”

My hand flies off the gun, backhanding Dima across the face. He hisses,
wincing as his head snaps to the side. When he glares back at me, blood
trickles from the corner of his mouth.
“Because your mother was a whore, Konstantin,” he sneers. “That’s why!
Because Antin found out that sixteen years before, your mother had cheated
on him. She bore a fucking son to another man! To Semyon fucking Belsky!”

The words slam into me like hot iron, shaking me to the core and burning my
flesh. My eyes narrow to slits at him, my fury barely contained, and the
thudding of my pulse in my ears like a cannon blasting away.

“Your lies won’t buy you any time—”

“Look in my eyes, Konstantin!” He roars. “Look at me! Look at me and know

that I’m not lying.”

His lips curl wickedly.

“She bore Semyon Belsky’s child, in secret, while your father was mostly
gone for business.”

My heart thuds over and over against my chest, my head swimming.

And then suddenly, there it is, dangling in front of me, like I swore wouldn’t
happen here.

A truth.

A horror that might be a blessing.

Oh my fucking God.

No. It’s not a blessing. It’s a damning curse.

It’s the end of everything.

Sixteen years before, your mother bore a fucking son to another man! To
Semyon fucking Belsky!

No.
Oh fuck me, no.

The implication of where my mind is running with this stabs me in the heart
over and over again. But right now, I have to swallow it and the bile roaring
up inside of me back down.

Push it down. Bury it. Bury it.

“This child…”

My voice is like ice as it rattles from my throat. My eyes swimming as they

try and focus on the fiend chained to the chair before me.

Dima’s brow furrows.

“The bastard? Fuck if I know. Dead, if your mother had half a fucking brain.”

I hate—loathe—how much relief that brings me in that instant.

It’s not me.

I am not Semyon fucking Belsky’s bastard son by way of assaulting my

mother. And to even more of a relief, I’m not Mara’s br—

“I was there, that night, you know. At the house, in Rye.”

His words rip me out of my own head. My throat closes up. My blood burns
like napalm in my veins, and there’s a churning bile in my gut that makes me
sway on my feet and turns my mind numb. I whirl, my chest fighting for air
as I lay my fist against the cold metal of the wall.

“You weren’t supposed to be there, of course. But I was.”

He chuckles horribly at my back.

“To get a piece of that bitch mother of yours. Antin’s gift.”

My mind snaps, like it’s being wrenched in a knot. I see pure red, and my
hand drop to the stock of the gun under my arm.

“Ahh, you know, we should have invited Vadim,” Dima chuckles. “He
always had such a little crush on her.”

He laughs.

My fingers tighten around the gun.

I need to get out. I need to remove myself from this room, because he’s doing
exactly what I swore he wouldn’t do.

Getting under my skin.

Fucking with me.

I can’t listen to this. I need to shoot him, leave, and get on living the life I’ve
finally built for myself, with the girl for whom I’d burn down the world.

But I can’t stop. I can’t look away, as if driving past a car wreck on the
highway.

“No pussy for Vadim that night,” he chuckles, making me flinch as the words
send a jolting glitch through my head.

“But, I was there,” he hisses. “And I saw you—”

“Time’s up,” I hiss, slowly turning to stab my eyes into his over my shoulder.

I won’t listen to this anymore. In all likelihood, it’s his last chance at making
me bleed, through lies, before he goes.

I won’t give him that.

“Goodbye, Dim—”

“You were in striped pajamas.”

My heart turns to ice. That’s it. There’s the fight in me, gone. There’s the
voice of dissent telling me this isn’t real or true going utterly silent as my
soul shatters, realizing the truth is already stabbing it.

“Like a little boy,” he laughs. “Blue and orange striped pajamas, looking like
you were about to cry seeing your whore mother like—”

I whirl as I yank the gun from my jacket, and smash it barrel-first into his
mouth. Dima screams as blood and teeth splatter and shatter from his ruined
mouth. My pulse thunders in my ears as I draw back the gun and cock it.

But through the blood and broken teeth, Dima is still laughing.

“Shoot me!” He blurts through the blood sputtering from his mouth.

“Shoot me, I don’t give a shit, Konstantin! Your empire won’t last. We’ve
already taken so much from you! First your mother, and now her; the Belksy
whore. Everything you touch and get close to will be fucking ash in your
hands, Konstantin! That’s what happens when you kill the rightful—!”

“What the fuck did you just say about her.”

There’s a ticking in my ear, like a clock, or the timer on a bomb, waiting to

explode.

First your mother. Now her.

I snarl as I grab the collar of his shirt and yank him hard, making him groan
and sputter blood.

“What the fuck did you—”

“I said Mara is dead, Konstantin” he sneers. “In fact, she might already be
dead.”

Our eyes lock, blood roaring in my ears as everything else fades away.
“You think I’m lying?” He hisses. “You sit there with that Belsky whore
acting as if she is your queen—”

“She is,” I snap ruthlessly. “And I know the past. I know it’s called the past
for a reason, and I know of all the cruelties my father and hers wrought on
this world. So we’re done here. I’m leaving—”

“And yet you still are blind to the truth of that day,” he snarls.

My lips curl.

“I don’t. Fucking. Care,” I hiss, smiling thinly.

“You’re not going to hurt me with this, Dima. Your last breaths, wasted on
threats, or lies, or rumors, or whatever that I don’t give a shit about. How
pathetic.”

Dima is still smiling that maniacal, bloodied, broken-toothed grin at me.

“I don’t care if she was the bait that day or not. If she played that part
knowingly or not. I do. Not. Fucking. Care. The past is dead and buried, just
like you’ll be soon—”

He starts to laugh, making me yank away as blood flecks sputter from his
lips.

“Her?” he barks, laughing horribly as blood oozes from his mouth.

“She wasn’t the bait that day—”

“I’m leaving—”

“You were.”

I stiffen, growing cold instantly. Dima starts to laugh as I swallow thickly.

“I told you Antin knew about you and her and your little chats, Konstantin,”
he sneers. “He knew about your love letters to the Belsky girl, and he used
that. If you wouldn’t step up to be the prince he needed you to be, he would
use you as a pawn as necessary.”

I blink, staggering backwards, my lungs closing again.

“It was you, Konstantin,” he sneers. “Antin used you to get to her. Not that he
needed you. But it saved him giving up his inside man.”

I freeze, a coldness slipping down my spine.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

He grins horrifically.

“Antin had a plant, little prince. A spy in the Belsky ranks.” He chuckles. “It
was so ironic that when you played the pawn, it was the one time you
actually made your father proud of you. Then of course you fucked that up
when you shot his mole.”

My vision swims. My head glitches and jolts, memories flashing back out of
the murk and fog of time. I stutter, trying to find the right place before I’m
back there in the garden, whirling as Mara drops to the ground behind me.

As the man who just clipped her with a bullet comes charging through the
doorway, gun raised to finish the job.

“Of course, you didn’t actually kill him.”

I jolt, my eyes bulging as I stare into him.

“Yes, I did.”

He smiles maniacally, blood dripping down his chin.

“He lived, to continue to do his job for his king. And when that king was
taken from us, he led us into the new age. That was Antin’s contingency, you
see,” he grins horribly at me. “Your father knew you’d never be king. Or that
you’d try and stab him in the back. Those of us on the inside knew that if he
were to fall, it was this other man, his mole, who would be our new leader.”

My pulse thuds. I peer into the mist of the memory, trying to shove aside the
fog and see him. I have to see him. I have to know him.

Huge shoulders. Dark hair. I snarl on his lips. And black eyes. No, dark blue.
Maybe gray. I stare, locked in the memory as he charges into the garden,
murder glinting in his eyes as he aims the gun at Mara.

I’m diving to the ground, fingers wrapping around the gun of the fallen man
before I lunge to my feet. I center, breathe out, just like Vadim taught me. My
fingers curl around the trigger, the bullet exploding from the gun with all of
my rage and fury.

It slams into him, knocking him sideways, letting the light of the lamps from
outside glint across his face better. For a moment, I think I’ve hit him in the
face, before I realize I’m just looking at the horrible, shadowed ridge of a scar
running the length of his face.

And suddenly, the memory vanishes.

I’m standing in the meat locker, sucking in filthy air, my chest heaving as my
eyes wildly stab through the bleating, broken man in front of me.

Words I heard while laughing at the dinner table last night.

But I’m not laughing anymore.

“I don’t think the posh, uptight residents of Heathington feel the same way,
considering their new neighbor is a six and half foot tall former Bratva
gunman covered in mafia tattoos and facial scars.”
“It’s one scar on the side of his face, c’mon!”

Her bodyguard.

The man who was there that day, at Krasnova Garden.

The man who I shot in the shoulder, and presumed dead, who lived.

The man with a jagged scar down the side of his face.

The man who just picked her up for lunch.

Oh holy fuck.

Dima is roaring with laughter as the blood drips down his chin, watching me
break apart as the truth hits me.

“You see now,” he hisses, wheezing with laughter. “All this time, you
thought you had the head of the snake locked here in this room, Konstantin?
No, little prince. And now you see how wrong you’ve been. My job after the
king fell wasn’t to lead.”

He grins a deranged, smashed-in smile.

“It was to waste your fucking time.”

My blood turns to ice, my eyes narrowing in horror.

“She is already dead, little prince,” he laughs in a broken, ragged tone. “Or
maybe he’s kept her alive, for some fun, eh?”

In slow motion, I turn back to Dima and raise the gun in my hand.

“Yes, Konstantin,” he snarls. “Shoot me! I have no regrets. Only that I don’t
get to have a little taste, like I did with your moth—”

The gun barrel jams against his balls, and the trigger pulls with a bang. Dima
goes white, screaming in agony and thrashing against the chair. He sobs in
pain, his voice shredding itself as the blood spills freely from his blown-off
dick onto the floor.

“Go to hell!!” He chokes, raggedly gasping for air as his eyes go wide in
horror.

“Go to hell, Konstan—”

“You’ll get there first,” I snarl right in his ear. “And when you see my father,
tell him I’m coming for him.”

The gun jams again the center of his forehead. I don’t blink as I pull the
trigger, barely even seeing his head evaporate because I’m already whirling
and bolting out of the room.

Her phone rings and rings as I run like the devil to my waiting car.

“Home!” I roar at the driver. “Right fucking n—”

I choke as her phone suddenly answers. I suck in air, relief flooding thought
my heart. Until I realize it’s silent.

“Too late,” a man’s heavily Russian accented voice snarls quietly.

The phone hangs up with a click.

 33

I STAND numb in the wreckage of the living room. Downstairs, the lobby is
worse—with the bullet holes and the blood and the bodies everywhere.

But up here, in a place I’ve called home, where I’ve lived a fantasy escape
from the world with her these last few weeks… it hits differently.

Downstairs feels like a crime scene. Up here feels like a violation. A breech
of a sanctuary.

The first bloody and personal shot in a war.

My eyes slide over the carnage, tracing the horror. The upturned coffee table
and the broken shards from a water glass. The bloodied body of my man who
was assigned to escort Grigori up here, shot dead in the kitchen.

A mug of tea dashed, as if thrown, against the wall by the stairs. One of
Mara’s shoes halfway up them.

He chased. She fought.

Upstairs, the door to my old escape room of Shakespeare, comic books, and
old photos is kicked in, the knob locked from the inside. One of the framed
pictures of Gavan and I is smashed on the ground, blood on the glass.
She ran from him. She put up a fight.

My jaw grinds, a livid fury surging inside of me as I whirl. I see blood red. I
taste copper. But through the fury and the roaring need to destroy, I feel
something else. Something cold and much more insidious than fury.

I feel afraid.

“Konstantin—”

Fear gives way to rage as I whirl on Vadim, who’s just arrived. He chokes as
I explode into him, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him into the
wall with a snarl on my lips.

My eyes scorch into him, the hatred pulsing off of me like radiation.

“I am not the enemy,” he says quietly.

“No?!” I snarl viciously.

His mouth thins, his throat swallowing under my grip.

“What did Dima tell—”

“He told me things you never did!” I roar. “About my mother! Things you
should have fucking told me!!”

“Oh?!” He snaps, anger clouding his eyes as his lips curl into a snarl.

“I should have told a little boy that his mother was beaten, held down, and
then sexually assaulted by her husband’s rival? That Kristina was cannon
fodder in a stupid fucking war waged by stupid, blind men?!”

“Yes.”

“No,” he hisses, shaking his head. “No, Konstantin. I watched your father
beat you down year after year. I watched you stand tall, growing into a man
he should have been proud of. It was not to me to destroy you like that.”

My blood surges hot in my veins, like napalm. My chest spasms as I suck

back my emotions and my fury.

“Why didn’t she…” I choke, my vision blurring. “Why—”

“Tell you!?” he hisses, tears in his eyes.

“Because how could she?!” he chokes. “She was so good, Konstantin,” he

hisses, his throat clenching under the emotion. “Too fucking good for this
goddamn world.”

Vadim always had a little crush on Kristina.

“You loved her,” I growl.

“Yes,” he snarls. Daring me, challenging me to attack him for that.

But I don’t.

“Yes,” he hisses. “I loved her. Deeply. And then she was taken from all of
us.”

I close my eyes, sucking in air as my hand closes a little tighter on his throat.

“Konstantin,” he rasps.

“You should have fucking told—”

“Take your hands off of my father.”

My eyes open, and I turn to see Gavan a few steps away, glaring murder at
me with his hand resting on the gun at his hip.

“Gavan,” Vadim says quietly, as surprised as me as he turns to his son.

“We’re just having a discussion.”

Gavan’s eyes narrow as they slide from my hand around Vadim’s throat, to
my lined, darkened face.

“Take your fucking hands off of him, Konstantin.”

I inhale deeply, my pulse thudding in my ears. Slowly, I let go of my grip on

Vadim’s throat. Gavan nods.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. “Now, what are our moves—”

“Get everyone, and I want this city locked the fuck down, now.”

“There’s a chance they’re already outside the—”

“Do it,” I roar.

He nods, even though I can see him simmering under the surface. There’s a
reason men like Gavan are so good. He’s fiercely loyal and will follow orders
to the last man.

But not blindly. Not without a single question. And he’s intelligent enough to
push back at me when he knows it’s for the best. When he knows I need the
challenge to see through the problem.

Just like he’s smart enough to understand implicitly that now is not one of
those fucking times.

“I’ll start the lockdown and coordinate up our people. I’ll call you.”

I nod, still shaking as I watch him head back down the stairs into the living
area below.

And then suddenly, something clicks. Something ignites with a spark inside
of me. Slowly, I turn to let my stormy eyes burn into Vadim.

She bore a son to another man! To Semyon fucking Belsky!

I blink, reality glitching around me and I shake on my breath.

In the avalanche of hatred in that small room where I just killed Dima… he
told me something. I heard it wrong, and then somehow shoved it away.

Until now.

“She had a child,” I say quietly.

Vadim swallows, his eyes just as stormy as mine. His face grim and silent.

Holy fuck.

My face pales, and I turn to look down across the large living area. From up
here, I can see down the hallway, to the elevator doors as they open. Gavan
steps in. He turns, catches my eye, and nods as the doors shut on him.

“Konstantin,” Vadim growls quietly.

The gray eyes.

The dark hair.

The jokes about us being raised as if we were…

In slow motion, I turn to stare at Vadim, watching the truth harden on his
lined face.

“She had to give him up,” he says quietly.

“Stop it.”

“You need to hear this. It is time, Konstantin,” he growls thickly. “You need
to hear this.”

I grit my teeth, nostrils flaring as I inhale deeply.

“Is he…”
“Yes.”

My heart wrenches, lungs collapsing as I choke back the anger and the
overwhelming sadness inside of me.

“There was no love between Antin and Kristina, you know. I’m sorry, I know
that’s cruel to tell you of your own parents—”

“Keep going,” I hiss quietly.

He nods, breathing slowly.

“Your grandfather on your mother’s side—you didn’t ever know him, but he
was an ex-Soviet colonel turned billionaire. An oligarch as corrupt and dirty
as the worst of them. He needed the muscle and logistical capabilities of the
Reznikov organization. Your father and his father needed money. That was
the entire basis for their marriage.”

“After that piece of shit Semyon…”

He chokes, his eyes narrowing in fury as they glisten in the corners.

“Your father couldn’t know,” he says quietly. “You know the sort of man he
was. When Kristina—”

His eyes close.

“I found her crying in her room, maybe three weeks after. When she knew
she—” his voice breaks.

“I held her, and she made me promise not to tell Antin. We both knew he
would kill her, despite it being Semyon who forced himself on her. Antin was
a proud and wicked man, you know this, Konstantin. He’d have viewed her
horrible assault as infidelity and killed her.”

His eyes drop, his teeth clenched tight.

“So we hid it. Antin was busy expanding business throughout Russia anyway.
And your mother decided she would ‘summer’ in England for a time. There,
she could hide the pregnancy, and in secret…”

“She gave birth to Gavan,” I whisper, my voice edged.

“Yes.”

Vadim swallows, his jaw clenched as his eyes meet mine fiercely.

“So I raised him as my son.”

“You raised my mother’s child as your—”

“Yes, Konstantin,” he hisses.

My lips curl into a sneer—not a fair one, by any means. But because all I
know right now is rage. All I know is cold, murderous, venomous fury.

“Because you were in fucking love with her,” I snarl.

His eyes narrow dangerously.

“Yes,” he snaps.

My lips curl.

“Pathetic—”

I blink stars as his hand slaps hard across my face. I snarl, my eyes blazing
with fury as I grab the front of his shirt and leer close.

“Are you angry?!” he roars at me.

“You have no fucking idea—”

“Like hell I don’t!” Vadim bellows at me. “Like hell I don’t!”

He surges into me, grabbing my shirt just as I’ve grabbed his, his eyes
blazing with anger.

“Be. Angry!” He yells in my face. “And later? If that fury is still directed at
me? So fucking be it, Konstantin,” he spits. “Later, you can even kill me if
you still hate me for this. But right now, we are wasting fucking time!”

If the slap didn’t do it, his words finish the job. Suddenly, through the rage
and chaos storming through my head, I find the path.

I find clarity.

I see Mara.

And everything else can wait.

Suddenly, my phone rings. I glance down, scowling as I see Lukas’s name. I

silence the phone and shove it into my pocket before I start to storm down the
stairs. Behind me, Vadim’s phone goes off.

“Lukas Komarov is calling me.”

“Ignore him,” I growl as we thunder down the hallway.

The elevator doors open. But suddenly, I stop cold, extending an arm to block
Vadim as I slowly turn to him.

My eyes close.

“Does Gavan…”

“No,” he says quietly.

“You should tell him.”

Vadim is silent. When I open my eyes, I see his face twisted in anger and
pain.
“You’re his true father, Vadim,” I growl thickly. “Not fucking Semyon.”

My throat tightens as my teeth grit.

“Just as you’ve been more of a true father to me than Antin ever—”

“Konstantin—”

“Thank you,” I choke as I grab him and embrace him tightly. “For my
mother…”

“I couldn’t save her,” he hisses, horror and pain strangling his voice. “If I
could go back—”

“But you avenged her,” I growl thickly.

It’s something we’ve pointedly never really talked about—not since the day I
called him, after securing evidence of Antin being the child-abusing piece of
shit he was. That was the day I secured the allegiance of men like Vadim,
who couldn’t abide bowing to a true monster like Antin, and made my play.

I gave the order, but I didn’t physically pull the trigger that sent my father to
hell.

Vadim did. Four shots to the chest as Antin sat smoking a cigar on the
balcony of his cliff-side vacation house in Mykonos, before kicking his body
into the sea below.

And now, I’ve even more glad for it—that I could give him that finality and
vengeance.

For my mother.

But he looks at me curiously when I say it. I grimace, my heart wrenches

violently as I square my jaw.
He found out your mother cheated! Sixteen years before! She bore a son to
another man! So Antin had her killed.

“The Belsky’s aren’t responsible for that night,” I growl thickly through
clenched teeth as I meet his eye, seeing his confusion about my mentioning
“avenged”.

“Antin was. He found out about Semyon. He knew there was a son. And
he…”

Vadim screams in rage as he whirls like a demon. He roars, smashing his

fists against the wall—over and over, splintering the plaster, sending a
framed picture down the hall crashing to the ground, and splitting his own
knuckles.

He keeps roaring, and keeps blindly hitting, letting the bottled-up horror and
fury come exploding out of him like a bomb ripping through the basement of
a building. Until finally, with a wrenching cry of anguish, he drops to his
knees, his arms going limp at his sides to drip blood onto the floor.

My hand falls to his shoulder, gripping him tightly.

“I’m sorry,” I choke.

He nods dimly, his face a mask of hatred as he stares at the wall. I can almost
guess what he’s thinking—that he might have already killed the man
responsible for his pain. But now, he wishes he could bring him back, to do it
again.

Slower. More personally.

I know it’s what he’s thinking, because I’ve had the exact same thoughts, for
the exact same piece of shit.

“I need your help, Vadim,” I growl.

His head hangs, but he slowly nods.

“Da,” he croaks hoarsely through his ragged throat.

He touches the wall, murmuring what might be a prayer before he stands. He

turns to me, his mouth grim.

“I lost your mother,” Vadim growls thickly. “I will not lose another woman
close to you.”

His eyes narrow as his lips curl.

“We’re going to find Mara, Konstantin.”

I nod grimly as we both step into the elevator. The doors close just as my
phone goes off again—Lukas, again.

And again, I silence it as we drop down to the lobby, where my men are
clearing the bodies and the wreckage from Grigori’s escape with the woman I
love.

The doors slide open to the carnage. And suddenly, a face I know turns
towards me.

“Konstantin!”

Lukas’s face is grim as he storms towards me from the street outside the
shattered windows of the building lobby. My men yell, bolting to stop him as
they draw arms, but I bark an order, halting them.

Lukas’s face is drawn tight as he stops in front of me, looking grim.

“Mara—”

“I don’t have time to explain,” I snarl, shoving past him. “We’re going to—”

“It’s Grigori!”
“No shit!” I snap as I storm across the shattered glass and pools of blood.

“No, Konstantin, stop!”

I snarl, whirling on him with a fury as he lays a hand on my shoulder. I knock

his hand away and grab him by the front of his jacket.

“Not for the fucking devil himself,” I hiss thinly, my blood boiling like lava.

His mouth thins as I start to turn again.

“You have an uncle.”

I falter, frowning as I glance back at him.

“Excuse me?”

“His name is Jakov Boyko.”

I blink, staring at him.

Boyko was my mother’s maiden name.

I yank my glare to Vadim, looking for answers. But he’s staring at Lukas in
as much shock as I am.

“What the fuck are you talking about—”

“He was kept a secret from you, because he was kept a secret from everyone.
But I’ve been digging,” Lukas hisses. “Deep. You must know your parents
were married for politics, right?”

“I’m aware of that,” I snap.

“Your mother’s family had the money, your father’s family had the muscle
—”

“If you have a point to this family tree powerpoint, arrive at it!” I roar.
His mouth thins.

“Your parents weren’t the only partnership made that day. Your uncle and
Antin also made a pact, that if Antin were to fall, it would be Jakov who
would assume the Reznikov throne. Even if there was an heir.”

All this time, you thought you had the head of the snake locked here in this
room, Konstantin? No, little prince. My job after the king fell wasn’t to lead.
It was to waste your fucking time.

My eyes bulge, my throat tightens.

Oh fuck.

“Someone’s been calling the fucking shots against you ever since Antin went
down,” Lukas growls. “And it’s not fucking Dima Pavlishchev—”

“It’s Jakov,” I hiss.

Antin had a plant. A mole. A spy in the Belsky ranks.

My eyes blaze as I remember the scarred face of the man I shot, after he shot
Mara.

“Grigori was Antin’s plant within the Belsky family,” I choke. “And now
he’s working for this fucking Jakov—”

“No, Konstantin,” Lukas says thinly, his face grim as it shakes side to side.

“Grigori isn’t working for Jakov.”

My pulse skips, my gut dropping as it clicks for me.

“No…”

“Grigori is Jakov Boyko.”

Everything goes still.

The man who thinks Semyon Belsky murdered his sister, whose ally and
brother-in-law I had killed, has Mara.

Semyon’s daughter.

My love.

Something close to both of the men he hated and hates the most in this world.

“We need to fucking find—”

“I know where he is,” Lukas growls.

My eyes narrow. “How.”

“Because I don’t trust anyone I haven’t known for a long time,” he mutters
thinly. “Including Mara’s old bodyguard. I’m betting her phone is still up in
the penthouse?”

I nod.

“You’ll find Jakov’s up there as well. One of his, at least. I would bet good
money that it’s unlocked, too, with clues all over it pointing to a place he’s
taken her, which is all bullshit.”

“Get to the fucking point, Komarov—”

“His main phone is still on him, and I have a tracking chip imbedded in the
case.”

My eyes narrow.

“Tell me,” I snarl, my eyes blazing as my lips curl demonically.

“He’s on his way to southern England,” he says quietly. “And if I were to

guess, Rye.”
That’s all I need. I whirl, storming out of the ruined lobby of the building
towards a waiting car.

No one stops me.

No one on earth is dumb enough to try and stop me right now.

I’m vaguely aware of Vadim and Lukas jumping into the car with me, and
then we’re roaring off towards the airport.

“If there was a piece of yourself you couldn’t see, Konstantin, wouldn’t you
turn over every rock and look behind every tree to find it?”

“No. I’d burn the whole fucking forest down to find it.”

Someone has taken the thing I care about most in the world from me. And I’ll
turn this world to ash to get her back.
 34

“T HERE IS a devil and an angel in all of us, little zaychik.”

Grigori sighs, his wide shoulders rising and falling as he leans against the
window, gazing out at the half moon glistening over the waves crashing
against the rocky shore.

“Sometimes, the devil? He stays down. He stays buried, and we can go on

with our lives as if he isn’t there at all. But… those are pretty lies to help us
sleep. Because that devil?”

He turns, the moonlight glinting off the corner of his narrowed eye and
highlighting the scar line down the side of his face

“He is always there, zaychik. Especially when we lie to ourselves about it.”

The fear left me hours ago. So did the ache of betrayal that cleaved my heart
in two when the man I’ve thought of for years as one of my most fiercest
protectors morphed into a monster.

When he stood from the couch where we were sitting catching up, pulled out
a gun, and put a bullet through the head of Konstantin’s guard. When he
turned on me, smiling like the devil himself.
When I backed away from him, only for him to flip the table between us, his
lips curling like a wolf about to slaughter its prey. And when he chased,
dodging the mug of tea I threw, ripping my shoe off as I fell up the stairs.

Smashing in the door when I locked it between us.

I flinch at the memory of the men screaming and the blood splattering the
windows of the lobby as Grigori stepped out of the elevator—gun in one
hand, me thrown over his shoulder with my wrists bound.

But I’m not scared anymore.

I’m just angry.

Outside of the beautiful seaside home, the ocean crashes against the shore. I
don’t know exactly where, but I think we’re in England, or possibly Scotland
or Ireland, judging from the airfield signs in English I could see as we
stepped out of the jet. Before he threw me in the back of a van and drove us
off to wherever we are now.

And it’s so dark in here. We’re in a study or library of sorts, with the only
light coming from the half-moon glinting off the waves outside, through the
big windows overlooking the shore.

Grigori sighs again, bringing a meaty hand up to stroke his chin.

I used to admire his hands, for being so strong, and yet so gentle. Those are
the hands that caught me before I could slip on the ice in the driveway. The
hands that placed a bandaid over a cut from the playground. Hands that made
me feel protected.

Today, they’re the hands that grabbed me, violently, and ripped me from the
second chance on life I’d found.

My eyes narrow at his, my lips curling. Grigori sighs again.

“You are angry, zaychik—”

“Stop calling me that,” I snarl, so furious I’m actually shaking in the chair
I’m sitting in, in the middle of the room. I’m not bound. But running is an
impossibility. There isn’t a chance in the world I’d get away before he
stopped me.

Grigori’s brow furrows.

“And I’m not angry,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “No, Grigori, that was
hours ago. I’m way past angry now.”

His lips thin, his eyes calmly and coolly sweeping over me.

“I do not relish this, you know.”

“Then let me go.”

He smiles thinly as he turns to look at the waves again.

“That is not for me to decide, zaychik.”

“Why are you doing this!?” I scream, exploding at him.

“Loyalty, Ms. Belsky.”

The rasping, grating voice from behind me makes me jump out of my skin.
It’s the sound of death—the sound a walking, talking skeleton from a movie
would make. Bone grating over bone.

Grigori turns as well, frowning before he quickly steps past me. I hear him
grunt, and then the clanking sound of something heavy and metal being set
down.

“Spasibo, my friend,” the skeletal voice rasps, accented in Russian. “That

goddamn step. Spasibo, Jakov.”
I stiffen, my heart lurching as my eyes fly open wide. There’s a whining
sound, like the sound a radio-controlled car makes as it drives across the
floor. And then suddenly, in the peripheral of my vision, a man in an electric
wheelchair rolls into view.

My breath catches at his horrific, twisted pose in the chair—bent unnaturally,

his head lolling to one side. Clearly at least partially paralyzed by the way
he’s frozen and using just one finger to push the joystick that controls the
chair.

Machines attached to the back of the chair hiss and beep—machines like the
ones that used to keep vigil over me in the hospital. Wires and tubes snake
around the sides of it, disappearing under the chest of the heavy bathrobe he’s
wearing.

Half of his face looks as if he were dragged across rocks or gravel—like it’s
been shredded and mangles and glued haphazardly back together. But
through the carnage of his face and the wreckage of his body, there’s still a
dark spark of something wicked and fierce burning in his dark eyes.

“Ms. Belsky,” he hisses in that deathly rattle.

His mouth is already twisted, but the corners curl cruelly into a jagged smile.

“Welcome to my home, Mara,” he rasps.

I swallow, my pulse thudding in my ears as I stare at him—this twisted,

broken man who knows me, but who is a mystery to me.

“It’s okay,” he growls. “It has been a very long time since we met. And if you
want, you can blame your unfortunate memory loss instead of my current
appearance for not knowing me.”

His lips curl in that jagged, cruel way again.

“Ahhh, but you have grown up, Mara. Much, since last time we met.”

He starts to laugh, before suddenly it crumples into a hoarse, papery-lung

wheeze. One of the machines starts to make a beeping sound, and suddenly,
Grigori—who this man called by a name that made my heart clench—rushes
to his side.

“I am okay, I’m okay!” The man in the wheelchair hisses.

His twisted gaze in the ruined face turns back to me.

“Ahhh, you want to know who I am. But I see you want to know who he is
even more, don’t you?”

My gaze drags over and up to the man I know as Grigori, my old bodyguard.
I blink, still at a loss for words—blinking and unbelieving—after the name I
just heard this man call him.

“Ahh, you know this name, da?”

The man’s mouth curls venomously.

“Tell her, my friend…” he rasps.

Grigori turns, his mouth thin as his eyes level on me.

“Mara—”

“Jakov Boyko,” I whisper quietly.

His eyes narrow, mouth thinning. The man in the chair chokes on another
rasping laugh.

“Ahh, she is good, da?” He swivels the chair, turning his frozen face from
Grigori—Jakov—to me.
“You want to know, don’t you? You want to know why he is doing this,” He
hisses. “Because of loyalty. Because he is a man to whom oaths and
allegiances still matter.”

“But not oaths and allegiances to me, right?” I snarl at the man I once called
my protector. “Not the promises you made to my family to protect—”

“Your family is a blight, Ms. Belsky,” the man snarls. “And Semyon was a
cancerous tumor on the face of this—”

“Promises to me!” I choke, biting back the stinging tears. “I trusted you!
Implicitly!”

The man in the chair smiles horribly.

“There are bonds of trust, and bonds of employment, Ms. Belsky. And then,
there are bonds of family. Of blood.”

I stare at him, my eyes narrowing.

“Who…”

The pieces swivel and flip to try and piece together the right way, like there’s
a puzzle in my head, and I’m so close to making it fit in order to see the
picture.

The man smiles savagely.

“You know, Mara. I know you know.”

I swallow, my eyes narrowing, trying to see it…

He sighs. “Ahh, and to think, you and I were almost blood once, too.”

My brows knit, not getting what he’s saying.

His lips curl.

“When your father and I discussed you marrying my son.”

It hits me like a slap in the face, and I choke on the realization. As the horrific
truth slams into me, even if it’s not possible. Even if it defies logic.

“You…” I whisper hoarsely, trembling.

My eyes go wide, and my veins turn to ice as I stare in horror at Antin

Reznikov.

“You’re—”

“Dead?” He chuckles, choking on what sounds like his own lungs. But then
the machines attached to the wheelchair hiss and whine, and his chest fills
with air.

“Despite my son’s best efforts. Despite that coward Vadim shooting me in my

own home, throwing me from a cliff, and leaving me to die in the ocean,” he
hisses thickly. “No, I am not dead. The devil spit me back out from hell,
Mara,” he rasps.

His lips curl.

“Fitting that my disappointment of a son can’t even kill me, isn’t it? Poetic,”
he sneers. “Maybe he could write a fucking sonnet about it.”

I shiver, suddenly feeling cold as the fire I had in me before begins to wane.
As real fear begins to creep in.

“What do you want?” I say, hoping to God my voice doesn’t shake.

Antin smiles dangerously.

“You, Mara.”

The blood drains from my face. Antin chuckles a wheezing laugh.

“Not that way. I am afraid that part of me no longer works. Or else, believe
me…” he grins wickedly, and my stomach curdles.

“You know, I once almost fucked your mother.”

“Go to hell,” I spit.

He just smiles thinly.

“I wonder if you’d taste just as sweet. Maybe I should ask Jakov here to fuck
you for me, eh?”

I pale, my eyes swiveling to the man I knew as Grigori. But though I’m
looking for it, I don’t find a single ounce of sympathy in his face. Not a
single shred.

Antin laughs.

“You look to him for hope, don’t you? You’re hoping to see the old Grigori,
yes? Maybe before, when he was pretending to be your little bodyguard?”

He laughs coldly.

“Jakov was trained by the Russian Special Forces in espionage tactics, you
stupid girl. Everything he feels or does not feel, he can turn on and off, like a
button.”

I swallow, feeling so cold and alone as my eyes drag to my former bodyguard

again—hoping for something.

But Antin’s right. It’s just cold indifference. Like a robot.

“Grigori,” I choke. “Or Jakov, please. You know me. And I know this
couldn’t have all been for a mission, or to hurt me,” I hiss, tears stinging my
eyes. “The time I fell on the ice? The time I cut my hand, and you bandaged
—”
“Who made it icy to begin with, Mara,” Antin sneers. “Who hid the razor
blades on the jungle-gym, to solidify your bond through helping you with a
bandaid at the ready?”

I want to throw up. I want to scream, or cry. But I also refuse to give them the
satisfaction of seeing me break.

Antin snickers a horrible sound.

“He was trained to make you trust him. It’s how he was built—”

“I will speak for myself, Antin,” Grigori—Jakov, growls thickly, turning to

glare at Antin for a second before he drags his cold gaze to me.

“My role in your father’s house, little zaychik…” his eyes narrow. “Yes, it
was to get me access to the man who was our enemy. But…” he takes a
breath. “I cared for you. I did. That part was not pretend.”

My eyes lock with his, pleading.

“So what changed? Grigori—”

“I am not Grigori.”

I swallow.

“And what changed was the mission. Nothing less, nothing more. Nothing
personal.”

It’s the completely inhuman, cold way he says it that breaks me. The sob I’ve
been trying so desperately to keep inside comes wrenching out, brutally. I
choke on the cry, squeezing my eyes shut against Antin’s rasping laugh and
Jakov’s frozen indifference.

“Ahh, little Mara,” Antin growls thinly. “Perhaps in my old life, before my
son and his little dog broke me, yes… I would fuck you right here, right now,
just to watch you cry. To watch you break for me.”

Raw fear rips at me, chilling me. But he just sneers.

“But that is not why you are here. No, what I want you for is bait, Mara.”

I swallow, tears sliding coldly down my cheeks.

“Bait for what?”

He grins nightmarishly.

“For my trap, little Mara,” Antin rasps.

“For Konstantin.”
 35

NO.

I want to scream. I want to scream so loud that Konstantin hears me all the
way back in Moscow and knows not to come after me.

Because if I can think of a worse fate than where I am right now, with what I
now know, it’s a fate that involved him getting hurt as well.

Or worse.

Antin smiles his crooked, twisted grin at me.

“He’ll come for you, I have no doubt. He loves you.”

The almost involuntary feeling of weightlessness I feel in my heart is

shattered when he opens his mouth again.

“Pathetic weakness. Love is a handicap. A fool’s distraction from the world.

But Konstantin is too soft to see that. And that is why I know he’ll come for
you.”

His dark eyes scorch into mine from the ruins of his face.
“And when he does, I will do what I should have done when he was still in his
mother’s womb and destroy him.”

“You going to run over his toes?”

It comes out before I can possibly stop myself. Antin’s frozen, mangled face
seems to throb with fury, his lips curling viciously. Beside him, Jakov smirks
quietly.

“Careful, zaychik,” my former bodyguard grunts. “And if Antin wishes to run

over whatever part of Konstantin he wishes, it will be done.”

“When he comes for me—”

“It will take him time, but he will come here, eventually,” Jakov smiles
thinly. “I made sure to point him in a few wrong directions, first.”

“You won’t stop him,” I hiss. My eyes swivel to narrow at Antin. “And you
sure as hell won’t either.”

“But they will.”

Antin rasps the words as six huge, ex-military looking men step into the
library from the doorway behind me—every one of them with a rifle slung
onto their back, and a handgun at their hip.

Jakov shrugs.

“When he does finally come here for you, little Mara, he will be dealt with.”

He turns to nod stiffly to the six men.

“Dobrat'sya do svoikh pozitsiy.”

Get to your positions.

I swallow as five of the men file back out of the room, the color draining
from my face.

Antin sneers at me.

“The once powerful Reznikov organization as it stands with my weak son at

its helm is lost,” he snarls. “They look to him because he’s as close to me as
they think they can get.”

His eyes narrow at me, his mouth twisting ferociously.

“But I will cut his fucking head off, and ascend my throne once again. And
this time, the Bratva world will bow before—”

“No one will ever bow to you, Antin.”

My heart lurches with the rush of hearing his voice behind me. I whirl,
choking on a cry when I see Konstantin snarling in rage, a gun in his hand.
My eyes lock onto his stormy, gun-metal grays—his burn fiercely into mine.

He came for me.

In a split second, the large guard still in the room snarls, yanking the sidearm
out of his holster as he lunges past me.

It happens so fast, and yet, it feels like slow motion.

My leg juts out sideways, catching his shin. I watch his eyes bulge as he
topples foreword, and he hasn’t even hit the ground before Konstantin’s
bullet enters his forehead.

Antin’s face twists, his eyes bulging as we all hear the sounds of gunfire
outside the house, and down the hall somewhere inside. Men screaming,
shouting in Russian, and then followed by more screams.

And suddenly, Jakov makes his move.

I scream as he charges grim-faced across the room like a bull. Konstantin
snarls, firing a shot that hits the huge man square in the chest.

He barely flinches, and my face drops in horror as he crashes into Konstantin

with the force of city bus. Konstantin grunts as he slams into the wall with a
cracking sound, the gun tumbling from his hand.

Jakov’s face is grim as he slams a panel to the side of the doorway, sending a
metal panic-room-style door slamming down over it, sealing us inside.

I choke on the scream curdling in my throat as the huge Russian kicks away
Konstantin’s gun and then rips open his own shirt. He coughs as the bullet
slug drops from the bullet-proof vest under his shirt onto the floor with a
metallic ping.

Behind me, Antin rasps a choking, cackling laugh.

“You pathetic little boy,” he snarls, almost gleefully.

Konstantin’s lips are curled as he raises his head. But then I scream as Jakov
kicks him hard in the ribs, sending him sprawling across the floor.

Konstantin is easily six-foot-two, and built.

But standing next to Jakov the giant, he may as well be an eight-year-old boy.

“Is this your rescue?” Antin wheezes with laughter. “Who did you bring with
you? That coward Vadim?”

He sneers at his son as Konstantin looks up with a grimacing snarl.

“The shooting has stopped, Konstantin,” Antin leers. “Maybe he’s dead. Or
maybe, somehow, Vadim has killed all five of my men.”

His lips twist into that dark, wicked smile.

“There are another twenty just down the road. They will be here in minutes.”
His eyes glimmer with cruelty. “I think maybe I should tell them to take him
alive. So that I can put him on a cliff, and shoot him while he sits at rest, like
a little pussy!” He roars demonically.

“Then I can shove him over into the fucking ocean with a broken fucking
back, until the waves crush his face against the rocks!”

Konstantin starts to laugh. Antin’s face darkens. More worrisome, so does

Jakov’s.

“All you want is for people to bow to you, Antin,” Konstantin grins savagely
through his laughter. “So much so, that now you’ve got your very own
throne, permanently, wherever you—”

He grunts, and I scream as Jakov slams his boot into Konstantin’s ribs again.

“Stay down,” the large Russian snarls. “Or else.”

“Big words from the man who got put the fuck down by a fourteen-year-old
boy.”

Anger seems to almost radiate off of Jakov’s hulking frame. His lips curl as
he squats down and presses the barrel of his gun hard against Konstantin’s
shoulder.

My pulse starts to thud in my ears. Loudly.

“My shoulder,” he growls quietly. “It still hurts at night, sometimes. Or when
it is cold—”

“Good.”

My heartbeat thunders louder and louder, overwhelming me as I watch Jakov

glare daggers at the man I love.
“I think it’s time to return the favor.”

The thudding in my ears grows and grows.

“I hope this hurts, little prince—”

“She died here, you know.”

Jakov freezes, his eyes narrowing at Konstantin’s words.

“Shoot him, Jakov!” Antin rasps.

“Your sister, my mother. It was this house where she—”

“Do not lecture me on history,” Jakov snarls. “I am well aware of the horrors
Semyon Belsky inflicted on my dear sister in this—”

“Not Semyon.”

“Shoot him!” Antin roars. “Let us end this, my friend! Shoot him, and we will
rise to lead this empire together, as it always should have—”

“It was him,” Konstantin sneers, his eyes narrowing to slits as he spits the
words towards his father.

Jakov stiffens, his jaw clenching.

“Spare us this bullshit, Konstantin,” Antin rasps. “You made your play. You
lost. Such is the way and so it goes. Now for once, be a fucking man and—”

“Semyon did hurt my mother,” Konstantin murmurs coldly, making my heart

wrench for him as our eyes lock for a moment.

Then he turns back to Jakov.

“Semyon did assault her, but sixteen years before the night here,” he growls
quietly. “That piece of shit beat her, held her down—”
“Enough of this,” the big Russian snarls.

“She never told Antin, because she was scared of him. Because even on a
good day, he used to hurt her—”

“This is a lie—”

“Do. Not. Speak,” Jakov growls quietly, barely turning his head towards
Antin.

“She hid it from him, knowing he’d take the assault as infidelity. Which is
exactly what he did, when he did find out—”

“Lies—”

“She bore a son from that attack.”

Holy shit.

The room goes silent. Jakov blinks, his nostrils flaring, his jaw grinding.

“What?”

“My mother… your sister, uncle,” Konstantin hisses. “She had another son.
In secret.”

My heart twists, aching as I see the pain lancing across Konstantin’s face. His
eyes flick to mine, and instantly, like he’s screaming it at me, I know.

My eyes widen.

It’s Gavan.

Gavan with the same gray eyes. Gavan who Vadim raised, but who was
always near the Reznikov family. Gavan who Kristina Reznikov used to take
to football games and pierogi shops, alongside Konstantin.

Because he was her son.

I choke, tears stinging my eyes.

Because he was the son she knew and couldn’t tell. The son she had to love
in her own way, from a distance, for his safety and hers.

When I blink back the tears, I realize Jakov is visibly trembling, his lips
curled into a vicious, pained snarl.

“These are obviously the lies of a boy who has no other card to play—”

“My left jacket pocket,” Konstantin hisses at Jakov, ignoring his father.

The Russian’s face is grim and lined as he reaches into the pocket with his
free hand. When he pulls it out, he’s holding a small digital recorder.

“Play it,” Konstantin rasps.

A tinny-sounding version of Konstantin’s voice suddenly rattles from the

small speaker.

“Nothing you can say to me is going to make me lose one single wink of
sleep—”

“Antin had your mother fucked like a cheap whore and then killed,” a man
sneers.

Then he laughs.

“Oooh, now why do I get the impression I don’t need to force you to accept
that as truth? You know it’s true, don’t you? But you want to know why,
don’t—”

He chuckles.

“Go ahead, Konstantin. Shoot me, since you can’t shoot your father—”
The smacking of flesh on flesh thuds from the speaker, followed by the other
man snarling in pain.

“Because your mother was a whore, Konstantin,” he sneers. “That’s why!

Because Antin found out that sixteen years before, your mother had cheated
on him. She bore a fucking son to another man! To Semyon fucking Belsky!”

I can hear my heart thudding, and feel my skin pulsing with the cold, vicious
energy crackling through the room. Jakov looks like he’s about to crack his
own teeth.

Antin looks completely white.

“She bore Semyon Belsky’s child, in secret,” the man on the recording yells.
“While your father was mostly gone for business. I was there, that night, you
know. At the house, in Rye. You weren’t supposed to be there, of course. But
I was.”

His horrible chuckling sound rattles from the recorder speaker.

“To get a piece of that bitch mother of yours. Antin’s gift.”

A piece of me breaks inside—for the man I love. For the woman I never
knew.

“You know, we should have invited Vadim,” the man jeers. “He always had
such a little crush on her.”

He laughs again.

“No pussy for Vadim that night. But I was there,” he hisses. “And I saw you
—”

“Time’s up,” Konstantin’s voice hisses. “Goodbye, Dima—”

“You were in striped pajamas. Like a little boy,” he laughs cruelly. “Blue and
orange striped pajamas, looking like you were about to cry seeing your whore
mother like—”

Jakov’s hand closes around the recorder, muffling it. He breathes slowly, his
shoulders heaving as he silently stands.

His huge hand flexes, and the recorder crumbles with the snapping sound of
plastic breaking.

The room is deathly silent as he turns to level an executioner’s gaze at Antin.

“My friend,” Antin chokes, sputtering. “She was my wife, Jakov! Your sister!
I could never—”

The gun blast is deafening. I cry out, my hands flying too late to my ears. My
eyes not looking away quick enough not to see Antin’s head snap violently
back as the bullet rips through it and the headrest of his wheelchair.

I stare in shock and in horror as Jakov calmly turns, dragging that same dark
gaze to Konstantin just as he gets to his feet. Jakov’s gun hand raises,
leveling the barrel at Konstantin.

“Jakov!” I scream.

He doesn’t even turn.

“The Reznikov organization is mine,” he snarls quietly. “Nothing personal.”

“He’s your nephew!”

He merely shrugs, still staring straight at Konstantin, who’s looking right at

me, his face grim.

“It is just business,” Jakov grunts. “Just like you were, little Mara.”

My eyes drop. My jaw clenches when I see it.

“Time to die, little prince—”

“Put the gun down, Jakov.”

My words don’t phase him.

The sound of my thumb drawing back the hammer of the gun dropped by the
dead guard sure does, though.

Konstantin stares at me, shaking his head. Jakov turns, his gaze narrowing.

“What are you doing?”

My lips curl.

“What I have to,” I choke, fury swirling inside of me—all of the lies he told
me, all of the fake memories he polluted my childhood with.

“And believe me,” I snap. “This is personal.”

Jakov’s lips curl slightly in the corners. He’s still aiming the gun at
Konstantin. But his attention is on me.

“Little zaychik—”

“Do. Not. Fucking. Call me that!” I roar, making him stiffen.

His gaze lasers in on me, his brow furrowing.

“Mara, please,” he growls. “Swearing? Violence?” He shakes his head. “This

isn’t you.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Of course I—”

“No, you don’t,” I hiss, my fingers curling tightly around the gun I’ve got
pointed at him.
“That’s what happens when you lie to someone and pretended to be someone
else. They don’t know the real you, but with your mask on, you’ll never
know the real them, either.”

“I know you just fine, little Mara,” he says quietly.

“Maybe you did.”

I swallow.

“But you don’t know this me.”

His mouth thins.

“Put down the gun, Mara.”

“No.”

He sighs.

“Mara, I taught you, when you were thirteen, down at the shooting club.
Remember?”

He smiles.

“I taught you how to hold a gun just like that one. I taught you.”

“Yes,” I hiss quietly. “You did.”

My eyes narrow.

“And then you taught me how to pull the trigger a year later, when you shot
me in the head.”

His mouth thins.

“I did not relish doing that.”

Jakov begins to walk slowly towards me. I flinch, my pulse thudding in my
ears. My fingers tighten around the gun, but they feel slick.

The gun feels heavier.

“What you think you are prepared to do right now, Mara,” he growls quietly,
almost warmly. “It isn’t in you. You are not a killer zaychik.”

He steps closer. And then even closer. My hands shake, my eyes stinging
with tears.

He’s using our familiarity. He’s using my emotions, and weaponizing the
happy memories I have of him hardwired into my brain.

I know this, and yet, I still can’t stop him. I can’t do what I know I need to do.
I can’t make myself react or shoot him.

Or maybe, he’s actually right.

I don’t have this in me. As much as I hate him, for all of it, I can’t bring
myself to—

I don’t realize he’s right in front of me until his hand curls gently around the
gun in my hand. I whimper, shaking as he slips it from my hands with a thin
smile on his lips.

“You are not a killer, little zaychik—”

“Yeah, but I am.”

Jakov’s eyes bulge as he whirls to the side, where Konstantin is standing,

grimacing, holding the rifle that was slung over the back of the dead guard on
the floor.

A cold, brutal look on his face.

Jakov pales.
“Wait—”

“Cover your ears, love.”

I clench my eyes shut, turning away and slamming my hands over my ears as
the blast thunders through the room. I hear the sound of the body of Jakov—
who was once my Grigori—thudding to the ground.

And then suddenly, Konstantin has me, holding me tight in his strong arms as
I sob against his chest and hold him fiercely.

W HEN WE STEP out of the office, my heart lurches in shock as Lukas rushes
into me, grabbing me fiercely into a hug. My eyes dart to Konstantin, ready
to defy him if he gives me that jealous look. I mean for fuck’s sake, it’s
Lukas, who might as well be my brother.

But he doesn’t. He just looks on in that dark, stormy way he does, with the
gun-metal gray of his eyes swirling like mercury.

When Lukas pulls away, he turns and extends a hand to Konstantin. But in a
blink, they’re hugging tightly, too.

Vadim grunts as he walks over to lay a bloodied hand on Konstantin’s

shoulder. He’s holding a bandage to his arm, but he shrugs it off when I stare
in horror, telling me he’ll be fine.

Konstantin grips Vadim’s good shoulder firmly, something knowing passing

between them as they nod at each other.

“There are more Antin loyalist up the road—”

“Not anymore,” Lukas growls quietly.

He gestures with his chin, and when we follow him outside, my jaw drops.

There easily forty armed men outside, but not a one of them looks like
they’re here to hurt us.

“I called in the cavalry,” Lukas shrugs nonchalantly as he glances to a

surprised looking Konstantin. “These are courtesy of the Kashenko and
Volkov Bratvas.”

Konstantin’s mouth thins, and his hand squeezes mine. He turns to arch a
sharp brow at Lukas, but my brother-in-law shakes his head.

“With no strings attached, Konstantin,” he says quietly.

Two older, handsome, powerful looking men in dark suits step out from
behind the assembled Bratva soldiers to approach us. As they step into the
light, I smile as I recognize Viktor Komarov and Yuri Volkov.

Viktor smiles warmly as he moves close to me.

“Are you okay?” he asks gently.

I nod as I sink into his almost fatherly embrace.

“I am,” I whisper against his chest before I pull back and step back next to
Konstantin, my fingers lacing with his.

Konstantin clears his throat.

“I think I owe you both a thank you.”

Yuri shakes his head. “You don’t owe us anything.”

Viktor levels his gaze at the man standing by my side.

“Bluntly, we came for Mara.”

Konstantin shrugs with a small grin on his lips.

“That works for me.”

“But, Konstantin,” Yuri shrugs. “The days of turmoil between the head
families is over. You must see that, don’t you? The ways your father and
Semyon did business is no way into the future. So, yes, we came for Mara,
because of course we did.”

His eyes narrow slightly, holding Konstantin’s grays without flinching.

“But, we came to help you, as well. The Reznikov empire is yours now.
But…”

“Why do I get the feeling this is leading into you saying we should all sit in a
circle and sing kumbaya?”

Yuri glares at him. Viktor snorts, rolling his eyes.

“I have no interest in hearing you sing shit, Konstantin,” Yuri growls with a
small smile on his lips. “But I do have an interest in being at peace with you
and your organization.”

Konstantin’s lips curl slightly.

“So,” Viktor sighs. “You ready to step up to the Bratva High Council, now?”

Konstantin’s lips curl slightly. His hand tightens in mine as he turns to let his
stormy, captivating eyes burn into mine.

“I mean, I could use a minute.”

Viktor smiles.

“Well, we’ll be waiting for you.”

The men outside begin to pile into SUVs. Viktor and Yuri shake hands firmly
with Konstantin, and then Vadim, who Lukas then leads over to the open
trunk of another SUV, where he starts to examine the older man’s wound.
Konstantin and I turn to each other on the porch of that house, with the ocean
crashing softly in the background, and the half-moon glinting off the waves.
My heart surges as he pulls me close to him.

“We’re not them,” he chokes, his muscle clenching as he grip me tightly.

“Not who?” I whisper back.

“Romeo and Juliet.”

He pulls back, his eyes locked with mine as he cups my face possessively in
his hands.

“Romeo couldn’t save her. And she couldn’t save him.”

His jaw clenches.

“I would turn the world to ash for you, Mara,” he hisses. “I would bring you
back from death itself to keep you selfishly all to myself.”

My eyes blur with tears as my hands grip his wrists.

“You already did.”

My lips sear to his as the tears slide down my cheeks.

Love in the ruins. Forever in a kiss.

Forever ours.
 EPILOGUE

One month later:

G AVAN SIGHS as he laces his fingers together, his elbows on his knees. He lets
his gaze drag across the verdant, blooming campus laid out below us from
our perch on the roof of the dining hall.

“You’re coming here next year, you know.”

He smirks, eyeing me sideways.

“Eh, I’m still making my mind up.”

I glare at him.

“Don’t make me order you.”

He snorts.

“Order? You can’t order me anymore,” he grins. “Not when we’re going to
be partners.”

I arch a brow.

“Well, it would be unseemly if I started to jointly run this organization with

an uneducated—”
“Fuck you.”

I chuckle darkly, patting him on the back as I lean back against the brick
chimney behind us.

‘Think they’ll still let guys like me in next near? After you and the rest of
them ruined this place?” He smirks. “I think the cool factor of being Bratva at
OHA might be a waning star.”

I shrug. “Well, guess you’ve got your work cut out for you, then. But, in any
case, Oxford Hills wants you here.”

“They want your sizable charitable donations here,” he mutters.

I roll my eyes. “No, dipshit. They want this,” I grunt, tapping a finger against
his head. “And so do I. I just want it honed to perfection before you step up to
help me run things.”

That’s the plan, at least. After Gavan graduates OHA, I’m sending his ass to
the best business school on earth. I’m going to need that calculating brain of
his tuned to the finest detail if he’s going to jointly run the Reznikov empire
with me.

Two of us; brothers, at the helm of the table, together. And I quite honestly
wouldn’t have it any other way.

It’s not out of allegiance, or a sense of debt owed or anything. I mean I’ve
always thought of Gavan as a little brother anyway, so finding out he actually
is just felt like pieces to a long-forgotten puzzle coming together.

I mean, it’s a mind-fuck. But it feels right, knowing that he really is my

blood.

He sighs, his eyes darkening. I know him well enough to know where his
head has just gone.
“You’re keeping the name Tsarkeno,” I grunt.

He shrugs, glowering.

“It’s worth discussing,” he growls quietly. “It’s just…” he shakes his head. “I
don’t know. I’m still trying to piece together what I am. Part Reznikov, of
course,” he hisses fiercely. “But, part Semyon Belsky—”

“You are zero parts Semyon Belsky,” I growl. “Neither is Mara, nor Lizbet.
That monster, like Antin, has been scorched from the face of the earth.”

Gavan’s brow darkens.

“I hate it, sometimes,” he says quietly. “When I think about it, knowing he’s
my—”

“You only have one father, and his name is Vadim Tsarenko.”

Gavan says nothing, but I smile when I see the corners of his lips curl as he
nods a small nod.

“Ergo, you’re keeping Tsarenko.”

“Or else?” He grins.

I roll my eyes.

“Or else I push you off this fucking roof myself.”

He chuckles. “Even with your donations, I doubt they let you graduate after
pulling that. On graduation day, none-the-less.”

He arches a brow as he glances at his watch.

“Speaking of which, don’t you need to go get ready or something?”

“Probably a good idea.”

I stand, reaching down to yank him up as well.

“See you in there for the ceremony. Don’t be late.”

“Hey, I’m already dressed, asshole,” he grins. “But you’d better go put that
dorky fucking gown on.”

I sigh, shaking my head.

“So this is what co-ruling an empire is going to be like, huh?”

“You could always just step down and hand me the keys.”

“To a guy who can’t even tie his tie right?”

Gavan frowns as he glances down. I flick my finger at his nose, making him
yelp as he hisses and jumps back.

“Oh fuck you.”

I grin as I turn to head back down.

“Don’t be late!”

“I’ M UPSTAIRS !”

I smile at the sound of her voice when I step into Lachlan House. It’s
something I’m going to miss—us “playing house” in this old home here at
OHA. It’s funny; I never imaged I’d feel any shred of nostalgia for this place
at all when I came here, even after I made the decision to stay.

But now? I think I’ll actually miss parts of this place—specifically, the parts
that are entwined with the memories I have of her and I here.
After this graduation ceremony today, there’ll be a bit of a shuffle. Lizbet
wants to take Mara traveling to all the places they always talked about going
but never did.

On one hand, the idea of the woman I love traipsing around the world
potentially being put in any even remote chance of harm’s way makes my
blood boil. It makes my jaw clench, and my fingers drum with concern.

I almost lost her. I did lose her, once.

But on the other hand?

I scowl.

Fuck it, there is no other hand. Both hands are brooding, slowly, and if we’re
being honest, scared as hell about her being away from me.

But she’s not a delicate Faberge egg. She’s not a wounded bird, even if I’m
more than slightly okay at the idea of keeping her locked up with me forever.

But I can’t do that. Perhaps with another woman—someone less defiant and
bold. Someone weaker. Someone who doesn’t possess the power to light the
world on fire.

But there is no other woman for me. There never was, and there never will
be.

So if that means stepping back so that she can spread her wings a bit? So be
it.

It doesn’t mean I won’t have at least fifty armed men following her every
move while she travels over the next few weeks.

After that, though, it’s her and I.

The brand-new king, with his queen at his side.

“Hey, could you help me with this?”

I prowl up the stairs at the sound of her voice. When I step into our bedroom,
I grin widely.

Mara has her back to me in the large walk-in closet. She’s got her arms
twisted behind her, trying to pull up the zipper on the stunning teal-colored
dress she’ll be wearing under her graduation robe for the ceremony that starts
in an hour.

My eyes slide over her recently re-colored lavender hair, twisted up in an

elaborate bun high on her head. My gaze drops down the bare nape of her
neck, and my pulse begins to thud when my eyes slide over the bare skin of
her exposed back, where she hasn’t zipped the dress up yet.

“I just can’t—”

“Let me,” I murmur, moving behind her.

I kiss the back of her neck, watching the way she smiles in the mirror in front
of us. My fingers push hers gently aside as they grip the zipper.

Which I promptly tug down.

“Wait, that’s the wrong—”

“I beg to differ.”

The dress cascades off of her, slipping down her body to pool at her heeled
feet. When I drag my gaze back up to our reflections, my mouth waters as I
groan hungrily.

“Good girl,” I growl.

Mara whimpers, breathing heavily as my hands tease over her hips sliding up
her sides. She’s not wearing any panties.
It’s a rule we’ve both come to very much enjoy keeping on the books.

My hands tease higher, until my fingers deftly unclip her lace bra, letting it
fall away. My eyes hungrily roam every inch of her exquisite skin, from the
blush on her cheeks, to the quote inked on the back of her shoulder, to the
rosy duskiness of her pebbled nipples, to the glistening wet pink slit between
her legs.

And I’m starving.

She gasps as my hands cup her breasts, my fingers rolling and pinching her
nipples. My mouth hungrily sucks and bites at her neck, making her cry out
as she reaches back to grip my hair.

I groan as I start to nibble, bite, suck, and lick my way down her back,
moving lower and lower as her breath catches. My hands grip her ass tightly,
spreading her open for me before my tongue delves between her globes.

“Oh fuck, Konstantin!”

She mews, making whimpering sounds, her body trembling as my tongue

swirls around her ass. I tease her little hole, groaning at the way it puckers for
me when I bring a palm down hard against her ass.

Mara moans in pleasure, her legs quivering as she puts her palms against the
mirror in front of her. I drag my tongue lower, pushing her legs wider apart
before I hum my mouth against her slick pussy.

“Oh shit, yessss…”

She chokes on her pleasure as my tongue delves between her lips. I slide it up
between them, dancing the tip over her clit before my lips fasten around it.
Mara moans deeply, arching her spine as she pushes back into me.
I growl, devouring her little pussy hungrily. I hum against her, sucking at her
throbbing clit and occasionally letting my palm warm and redden her ass,
which only makes her flood my tongue even more.

Her whines of pleasure fill the room, her body shaking against me—her
pussy dripping all over my tongue and chin. I can feel her start to tense, and
when I fasten my lips around her clit and suck, my tongue swirling around it,
she comes undone for me

“Konstantin—!”

She cries out, moaning lowly as her body spasms in ecstasy for me. She
comes hard for my tongue, flooding my mouth with her sweetness as I
hungrily devour her.

Mara is still shaking when I stand. But instantly, she’s whirling, and she’s on
me like a lioness. She rips at my shirt before dropping her hands feverishly to
my belt.

My lips curl as I shrug my shirt off, my brow arching as I drop my gaze to the
way she’s yanking my pants open.

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?”

She blushes, biting her lip as her big blue eyes drag up to mine.

“For you?” She purrs as my pants and boxers drop. “Always.”

She gasps as my thick, swollen cock springs free to press hotly between her
thighs, throbbing against her slick pussy.

“Aways,” she whimpers. “And right now, I need you to—”

“I know what you need,” I growl, making her whimper as I scoop her up into
me, her legs wrapping around my waist. I fist my cock, easing the swollen
head against her pretty little pussy.
“And I know just how you need it.”

Our eyes lock, and suddenly, I drive in hard. Mara cries out in pleasure,
throwing her head back as my thick cock sinks to the hilt in her snug pussy.

I groan, fighting the waves of pleasure at the feel of her heat around me. My
fingers dig into her skin, and our mouths crush together as I surge hard inside
of her. My hands cup her ass tightly, and I start to pull her up every inch of
me as she whines into my mouth.

Then I drive in hard, ramming my cock into her exactly how I know she
needs.

Her back hits the mirror, and her moans vibrate through my mouth as I start
to fuck her hard and deep. Her tongue dances with mine, her nails raking
down my back. I pound into her, feeling her walls ripple around me—
relishing the way her pebbled nipples drag across my chest.

Her hands slide into the back of my hair. Mine grip her ass so tight I know
it’ll leave marks—just like I know feeling me hold her like this makes her
even wetter.

I thrust into her, fucking her relentlessly against the mirror. Our skin is slick
against each other, our breathed moans panting together—both of us
tumbling towards the inevitable explosion together.

My mouth drops to her neck. I bite down, just as one of my hands draws back
to spank hard against her ass.

Trigger: pulled.

With a guttural cry of pleasure, she explodes for me. She moans wildly, her
walls ripping and spasming around me, her body arching and grinding against
me—all of it in ways I can no longer resist.
With a snarl, I bury my cock deep in her clenching pussy. My balls draw
tight, and my mouth crushes to hers as I explode deep inside of her. Wave
after wave crashes over both of us as we hold each other tightly.

I kiss her slowly and deeply, until we both pull apart. I tell her I love her—
I’ll say that all day, every day, for the rest of my life.

This time, I help her pull the zipper of up the right way. She ties my tie. Then
we walk hand-in-hand across white gravel paths of Oxford Hills Academy,
through the bloom of spring flowers, to the concert hall where we’ll be
graduating with our friends.

Only I will know when she walks across that stage that she’s not wearing
panties.

Two houses, both alike in dignity.

A rose by any other name.

A tale of woe.

But this is not a tragedy. It’s a future free from the past. A future that’s ours.

And this is only the beginning.

Haven’t gotten enough of Konstantin and Mara? Sign up for my newsletter

and read a steamy extra scene! This isn’t an epilogue or continuation to
Broken God and Defiant Queen. But this extra hot “follow-up” story is
guaranteed to fog up your Kindle! You’ll also get a free full-length book
when you join!

Get the extra scene!

 SAVAGE HEIR PREVIEW

If Broken God and Defiant Queen were your first steps into the Savage Heirs
series, now’s a great time to go back to the beginning and catch up with the
rest of the heirs from this duet! Read on for a sneak peek of Savage Heir,
book 1 of this series of standalones.

Chapter 1
“They call him ‘The Wolf’ for a reason, Tenley,” my roommate says quietly.

I swallow. It’s not the first time I’ve heard the nickname.

In the three days since I moved into the student housing with Charlotte, I’ve
heard the moniker whispered like a curse, or maybe a prayer, throughout the
common areas of campus.

Ilya Volkov: The Wolf of Oxford Hills.

I’ve looked him up online. I mean how do you not after a nickname like that.
I’ve never even met him or seen him face-to-face. But one Google image
search later and I fully understood why he’s the Wolf.

Because when that man looks into a camera lens, it’s like a predator ready to
pounce on his prey.

Well, that and the fact that his last name is literally Russian for “wolf”, I
guess. His last name is also as synonymous with organized crime in Russia as
“Capone” would be in the states. In fact, his uncle is the Yuri Volkov, head
of the notoriously brutal and cold-blooded Volkov Bratva family.

My face flushes as I think back to the face of Ilya spread across the search
engine page. Dark hair, green eyes, and the chiseled good looks and bone
structure of an aristocratic model. But the whole visage is washed in a
brooding darkness that you can’t help but shiver at.
Just like I do, right now, even thinking of it. But I steel myself and shake that
shiver off. Ilya Volkov might be “The Wolf.” He might—allegedly—be heir
apparent to one of the most dangerous, powerful, and wealthy crime families
in the world. He might, bewilderingly, be on academic probation after some
issues last year.

But I won’t let any of that affect me or throw me off. Because all of this is
part of The Plan.

Okay, so The Plan has been slightly edited by the media and consulting team
surrounding my father’s anticipated political moves. But it’s still mostly The
Plan I’ve had in my head since I was twelve.

Graduate valedictorian, then Columbia for undergrad where I will, of course,

graduate with honors. After that, it’s right to Harvard Law, and interning at
the renowned Welsley and Kane who will make me a Junior Associate. From
there, I’ll make moves to the even more prestigious Lancer, Stein, and
Ramirez firm back in DC, where I’ll make partner within two years. After a
few years there, I’ll climb the ladder into a judgeship for the District of
Columbia. And by the time I’m forty, I’ll make the push to the final goal:
Supreme Court Justice Tenley Chambers—the youngest Justice in history.

Lofty? Perhaps. Impossible? Not with The Plan, which is why I have it.

In the last year, though, The Plan has changed. Sort of. It’s been “recolored,”
as Jill, my father’s new PR chief, put it. Because The Plan now involves a lot
more than me.

The Plan now involves my father possibly becoming the next Vice President
of the United States.

Currently, my dad is the US Secretary of State. Which, I’m under zero

illusions, is almost entirely why and how I’m at Oxford Hills. It’s the power
and prestige he wields, not the money. We were never struggling when I was
growing up. My dad did well as a Naval officer and lawyer with the military
courts.

But there’s “doing well” for normal people, and then there’s “doing well” for
the kind of people whose kids go to Oxford Hills.

And Oxford Hills is in a class entirely its own.

The students here are the upper echelon—the elite of the world’s elite. The
sons and daughters of billionaire tycoons, oligarchs, and royalty—literal, real
royalty. I’m from an upper-middle-class suburb and public school. The other
students here are from actual castles, or houses with their own zip codes, and
have never washed a single teaspoon.

But six months ago, my dad was approached by Senator George North. The
New York Senator is highly speculated, by the entire political media
spectrum, to be the next President of the United States. He’s already gotten a
thumbs-up from the soon to be exiting current POTUS, and his team has
picked my father to be his potential running mate when he announces.

Six months ago, life got very complicated. Suddenly, public school and the
burbs wasn’t enough. Being a model student with the highest marks possible
wasn’t enough. No, I needed “elite status.” I needed “pedigree.”

I needed “a social life.”

So, here I am: out of DC and across the ocean to the bucolic English
countryside where Oxford Hills sits. Here, my image will be “perfected” by
elite classes and elite friends.

But at least the new roommate is all sorts of awesome. Charlotte’s like me.
Which is to say, being here gives her imposter-syndrome to the max, too.
Char’s been at Oxford Hills for a year already. But like me, she doesn’t really
belong here.
A little over a year ago, Charlotte’s mother, a very regular, normal
schoolteacher from a London suburb, married the King—the actual, real King
—of the small country of Luxlordia. That makes Charlotte an actual, real
princess. Or, to a “normal” person like me, it does. To other royalty, it makes
her an imposter.

That’s basically how we became fast friends two months ago when we were
notified we’d be roommates this term at Oxford Hills. A single phone call
turned into almost nightly FaceTiming, and now we’re best friends. And all
because of the joke that the only reason we’ve been put together as
roommates is because we’re the “imposters.”

The faux princess and the presidential race prop.

“Tenley.”

Her voice snaps me out of my own head.

“You can’t—”

“Charlotte, I’ll be fine.”

It’s just tutoring. I’ve done this hundred of times.

I smile. Even though inside, my stomach knots. My heart clenches along with
my fingers into the palm of my hand. I’m trying to be brave. But I can’t help
but feel like I’m about to walk right into the lion’s den.

Or The Wolf’s, as the case may be.

I glance outside through the elegant paned windows at the rain pouring down
on the English countryside. I pull up the hood of my burgundy raincoat and
turn back to the mirror. My blue eyes meet their reflection. I tuck an errant
lock of red hair behind my ear, under the hood, and I take a breath.
Okay, I can do this. It’s all for The Plan. And Supreme Court Justice and
Time Magazine Person of the Year Tenley Chambers is not afraid of the Big
Bad Wolf.

I glance back at Charlotte, curled on the couch, and smile. “I’ll be back in an
hour or so I guess.”

“Yeah, unless he eats you,” she mumbles with a worried frown. I roll my
eyes, wave, and turn to head out the door into the rain.

Ilya Volkov is not going to eat me.

Student housing at Oxford Hills is quaint, but moneyed. There aren’t big
buildings full of dorms with communal bathrooms or anything like at other
private schools. Students are paired two to a “cottage”—whimsically
beautiful Tudor-style houses arranged in quads with three others just like it,
with a shared, gorgeously manicured and landscaped backyard area.

Each cottage has a downstairs kitchen—though there’s a Great Hall dining

area that serves three meals and two teas a day—a study library and living
room. Upstairs, there are two bedrooms with private bathrooms, and a
common area between them.

Outside, I tighten my hood against the downpour and trudge across campus.
The housing address for Ilya that the student services office gave me simply
says “Lordship Manor.” I haven’t explored much of campus since I moved in
three days ago. But an online map had it situated on the far side of the stables
—yes, there are stables—and past the archery range. Yes, there’s an archery
range.

My rain boots splash through puddles along the slate and cobblestone
walkways that crisscross the grounds of Oxford Hills. There are only a few
other people out in this weather, but they seem to ignore me even when I give
a wave.
I’m quickly learning that the children of the world’s elite aren’t the friendliest
bunch.

I pass the stables, smiling at the smell of hay and horses. The archery range is
empty and gray in the downpour. I’ve got my head down to ward off the rain,
so I don’t notice the wall and the gate until I’m almost smacking into it.

I startle and step back. I glance up, and my eyes widen.

Past the ivy-covered stone wall and ornate iron gate, is a stunning old home.
It looks like it belongs on the grounds of Versailles or something—a huge,
beautiful and yet imposing stone manor, half-covered in ivy. Black-iron
windows dot the facade, and the front door looks like it would withstand a
siege from a rival kingdom.

I’m about to dig my phone out and figure out how close I am to Ilya’s cottage
when my eyes suddenly snap to the words carved into the stone wall next to
the gate. My mouth falls open in shock when I read “Lordship Manor.”

What. The. Fuck.

This is where Ilya Volkov lives? It’s no cottage. It’s a fucking castle. I shake
my head in disbelief. But, this is it, alright. And palace or not, the student I’m
supposed to tutor in order to bulk up my resume is in there.

This will be fine.

Unless he eats you.

I tremble as I push the gate open and step through. I fast-walk up the stone
walkway to the enormous, black iron and old-wood door. There’s no
doorbell.

I frown. What the hell am I supposed to do, use a battering ram? Have my
squire call up to the Lord of the realm?
I take a breath, haul my fist back, and pound. Then I pound again, and again.
Finally, I hear the sound of a lock being drawn back. The door cracks and
then swings open. I blink in surprise.

The girl is not who I expected. She’s… stunning. Tall, leggy, blonde, and
absolutely gorgeous. And here I am standing in the pouring rain in a baggy
red raincoat, hair stuck to my face, no makeup, looking like a shipwreck
survivor.

The wrinkled-nose look of disdain she gives me seems to back that up.

“Who are you?” She sneers in a haughty, posh British accent. Her manicured
brow arches with distaste.

“I—I’m the…”

I suddenly realize there’s a party going on behind her. The inside of the
manor is even more gorgeous than the outside. And it’s full of students
drinking, dancing, making out, smoking cigarettes—and something else by
the smell of it—and roaring with laughter. Music thuds.

“Were you invited?” She sneers.

I frown. “No, I—I mean, I’m the—”

She suddenly smiles widely. “Oh! Oh, no, honey,” her smile thins. “We
won’t need the maid service until tomorrow. And when you do come back,
do make sure you come through the service entrance at the back, yeah?”

Her cold eyes pierce me as her lips thin. “Kay, bye…”

She starts to shut the door in my face. But my rain boot juts out to stop her.
She looks at me like I’ve just peed on the royal jewels.

“Are you fucking—”

“I’m actually the tutor?” I smile weakly. Then I take a breath and compose
myself. I stand a little taller. “I’m the tutor. I’m here for Ilya.”

She stares at me. But slowly, her lips curl in amusement.

“Ilya?” She says with a smirk.

“Uh, yes. Does he live here?”

She grins widely. “You’re sure you’re looking for Ilya. Ilya Volkov.”

Good grief.

“I’m sure,” I say tightly. “Can I—”

“Stay here, I’ll get him.” She starts to turn. But then she glances back at me
and shakes her head. “You’re sure about this?”

“Pardon me?”

She chuckles as her eyes slide up and down over me, like she’s sizing me up.
Her lips smirk.

“Oh, hon,” she shakes her head and gives me a faux-sympathetic look. “Just
remember, you had the chance to run, and didn’t.”

She shuts the door. I stand there in the pouring rain, blinking and trying to
figure out what the hell just happened.

The minutes tick by. After about five of them, I realize I’m being pranked, or
hazed or something. Yeah, screw this. I can tutor anyone. But I don’t need to
deal with this mean-girl shit.

As I start to turn to head back home, though, I hear the door creak. I roll my
eyes, ready to give miss Ice Queen the finger. Slowly, I turn with the sneer on
my lip as the door swings open.
And then my heart stops beating for a second.

Suddenly, I’m face-to-face with The Wolf himself.

The dark hair, the piercing green eyes. The dark, menacing look on his
perfectly chiseled face. My eyes drop, and I blush.

He’s also shirtless. Shirtless, and… built. And tattooed to hell and back. My
face burns as my eyes drink in the broad, muscled shoulders, the lines of his
photoshop-perfect chest and abs, and the grooves of his hips diving into the
waist of his black jeans.

I slowly drag my eyes up to his stern but slightly amused face. And I tremble.

Ilya Volkov is stunning. And terrifying. And gorgeous. And dangerous

looking. His hair is both tussled and perfect. Those almost supernatural green
eyes pierce into my very soul. There’s a smug smirk on his perfect lips, and
what looks and smells like a spliff dangling from them.

He leans against the doorframe holding a crystal tumbler with what looks like
whiskey or scotch in it. His cold, amused gaze sweeps over me.

I shiver under it.

“Well?” He growls—growls, literally. Like a… well, like a wolf.

I frown. “Well… what?”

His smirk deepens. “Well are we doing this outside in the rain or in my
room?”

“I… uh, your room would be good?”

He chuckles darkly. I glance past him at the raging party going on.

“Look, if you’re in the middle of something, I can always come back later—”
“I’m ready right now.” He shrugs, his eyes never blinking or leaving mine.
“We could go right there on the floor in the middle of it, if an audience is
your thing.”

I frown in confusion. “I’m sorry, do you know who I am?”

He shrugs. “I know what you want, and that works for me just fine.”

My frown deepens. “You know what I—” I shake my head. “I’m Tenley.”

“And I’ve got things to do, Tenley,” he grunts thinly. “So if it’s a shag you’re
so desperate for, why don’t you turn around, lift that skirt, and say please.”

My mouth falls open, and I stare at him. “Excuse me?!”

His lips grin; the spliff still dangling from them as smoke curls around his
piercing green eyes.

“I said to be sure you said please—”

I don’t know what takes ahold of me. I just know that I am not putting up
with frat-boy bullshit like this. I’ll take the being relocated to another fucking
country. I’ll deal with political image crap. I’ll cater my perfect Plan to fit the
new realities of my life. I’ll even deal with snobby rich brats talking down to
me because I wasn’t born with a jeweled scepter up my ass.

But I will not put up with this shit.

Without really thinking it through, my hand darts out. I snatch the glass from
his hands, haul back, and splash the contents of it right into his face.

I swear, the music behind him stops. The people behind him freeze and stare
with horrified expressions. And it’s only then that I truly realize what I’ve
just done.
I just threw a drink in the face of The Wolf—heir apparent to the most brutal
mafia family in the world.

And yet, he says nothing. He doesn’t even blink. His gorgeous face drips
with scotch. The spliff in his lips dangles limp and soaked against his chin
before he spits it out. His jaw grinds.

But suddenly, a fire sparks like molten green magic in his eyes. I gasp as he
rapidly closes the short distance between us. His hand juts out, and I choke
on my breath as he grabs the front of my raincoat at the neck in a fist. Fear
spikes through me as he yanks me hard into him.

The glass drops from my fingers, landing in the wet grass next to the
walkway. The hood falls back off my head. Rain pours down over the both of
us in sheets as those eyes burn like green fire right into mine. His perfect lips
pull back into an animal snarl, white teeth flashing in fury.

I’m petrified. I can’t even scream, let alone try and break free and run for my
very life. All I can do is shake as my wide eyes stare up into his.

The seconds tick by as I wait for death. Until finally, his mouth opens.

“Run away, little red,” he snarls thickly and quietly. His grip tightens, almost
choking me with the neck of my coat. “Run away, before I eat you up.”

He shoves me back and lets go. I don’t think. I don’t ask what he means. The
fight or flight internal war is over in a quarter second: flight wins.

I turn, and I run as fast as I can from the big, bad Wolf of Oxford Hills.

Keep reading!
 Savage Heir - Exclusively on Amazon and in Kindle Unlimited!

Come hang in my readers-only Facebook group for first glimpses of covers,

new books, ARC opportunities, and live readings. See you there!
 PAYING THE BRATVA’S DEBT PREVIEW

Looking to dive deeper into the Kashenko and Volkov Bratvas? Viktor, Yuri,
and others mentioned in this duet already have their own books!

The Bratva’s Claim series is written to be read and enjoyed in any order, as
standalones. However, you may find that reading them in the order below
offers the best over-all story-arc experience.

Paying The Bratva’s Debt

The Bratva’s Stolen Bride
Hunted By The Bratva Beast
His Captive Bratva Princess
Owned By The Bratva King
The Bratva’s Locked Up Love
 Read on for a sneak peek of Paying The Bratva’s Debt.

Chapter 1
Fiona

“Don’t you have a sewer to crawl back into, Chet?”

Zoey suddenly shoves her way between me and the creep hitting on me,
glaring at him.

“Zoey Stone,” he growls, frowning.

“She’s not interested. Fly away, scumbag.”

“Why don’t you let her speak for—”

“Trust me, she’s not interested. You’re not her type, Chet.”

He glares at her, and then turns to me. “Why don’t we let Fiona tell us what
her type is?”

“Because I already know it’s not the type who like his girls young, rich, and
unconscious,” she hisses.

He bristles, snarling at her. “Listen to me, you little—”

“Fuck off, Chet. Now.”

“Bitch,” he mutters. He glares at Zoey before he turns and slinks away.

“Ugh, fuck that guy,” she groans.

“My dad sent him over.”

“Well, your dad has really terrible taste in men for you.”
I sigh. “He checked all the boxes—rich, successful, and apparently a…” I
frown into my friend’s face. “Wait, did you and—”

“Oh my God, no. Not me,” she makes a face. “Crystal Shoenburg used to
date his brother though. Lots of family donations to sweep his predatory
bullshit under the rug.”

I blanche. “Wait, that was Chet Brubaker?”

“Yep.”

I groan. “As in…”

“Son of Melvin Brubaker, CEO of Adonis Capital. That’s the one.”

I roll my eyes and turn to glare at my father across the fundraising party. He’s
not even looking though. “Glad to see we’ve evolved past arranged marriages
for political means,” I grumble.

“I mean, does it actually surprise you? How many guys has your dad tried to
set you up with because of their family’s money or political connections?”

“More than I want to count.”

She sighs. “So, you’re going to tell him today?”

“That’s the plan.’

“Well, I’m here if you need me.”

“Thanks, Zoey.”

The plan is to finally tell my father I’m leaving my gilded cage. I mean I’m
twenty-two, I have a law degree, and it’s ridiculous that I’m still living under
his roof as basically a captive doll. So, I’m leaving. Even if it means getting
cut off completely, I have to get out.
And today, I’m telling him that. No more suitors pushed on me. No more
being a pawn for his political career. I want my life, and I want it now.

I arch as my father shakes some hands. Wilson, his chief of staff, comes up
and whispers something in his ear. My father frowns and nods quickly, then
he turns and makes a beeline for his office down the hall.

“Where’s he off to?”

“Oh, probably has Satan on the phone, offering my first-born child in

exchange for a State Senate seat.”

Zoey snickers. “Well, no one’s allowed in his office, right?”

“True.”

“So, wouldn’t now be an opportune time?”

I bite my lip. She’s right. He’ll be alone and cornered. If I’m going to do this,
it might as well be now. I turn and pass her my glass.

“I’ll be back.”

“Be brave!”

“Thanks.”

I slink away through the crowd. No one tries to congratulate me or stop me,
not without my father watching. And that’s fine with me. I slip down the hall
until I’m right outside his office door. I go to open it, but suddenly I hear
voices arguing inside.

“Look, I already told you,” my father is saying sharply. “I can get you money
now, or if you want to wait until after the election, whatever contracts you
want are—”

“I am not interested in gambling on your political aspirations, Thomas.”

I freeze. The other man’s voice is dark and gritty, with some sort of Russian
or other Balkan accent.

My dad laughs nervously. “Gambling? Please. This is a sure thing. And trust
me, once I’m in, those contracts are going to be so sweet, you’ll get cavities
—”

“I already told you, I am not interested,” the man with the smokey, dark,
powerful voice sighs heavily. “We had an arrangement, Thomas.”

“I know, I know, and I’m trying—”

“I did you a favor.”

“I know that! And I’m so appreciative, I just—”

“A debt is owed,” the voice snarls quietly. “And today, I am here to collect.”

“Look, I’m trying, okay?! If you just give me a month, Mr. Komarov.”

I freeze, dread filling me. The behind-door crooked dealings with my father,
the Russian accent, and now, a name I’ve seen in newspapers. The man my
father is speaking to is the single most dangerous, violent, and notorious man
in organized crime in Chicago. Perhaps even the whole country.

He’s talking to Viktor Komarov, the vicious, powerful head of the Kashenko
Bratva.

“I’m not interested in giving you a goddamn thing, Thomas,” the Russian
mobster hisses. “Except a further three seconds to tell me how I’m going to
get my money, today. One.”

“Mr. Komarov, please! This is not how things are done—”

“Do not lecture me, Thomas. We had an arrangement. That is how things are
done. Two.”
“Mr. Komarov!”

I hear the sudden metallic click of a gun on the other side of the door. I gasp
loudly.

Too loudly.

The barking sound of a snarled command in Russian echoes through the door.
Footsteps cross the room, and I gasp as I pull away from the door. But it’s too
late. The office door yanks open, and two burly, terrifying men suddenly grab
me. I scream, and my father is yelling, but they ignore us both. They yank me
inside and throw me to the ground. The two of them storm over to me, when
suddenly, there’s a barked command.

“Ostanovka!”

The deep, gravelly voice booms through the room.

I feel my heart pounding in my throat as I slowly look up. The two burly men
move aside, and suddenly, I’m looking at a tall, broad-shouldered,
completely gorgeous tank of a man. He’s even taller and bigger than his two
bodyguards, and you can almost see the power rippling off of him. His deep
blue eyes look right at me, captivating my gaze.

“Who are you?”

“Mr. Komarov,” my father fumbles, almost tripping over himself as he

stutters over. “This is Fiona, my daughter.”

The brooding Russian’s eyes glimmer. They narrow at me as a shadow of a

smile curls at his lips.

“Thomas,” he growls. “Our debt is settled.”

Keep reading!
Paying The Bratva’s Debt - Exclusively on Amazon and in Kindle Unlimited!
 ALSO BY JAGGER COLE

Savage Heirs:

Savage Heir

Dark Prince

Brutal King

Forbidden Crown

Broken God

Defiant Queen

Bratva’s Claim:

Paying The Bratva’s Debt

The Bratva’s Stolen Bride

Hunted By The Bratva Beast

His Captive Bratva Princess

Owned By The Bratva King

The Bratva’s Locked Up Love

The Scaliami Crime Family:

(All standalone books which can be read in any order.)

The Hitman’s Obsession

The Boss’s Temptation

The Bodyguard’s Weakness

Standalones:

Bosshole

Grumpaholic
 Her Rough Mechanic

Cherished

Captivated

Roping His Bride

Stalker of Mine

Hungry For Her

Wrapped Up In Her

Be Ours

Power Series:

(All standalone books which can be read in any order.)

Tyrant

Outlaw

Warlord

Wants & Needs Duet:

All He Wants

Everything He Needs

Forever Always Duet:

Forever His

Always Hers

Tuff Built Series:

Big Deck

Hard Screw
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A reader first and foremost, Jagger Cole cut his romance writing teeth penning various steamy fan-
fiction stories years ago. After deciding to hang up his writing boots, Jagger worked in advertising
pretending to be Don Draper. It worked enough to convince a woman way out of his league to marry
him, though, which is a total win.

Now, Dad to two little princesses and King to a Queen, Jagger is thrilled to be back at the keyboard.

When not writing or reading romance books, he can be found woodworking, enjoying good whiskey,
and grilling outside - rain or shine.

You can find all of his books at

www.jaggercolewrites.com