Author: Faye Pierce

Don’t miss your link for the whole book at the end of the preview.

Chapter One

Milana

The cell smells like piss and regret.

“First time?”

I look up at the sound of the voice. The blonde woman is watching me, legs crossed like she’s completely at home here.

I hesitate. “Is it that obvious?”

She snorts. “You’ve checked that door more times in five minutes than I’ve checked my ex-husband’s messages in a year.”

A reluctant laugh slips out before I can stop it.

I’m still pressed into the corner of the cold concrete bench, arms wrapped around myself. It doesn’t help. The chill seeps straight through my jacket, through the thin fabric of my dress, and settles deep in my bones.

“Relax,” the brunette adds from the opposite bench, not even looking up. “You’ll be out soon enough if it’s your first time.”

I let out a breath. This is not how my night was supposed to end. A few hours ago, I’d been laughing with Sarah about finally letting loose after a brutal week of lectures and assignments. Then everything went wrong.

“What are you in for?” the brunette asks suddenly.

I glance at her. Smudged eyeliner, bored eyes, like this place is just another stop in her routine.

“I broke a bottle over a guy’s head,” I say. “He was trying to drag my friend into the bathroom at a club.”

That gets their attention.

The blonde leans forward slightly. “Good on you, love. Some men need to be taught.”

I shrug, even though my stomach tightens at the memory. “He didn’t understand no.”

No means no. It should be simple.

It wasn’t simple for him.

It still isn’t simple for people like him.

The brunette finally looks at me properly. “American?”

I nod.

“Tourist?” the blonde asks.

I manage a small, dry smile. “Student. Criminal law, actually. Irony’s not lost on me.”

I shift on the bench, trying to get comfortable, and shrug off my blazer because my legs are getting cold. I drape it over my legs.

The blonde’s eyes widen a little when she sees my dress properly. “Bloody hell, that dress is nice. Real nice. Designer?”

I glance down at the expensive fabric clinging to my skin and shrug one shoulder. “Something like that.”

She whistles low. “I’d kill for a dress like that.”

I look down at the dress again. When I’d thrown it on tonight, I hadn’t thought much of it. It was just another dress. One of many hanging in my closet.

“You can only afford a dress like that in your dreams,” the brunette says, laughing.

“Unfortunately, I’m broke in my dreams too,” she responds, and they both burst into laughter.

As they laugh, I watch them. To me, this dress is ordinary. To her, it’s something worth dreaming about. I can’t remember the last time I looked at a piece of clothing and wished for it.

Maybe because I’ve never had to. The realization leaves a strange taste in my mouth. There are so many things I’ve always considered normal that someone else might see as a luxury.

“You don’t look like the type who ends up in here,” the blonde says when she finally stops laughing.

A tired laugh escapes me. “Yeah, well… tonight proved otherwise.”

She smiles. “Well, I think you did the right thing. Men who can’t take no for an answer deserve a bottle to the skull. Or worse.”

The brunette nods, lighting a cigarette she somehow smuggled in. “Aren’t all men like that, though? Is there actually any bloke out there who hears ‘no’ and fucking listens?”

I look at them, saying nothing. My mind drifts to my brothers, Artyom and Mikhail. To Calina’s husband, Maxim, who looks at my sister like she hung the moon and stars. I know what evil men look like. I grew up with one for a father.

But I also know there are men who respect a woman’s choice, who dote on their wives, who protect instead of destroy. I don’t say any of that. It would sound naive in here, privileged.

Instead, I just watch them, the cheap, worn dresses, the smudged makeup, the exhaustion etched into their faces, and wonder what their lives have been like. There’s a kind of weariness that doesn’t come from one bad night. It comes from a pattern.

They look like hookers. The thought slips in before I can stop it. Only God knows the type of men they’ve been exposed to. Did they stop saying no at some point because it stopped changing anything?

Why are they here? Did they try to defend themselves like I did Sarah? I’m about to ask what they’re in for when heavy footsteps echo down the hall.

“Milana Morozov!” the guard barks, rattling the bars. “Bail’s paid. You’re free to go.”

Relief floods me so fast my knees almost buckle. I push to my feet, smoothing my dress and shrugging my blazer back on properly. “Thank you,” I tell the women, offering them a genuine smile. “Take care of yourselves, okay? I hope you get out soon, too.”

The blonde waves lazily. “Stay out of trouble, rich girl.”

I step out of the cell, my heart heavier as I think about the women and the hand life has dealt them. I shrug off the thought, remembering Mikhail’s words: “You can’t help everyone, Milana.”

Sarah must have come through. She was probably panicking the whole time. I collect my purse, phone, and the rest of my things, signing whatever forms they shove at me without really reading them.

The station lights feel too bright after the dim cell. I push through the front doors into the cool Manchester night, scanning the street for my roommate’s familiar face.

No Sarah.

Strange. I turn in a slow circle, heels clicking on the pavement, but the sidewalk is mostly empty except for a couple of late-night stragglers. I pull out my phone to call her, and my stomach drops when I see dozens of missed calls from my brothers. Mostly from Mikhail.

Shit.

My brothers hate it when they can’t reach me. It was one of the few conditions they all agreed to when I begged to study in England: I stay available. Twenty-four seven. No excuses.

When I got the admission to study at the University of Manchester, my brothers refused at first. Said it was too far. Too unsafe. Too many things that could go wrong with me that far from home.

In the end, they only agreed after a lot of persuasion from me and my elder sister Calina, and even then, it came with conditions. I come home for every break and holiday. I answer their calls. Always. No excuses.

My brothers mean well. I know they do. I love them for it. But their protection often feels like a cage––choking, overbearing. Sometimes they act like I’m something fragile that will break if they look away for too long.

Manchester has given me space to breathe. To be Milana without the constant Morozov weight pressing down on me. Room to exist without someone watching every step I take or deciding what’s safe before I’ve even had a chance to think for myself. Room to make my own mistakes… like smashing a glass over an asshole’s head.

Trying to come up with an excuse for why I missed their calls, I decide to call Mikhail back first. I would rather deal with him than Artyom. He answers on the first ring.

“Milana.” His voice is low, sharp, the kind of calm that means he’s furious. “What the fuck?!”

I wince at the harshness in his voice. “Good to hear from you, too, brother.”

He ignores my sass. “What the hell were you thinking? First, you’re at a damn club in the middle of the night, and then you get yourself arrested?”

Shit. How did he find out about that? “I… uh, it’s not what you think.”

“Oh, really? Go on then, tell me what it is. Explain to me why you were in a club when you were supposed to be in your room, either reading or sleeping.”

I roll my eyes. Listening to my brother, one would think he’s a saint. It’s not like I went to a strip club. “Last I checked, there’s no law against going to clubs, besides it’s the weekend.”

“But there’s one against smashing bottles on a man’s head! When did you become violent?”

“He asked for it. Did Sarah tell you what he did? Surely you didn’t expect me to do nothing.”

He lets out a long, exhausted breath on the other end. ‘You’re supposed to be the good sister! The quiet one. The one who doesn’t end up needing bail at two in the morning. What exactly has gotten into you in Manchester?”

I roll my eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck. I keep walking slowly down the street, hoping to get a cab, phone pressed to my ear, letting his lecture wash over me like background noise.

Calina’s the outspoken one, the firecracker who says exactly what she thinks. Me? I’ve always been quieter. Reserved. People, my family included, sometimes mistake that for timidity or weakness. And I let them.

He keeps going, barely pausing for breath. “This is not why you’re in England. You’re supposed to be studying, not out causing trouble. Right now you should be in your bed, safe, not sitting in some freezing cell like a common criminal—”

I tune him out, focusing instead on the cold night air biting at my bare legs. The expensive dress feels even more ridiculous out here. After a solid minute of him ranting, I yawn loudly into the phone.

“Mikhail… are you done? Because I’d really like to go home and get some of that rest you mentioned.”

He makes a frustrated sound. “Done? No, I’m not done. Stop acting like this is nothing! Do you realize the gravity of what you did? What would have happened to you if I didn’t have someone to come bail you out?”

“Stop shouting,” I drawl. “It’s not like I killed the guy. He deserved it. I know you’ve killed men for less.”

I’m no stranger to what goes on in the Bratva. My brothers torture and kill men they feel deserve it all the time. I just happen to have borrowed a little leaf from their book tonight.

Mikhail groans, the sound long and pained. “God, what am I going to do with you?”

A small, satisfied smile tugs at my lips. “How did you know I was behind bars, anyway? Talking about bailing me out like you’ve got a whole extraction team on standby.”

“Sarah called me,” he says, still irritated. “Crying, completely hysterical.”

I roll my eyes again, harder this time. Sarah. We’ve had this conversation before. She needs to stop running straight to my brothers every time something goes sideways. I love her, but she panics too easily.

“Thankfully,” Mikhail continues, “I already had someone in England who could handle it quickly. He’s there to take you home, to the States.”

My steps slow. “Take me home? Why?”

The connection starts breaking up badly, his voice cutting in and out. “—Ilya… sent him… bail… dorm…”

“Mikhail.”

I walk a little further down the street, lifting the phone and turning in a slow circle, trying to catch better signal. “Mikhail? Hello? I didn’t catch that—why am I going home? Who did you send?”

Static fills the line again, and then the call drops completely. I pull the phone from my ear and stare at the screen, muttering a curse under my breath as I keep walking, trying to find even a bar of signal.

My heel catches awkwardly on the curb, and I stumble forward, almost face-planting right in front of a sleek, expensive-looking sports car parked at the curb. Black, low-slung, the kind of machine that looks like it costs more than most people’s houses. Its headlights are narrowed like eyes in the dark, as if it’s watching me.

But the car isn’t what holds my attention.

Leaning against the driver’s side is a man. A very tall man. Broad shoulders that stretch the fabric of his dark tactical jacket, powerful arms crossed over a wide chest, legs casually crossed at the ankles. Dark hair, sharp, hard features, and an aura of pure danger.

If someone had asked me to describe the perfect “tall, dark, and handsome man ” he would be it. The kind of man who makes the air feel thinner.

Our eyes meet.

His gaze is intense, piercing, like he’s looking straight through my skin and into every secret I’ve ever kept. From where I stand, I can’t quite make out the true color of his eyes. For a second, it steals my breath. Heat crawls up my neck.

I should maybe say something polite, turn around, and go find whoever my brother actually sent. But his stare pins me in place, and my brain seems to have lost any connection to my mouth.

He speaks first, voice low and rough. “Was the prison cell so comfortable you didn’t want to leave anymore?”

I blink, momentarily stunned. “Huh?”

He uncrosses his arms slowly. “I’ve been waiting. You were bailed out a while ago. What took you so long? Having a beauty treatment in there or something?”

The sarcasm snaps me out of my daze. I straighten my spine, tilting my head as I study him. “Wait… excuse me. Who are you?”

He pushes off the car with lazy confidence and walks around to the passenger side. The door opens with a soft click. “Ilya,” he says simply, as if that explains everything. “Your brothers sent me to get you. I’m the one who bailed you out.”

I open my mouth, then close it again. This is him? The person Mikhail was talking about on the phone? I glance at the low-slung sports car, then back at the mountain of a man standing beside it.

“We should get going. Get in.”

I’m supposed to climb into that tiny space with him? This walking weapon who looks like he could snap someone in half without breaking a sweat… and who somehow makes my pulse race just by existing?

I’m not easily stunned. I grew up around plenty of Bratva men, and I’ve seen more than enough good-looking ones. None of them ever fazed me. But right now, my brain feels a little short-circuited.

Chapter Two

Milana

Ilya holds the door open, one dark eyebrow lifting. “Chop chop, princess, get into the car. We don’t have all night.”

I pause at his tone. “Shouldn’t you talk to me with more respect?” I don’t know who this man thinks he is. Good looking or not, his attitude is beginning to piss me off. “I don’t like your tone.”

“Well, too bad I don’t give two fucks about your feelings. Get your ass into the car, we need to get moving.”

I consider telling him to go fuck himself, but it’s late, and I need a ride back to my dorm. Besides, Mikhail will lose his mind if he finds out I ditched the man he sent to get me. I’ve already given him and Artyom enough reasons to be pissed off tonight.

I let out a huff and make my way toward the door he’s holding open. The scent hits me the second I walk past him, leather and something woodsy, dark and masculine, like smoke and cedar wrapped around pure danger.

I catch myself inhaling deeper before I can stop it, my body reacting on instinct. Heat flares low in my belly. What the hell am I doing? I’ve never responded to a man like this. Not once. Not ever. To make things worse, he’s a stranger my brother sent, and I’m already acting like some breathless schoolgirl.

I mentally slap myself and slide into the passenger seat, the cool leather kissing the backs of my thighs. Just before I’m fully settled, he leans down slightly, one hand still on the door.

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

I pause, looking up at him. “Welcome for what?”

He closes the door with a solid click and rounds the car, folding his massive frame into the driver’s seat. The interior suddenly feels even smaller, his presence filling every inch of space.

“For getting you out of jail,” he says, voice low and edged. “Most people have the manners to say something when someone keeps them from spending the night in a cell.”

I buckle my seatbelt, smoothing my dress down as far as it will go, which isn’t far. “I guess I don’t have manners then.”

“No doubt about that.”

Okay, this guy is beginning to really get on my nerves. “First of all, I wouldn’t have spent the night there. Sarah, my roommate, would’ve come through eventually. Second, I don’t need to thank you. My brother sent you. He’s the one who arranged this, right? You’re getting paid to do it. So why are you acting like you swooped in out of the goodness of your heart?”

Something flashes in his eyes, anger, for a split second, before he masks it behind that cold, controlled expression. He starts the engine, the powerful rumble vibrating through the seats.

“And where is this roommate of yours? Because I don’t see her anywhere.” He makes a show of looking out the window.

Asshole.

“You know, for someone whose job is driving people around, you sure talk a lot.”

He seems amused. “That’s interesting,” he mutters, giving me a slow, deliberate once-over that makes my skin prickle. “You’re not as quiet as I was sold.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means, princess, from what I heard, you were supposed to be the calm, obedient sibling. The quiet one who doesn’t cause trouble. But it seems you’ve grown a spine in England.”

His words light a spark of irritation in my chest.

I hate this. I hate when people assume that because I’m calm and quiet, I have no spine. That I’m soft. Breakable. There are things I’ve done, things I can do, that would make loud-mouthed people with “more spine” piss themselves. Just because I don’t scream and throw tantrums doesn’t mean I’m weak.

“Calm and quiet doesn’t mean spineless,” I snap, turning in my seat to face him fully. “It doesn’t mean I’m weak, and it sure as hell doesn’t give you permission to talk down to me. So, how about you do the job my brother is paying you for and drive?” I lift a brow, letting my voice drop into something deceptively sweet. “You were the one complaining about how long I was taking. Yet here you are, more interested in running your mouth than actually getting us out of here.”

Ilya’s jaw tightens. He looks like he wants to say something cutting, something that would probably hurt me, but he changes his mind at the last second. Instead, his voice drops lower. “Watch your tone, Milana.”

The way he says my name, deep, rough, like it rolls off his tongue with too much familiarity, sends an unwelcome shiver down my spine. I want to hear it again.

Immediately. I shove the thought away, reminding myself I’m supposed to be annoyed with this arrogant stranger who’s already decided exactly who I am.

I choose to ignore him instead, and busy myself digging through my purse, checking that everything’s there, when I realize my cardholder is missing.

“Stop,” I say quickly. “I need to go back inside. My cardholder wasn’t with the rest of my things.”

Ilya glances at me, one hand still on the wheel. “What?”

“My card holder, it’s still at the station, and I need to get it.” I reach for the door handle.

He lets out a frustrated groan. “Stay in the car,” he orders, voice brooking no argument. “I’ll get it. You’ve walked around enough in that ridiculous dress already.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “My wardrobe is none of your business.” What the hell is his problem?

He groans again, a deep, frustrated sound that does strange things to my insides, and gets out. But as he does, an idea hits me. I slip out after him before he can close the door.

“Wait,” I call.

He turns, scowling. “What now? What else did you forget?”

“I need you to give something to someone inside.” I don’t wait for his reaction. I shrug off my blazer, then reach behind me and unzip the dress in one smooth motion. The cool night air hits my skin as the silky fabric pools at my feet.

“What the hell are you doing?” Ilya hisses, eyes widening in genuine shock. “Have you lost your senses? Stop!”

I ignore him, step out of the dress and quickly pull my blazer back on, buttoning it enough to cover my breasts, backside, and the lace underneath. It barely does the job.

“Could you ask one of the officers to give this to the blonde woman who was in the cell with me? She liked it.”

He stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. For a split second, his gaze drops, dark, intense, before fury snaps back into place. His expression goes blank, then stormy. “Put your dress back on. Now.”

“No.”

“Milana. Put the damn dress back on,” he growls.

“No.” I hold it out to him.

He looks like he’s one second away from shoving me back into the dress himself. “Why the hell do you want to give your dress to a stranger you just met in a jail cell?”

I shrug one shoulder, completely unbothered. “She liked it. And I have plenty more. Now will you please take it to her?” I hold the silky fabric out to him. “The sooner you do it, the sooner we can leave. And don’t forget my card holder.”

He snatches the dress from my hand, muttering curses under his breath as he stalks toward the station doors. I catch a few colorful Russian words that make my lips twitch.

I lean against the car, arms crossed over my blazer, a small, satisfied smile curling my mouth.

A shiver races down my spine, a reminder that I’m practically naked under this blazer. I tug the hem down hard, trying to make it cover more, but it’s useless.

The tailored jacket is short on a good day; now, standing on a Manchester street in nothing but lace panties and heels, it barely skims the tops of my thighs. The night air bites at my exposed skin, raising goosebumps everywhere. Brilliant move, Milana.

I quickly slide back into the passenger seat and pull the door shut, seeking shelter from the cold.

A minute later, Ilya returns, his long strides eating up the pavement. He yanks the driver’s door open, tosses my card holder into my lap without ceremony, and growls, “Here.”

Before I can say anything, he drops into the seat, slams the door, and starts the engine. The car purrs to life with a low, aggressive rumble.

I clutch the card holder, irritation flaring again. “You need to be nicer to me.”

He kicks the car into gear and turns those intense eyes on me, the look so sharp it steals my breath for a second. “Why the hell would I be nice to you?”

“Who pays the piper dictates the tune,” I fire back, lifting my chin.

Something dangerous flickers across his face. He gives me a slow, deadly glare that makes the air in the car feel heavier. “First of all, I’m no one’s puppet. I work for no one. Don’t misjudge this situation, I’m helping you, not the other way around.

“I could leave you half-naked on this street right now, drive off, and there would be zero repercussions. You’re at my mercy, princess. So, if you want to get home in one piece, shut that smart mouth and keep it shut.”

I’m stunned. No one, I mean no one, talks to me like this. Not with my last name. My mouth falls open to snap something back, but he reaches over and cranks the music up so loud the bass vibrates through my bones. The sound drowns out everything I wanted to say.

Fine. He’s not worth my energy.

I turn my face to the window, watching the city lights blur past, jaw clenched. The AC is on, cold air pouring over my bare legs and making me shiver. I cross my arms tighter over my blazer, painfully aware of how little I’m wearing.

Why do I do this? Why do I make impulsive decisions without thinking them through? Giving away my dress to a stranger in a cell felt right in the moment. Generous, even. Now I’m sitting here freezing, half-naked, next to a man who clearly enjoys putting me in my place.

His jacket is huge. It would swallow me whole and carry that intoxicating leather-and-woodsy scent. For one weak second, I consider asking for it.

But no. I refuse to beg this arrogant, controlling stranger for anything.

I stay perfectly still, teeth gritted against the cold, staring out into the night.

The music is giving me a headache. After a few more minutes of the bass pounding through the car like it’s trying to burst my eardrums, I reach over and switch it off. I brace for some sharp comment or him turning it right back up, but he doesn’t react at all.

The car falls into heavy silence, broken only by the low rumble of the engine and the sound of tires on wet pavement.

I shift in my seat, tugging my blazer down again. “What’s going on?” I ask, keeping my voice steady. “Why did my brother send you all the way here to get me?”

I expect him to ignore me or snap something rude, but he surprises me by answering.

“There’s a war brewing back home,” he says, eyes fixed on the road. “Michael, Adrian Volkov’s son, is out for revenge. He blames your family for his father’s death, and he’s getting desperate. Your brothers don’t want to leave you exposed out here alone.”

I nod slowly. I know bits and pieces about the Volkov situation. Enough to understand it’s serious.

Adrian Volkov was the vice president of Patheon, an exclusive society reserved for the world’s elite.

Two years ago, after Calina married Maxim, he was invited to join Patheon. Adrian despised him from the start. He had been adopted as a teenager, not the real bloodline, and yet had become the new Pakhan. So Adrian had tried everything to destroy Maxim and prevent him from joining the society, even orchestrating an attempt on my sister’s life just to get to him.

It was with my help that Calina discovered Adrian had been working with one of Maxim’s most trusted men to betray him. Maxim got Adrian kicked out of the society. Adrian declared war on him. And with my brothers’ help, Maxim had killed Adrian. Now his son wants revenge.

Ilya continues without looking at me. “I’m taking you to your dorm so you can pack a few things. Then we’re heading straight to the private jet and back to the States.”

“What about my classes?” The words are out before I can think better of them.

He glances at me like I’m a child throwing a tantrum over nothing. “Whatever classes you have, take them online. It’s no longer safe for you to be here alone in England. You need to be back where we can keep you protected.”

The fight drains out of me a little. I know better than to argue when my brothers have already made a decision like this.

I study his profile for a moment, the hard line of his jaw, the way his hands grip the wheel, and I find myself wanting to trace the veins on his hands. I quickly clear my throat. “So… do you do this often?”

“If you mean rescuing spoiled brats from their own bad decisions, no.”

I bristle instantly. “I’m not a spoiled brat.”

“Oh really?” His tone drips with skepticism.

“Yes, really. You know nothing about me.”

He turns his head slightly, and his gaze drops––slow, deliberate, heated, sliding over my bare legs, the hem of my blazer barely covering anything, the way I’m sitting in this ridiculous excuse for clothing.

The look is so intense it feels like a physical touch, dragging heat across my skin and making my breath catch. My thighs press together involuntarily.

“If you say so,” he drawls, voice lower now, rougher. “But I know everything I need to know.”

“Well, fuck you!”

The words fly out before I can stop them. I rarely curse. Almost never, but this man drags out the worst in me.

Ilya doesn’t even flinch. He glances back at the road, his voice low and laced with dark amusement. “I’ll have to take a rain check on that offer.”

Then his entire demeanor shifts. He checks the rearview mirror, and a sharp Russian curse slips from his lips.

“We’re being followed.”

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Chapter One

Riley

“Did you hear about the girl that went missing last week?” The conversation I overheard earlier in the subway keeps playing in my head, as if I hadn’t been second-guessing my decision already.

“Wasn’t she a stripper? It’s pretty common for night workers to go missing.” Her friend sounded as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for a stripper to disappear without a trace.

“I guess so… But it’s still scary.”

And it is scary. I happen to agree with the stranger on the subway. Yet here I am, waiting in a room with my friend Mia and six other girls, to audition for a stripper at the Gentlemen’s club Eden. The most elite club in the city.

“Riley, are you still worried? You look a little pale,” Mia hands me a bottle of water from her bag and I immediately take a sip.

“I just can’t stop thinking about that conversation from earlier,” I return the bottle to her, feeling a little better.

“Hey,” Mia gently places her hand over mine and when our eyes meet, I see how determined she is to go through with this. “We’re not doing that. We’re not that girl, you have nothing to worry about.”

I look over at the staff at the other side of the room. They keep leaving and entering in a rush, non-stop talking with someone over their walkie-talkies. “This place makes me nervous, and the auditions being late doesn’t help.”

I glance at my wristwatch. 10:37 PM. With my exam being tomorrow, I need to get back home and study. If the audition doesn’t start in the next few minutes, I’m screwed.

“That’s all normal,” Mia smiles. “I imagine it must be complicated to run an audition for such a big night club, and things tend to happen, like tech failure and stuff. Just try to remember why we’re doing this.”

She’s right. My course isn’t going to pay for itself, I really need this job. Maybe even more than I’m willing to admit. Besides, Mia managed to get us these auditions and I’m beyond grateful to her. I know she wouldn’t have brought us to audition in some hell hole.

“I guess you’re right.” I look myself in the mirror behind Mia. My dark blonde hair is in a neat high ponytail, allowing the golden straps of the stage costume to show on my fair skin. “And it pays way better than being a waitress.”

My only free time is at night; therefore I never had many options to choose from in the first place. A few nights ago, I went to a different club to interview for a waitress, but the pay was painfully low. After that Mia came with the news about the audition and the thought initially scared me. But I ended up agreeing to try it out.

My job as an intern at the hospital is unpaid, and I’m studying to be a paramedic. I can make use of any penny I can earn and the life I aspire to build requires sacrifices. Besides, I have a clear idea of what I’m willing to sacrifice and working as a stripper falls into the first category.

“God, you’re so gorgeous, you’ll drive everyone crazy,” Mia laughs, noticing that I’ve been checking myself out.

“As long as they just look and no one tries touching,” I try to make it sound like a joke, but on that long list of things I’m not willing to sacrifice for the money is my body. “If even one dude tries to lay a finger on me, I won’t even stop to think before quitting.”

“For that to happen, first you need to get hired, and only then can you kick everyone’s ass the moment they even look at you wrong,” Mia winks at me. “But jokes aside, that’s why I chose this place. Their reputation is solid and they really go above and beyond to protect the girls.”

What stands out the most from what I managed to find about Eden from a short googling session, is their “no touching” rule. They do offer private dances to their clients, but only with security present and even then, men are not allowed to touch the strippers. To make things even better, there isn’t a single corner in the club without cameras.

I notice the audition manager when she walks back into the room. “Excuse me, I really need to use the restroom. May I go quickly?”

“Of course,” she responds without ever lifting her head from the tablet. “Just go to the one near the private offices. The one here is broken.”

I take mental notes of her instructions and thank the audition manager and walk outside into a long, dark yet classy, hall.

“Turn left and then the second passage on the right,” the place looks like a labyrinth after my first turn and I have to remind myself of the directions. “It’s at the very end of the hallway. Fifth door.”

On my last turn, a few steps into the hall, the air gets a lot colder, as if someone has left the windows open in the middle of winter. I shake, immediately regretting not having taken my jacket.

Wait, didn’t she say the fifth door?

The fifth door is far from being the last door in the incredibly long dark corridor. If anything it looks like it’s somewhere in the middle. I still try opening it, hoping that I’ve somehow managed to come to the right place, trying not to think about the fact that I’ve probably gotten lost, but it’s locked.

I hate this.

Now I’m really regretting leaving my jacket behind. The place is eerie despite the expensive furniture and the fancy wallpaper. And with the lights off it makes me feel like I’ve walked into a horror movie rather than an elite club.

There is a murmur coming from one of the rooms down the corridor and I decide to follow the sound, hoping someone will help me find the restroom. The further I walk down the hallway, the darker it gets, with the only light coming from the room where the voice is coming from. I notice the voice is incredibly low.

The closer I get, the louder the voice becomes and I can now understand what the guy is saying. “I’m going to ask one more time,” the voice is cold, almost cruel. “Who is taking the girls?”

The room is barely lit, but I spot a tall, painfully gorgeous figure standing in front of another man in chains. The chained man is unrecognizable beneath the blood and sweat covering his body. His head hangs low, dark curls plastered to his forehead, chest rising in shallow, uneven breaths.

My eyes drift to the long metal rod in the handsome man’s hands. For a second, my brain refuses to understand what I’m looking at. The low lighting turns everything soft around the edges, making it appear unreal, until he suddenly swings it what I now think is a polished steel baton.

A loud thud echoes through the room as metal crashes against flesh.

I flinch so hard, I barely manage to keep my balance and avoid falling.

The sound the chained man releases is unlike anything I have ever heard. Completely broken and raw, dragged violently from deep inside of him, it’s the kind of sound that makes my stomach twist before my mind can even process it.

The man in chains jerks against the restraints, the metal rattling over his head, but he doesn’t say a word. I wonder if he was trained to endure torture. I remember once watching a documentary about Navy SEALs and how they all underwent a program called SERE. I don’t remember what the name stands for but it was a special training teaching them how to get through a not so friendly interrogation. Though the guy looks nothing like a Navy SEAL, and I’m pretty sure that this isn’t a military operation.

I notice the blood spatters everywhere around him, and I have to fight the urge to throw up.

The worst part is probably that the man torturing him doesn’t look affected by any of it.

His expression remains calm, almost as if he’s bored. I wonder how someone can be so beautiful yet monstrous all at once.

As he raises the steel baton again, my heart drops and I gasp.

“Oh shit…”

The words barely leave my mouth before he turns around and our eyes meet. I see my whole life flash before my eyes.

For a short heartbeat, he just stares at me from across the room. The look on his face is cold, terrifyingly calm, and that somehow manages to scare me more.

“Oh shit, shit, shit!”

I sprint down the hallway, my heart beating so fast, I’m worried it might jump out of my chest.

He’s at least 6’4 and being a petite who doesn’t do cardio, I don’t manage to get far before he catches up to me without even breaking a sweat. His hand lands on my shoulder and before I know it, I’m pinned against the wall, his tall figure towering me.

Up close, he’s even worse. Beautiful in a way that feels unfair. Dark hair and sharp jaw. Eyes so green, an emerald would be jealous of them.

But there is blood splattered across his collar.

Yet, his smell invites me in, a mix of smoke and expensive cologne, dangerously clean beneath all the chaos.

“Oh shit…” I release a breathless whisper, as his gaze drags over my face painfully slowly.

All the years of self-defense classes kick in and before I can lose my nerve, I drive my knee upward as hard as I can.

He curses sharply, his body folding just enough for me to bolt.

I don’t even know how, but I manage to return to the dressing room backstage, bumping into some of the staff members at the door.

“Finally!” Mia walks up to me. “They’ve been calling us, we need to go on stage like right now!”

“No, we need to leave this place immediately! Something’s off!”

“What do you mean?”

“Look, I don’t know,” I struggle to catch my breath. “But if we stay, we’re going to get in trouble and it’s the last thing we need.”

Mia nods, taking my hand as we, both step out into the corridor. However, the moment we step out of the room, a staff member grabs my arm.

“Your turn,” she says, coldly, dragging me in the opposite direction of where I came from just minutes before. I try to get out of her grip, but no luck.

Behind me, Mia is being dragged by another staff member. “I’m sorry…” She mouths as we are both lined up with the other girls on a small stage.

The lights are bright and my heart is still racing from earlier. I can’t even think straight.

“Whatever it is that scared you, try not to think about it,” Mia whispers next to me.

Maybe she’s right, I should just focus on doing what I came here for in the first place. Maybe I should forget about the handsome guy and the chained man and just dance the best I can and get hired. That’s why I came here in the first place, to get a stable income.

My attention goes to the man sitting on the couch on the right, but the stage lights are too strong for me to notice any of his features. I assume he’s the one we’ll have to impress in order to get hired.

Why did I ever think I could do this?

I wipe the sweat off my hands on the tiny skirt, hoping the guy won’t notice how out of it I am.

As we’re being introduced, I notice another figure joining the first guy, but he’s walking strange.

Are they looking for me?

“And now, we present to you the future of Eden!”

The music starts.

Chapter Two

Ezekiel

My brother has been waiting for me to start the auditions and when I finally join him on the couch, I have to sit down slowly, like a fucking 80-year with bad knees. Any wrong or sudden move results in a sharp reminder of the kick.

Wait until I have a word with you.

I’m still fuming after the encounter I had with that girl earlier. Not only did she wander somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be and witness me beating that guy senseless, but she also dared to kick me in the balls. No one kicks Ezekiel Kavanagh in the balls without paying for it.

“Is everything okay?” Malachi says, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Did the questioning go wrong?”

“It got us nowhere,” I try to make myself comfortable by spreading my legs and leaning forward but it doesn’t do much to ease the discomfort. “The guy doesn’t have a clue about who hired him. He doesn’t even know anyone above him.”

“So he just followed orders like a dog?” Malachi doesn’t even try to hide the disgust in his voice.

“Yeah, apparently he was in it for some easy cash,” I nod. “But don’t think I’m going to let him off so easily.”

“Never thought you would.” My brother, knowing me a little too well, hands me a cigarette and lights it up for me. “What the hell happened to you? You look like a car ran you over.”

Instead of answering, I give him a warning look and he backs off immediately. Malachi might be my advisor and strategist, as well as the second hand of the Kavanagh family, but he knows his place. Not even he gets to cross the line with me.

It’s one of the advantages of being the head of the Kavanagh family. Ever since I took over, the fear and the respect people have been showing me has been nothing short of amusing.

Nonetheless, every now and then, the thought of what life would look like if I hadn’t been born a Kavanagh slips in. Or if my parents were still alive and the crown hadn’t landed on my head.

But it’s useless.

The dead stay dead and there’s nothing anything can do about it. Being the head of one of the most feared Irish-American crime families in the city means that the city knows my name. And not just that, people fear me and they bend over backwards to please me. They show me respect and no one dares to even look at me in the wrong way. I have people doing the dirty work for me, even though I don’t hesitate to get my hands dirty when necessary. And right now, all I’m able to think about is how I made a mistake and allowed that girl to humiliate me.

The music starts and the first girl starts dancing. Objectively, she’s very good looking and knows her way around the pole. Her act ends quickly and the next one comes on stage immediately. Malachi writes something down in his notes.

I should be focusing on the performance and evaluating each girl alongside Malachi, but my head is in a different place entirely. It doesn’t help that the girls are far from the standard that we’re looking for, making it even harder for me to focus on their dance.

“They’re missing the spark,” I say and my brother nods.

“I liked the first one,” Malachi shares his notes with me and I see that he’s been scribbling down ratings for each girl and their performance. “But she doesn’t have the stage presence we’re looking for here.”

“I agree,” I lean back on the couch, regretting it immediately when the pain spreads through my crotch. The worst part isn’t even the pain. I’m no stranger to pain. What makes my blood boil is that every twinge is a direct insult and a reminder that she caught me off guard for half a second. That half a second was already half a second too long.

The other girls continue their performance, but not a single one of them stands out.

I make a mental note to have a chat with the person in charge of casting. Eden is an elite club; we don’t do mediocre. Whether it’s strippers or drinks, we only offer the best to our customers.

After some time, my mind goes to the incident from earlier again.

“There was someone in the corridor,” I tell Malachi and he leans in closer to hear me over the music blasting from the speakers. “She saw me, but she ran away before I could catch her.”

“Did you recognize her?” Malachi stops looking at the dancers and turns his entire focus on me.

“No,” I shake my head. “But we need to find her and see how much she saw. I gave an order earlier to keep the club under lockdown and not let anyone in or out.”

Before I came to join my brother and judge the auditions, I had a conversation with the head of security, instructing him to lock all the entrances and prepare the camera footage for me to check after the auditions. I’m not going to let anyone set foot out of Eden until I find the girl.

And maybe make her pay.

“Do you think she works for the Devlins?”

“It’s possible,” I nod. She could easily be a spy for the Devlin family, or anyone else foolish enough to try and go up against us. We all know what happens to those who try to challenge the Kavanaghs. “But whoever she is and whoever she might work for, she’s not going anywhere until I speak to her.”

A lot of people came to the club today because we are also holding interviews for service at the club. That’s what makes me uneasy, the girl could be just anyone. Even if I go through all the names, it might take a while until I find her. And if she’s smart enough, she w be terrified right now. But that’ll also make things harder for me and more difficult to find her.

“I can’t believe this!” My brother throws his notes on the couch a little too aggressively, making the girl closest to us look in our direction. He lowers his voice when he realizes that people are watching. “Wasn’t there supposed to be a security guard making sure no one walks down the corridor?”

“There was,” I crush my cigarette into the ashtray. “But there was another incident, so he was missing from his post to take care of it.”

“We will have to have a serious conversation with the staff here,” he picks up his notes again, and starts scribbling, though I doubt he’s writing evaluations right now judging by how pissed he is.

“Oh, absolutely,” I agree. “The incident is not a valid excuse. He’ll still get the punishment he deserves.”

“You have enough on your plate, I can take care of it,” Malachi suggests and I nod. If there’s anyone I trust with something like this, it’s the oldest of my younger brothers. He is the most strategic and organized one.

Another girl catches my attention briefly, but her short pixie cut and the polished looks still don’t make her seem like she’s on the level of Eden.

“Where are Cain, Elijah and Levi?”

“They’re in the private room,” Malachi explains. “Waiting for us to finish here so we can discuss everything.”

“Good,” At least something is still going according to the plan.

Eden is the crown jewel of the Kavanagh empire, though you would never guess it from the velvet ropes and the neon façade. To the outside world, it’s just an elite playground, but to my family, it’s the lifeblood of our operation. This is where the city’s most dangerous and powerful men come to shed their skin. They come to drown themselves in top-shelf liquor, buy expensive, temporary pleasure, and lose fortunes at tables hidden far from the public view.

More importantly, it’s where the real machinery moves. Behind closed doors, deals are signed, and millions of dollars in dirty, blood-soaked cash are quietly funneled through our legitimate books. It is, without a question, the most seamless, valuable laundering machine we own, all while being disguised beautifully as a den of sin.

But lately, Eden has started spiraling out of control. Tonight’s pathetic lineup of auditions is undeniable proof of that downward trend. People are scared to work here because of the many rumors going around. A large number of girls suddenly quit, while others have disappeared. And that’s something we cannot allow to keep happening.

Even though Malachi may be handling strategy and the family’s higher-level operations now, I still feel responsible for the club and this has been keeping me up at night. I’m under the assumption that someone is trying to weaken the club and my gut is never wrong, so whoever that is, when I find them, they will regret the day they were born.

“We need to find a solution quickly,” Malachi says, more as a broadcast of his thoughts than a continuation of our conversation. “If we don’t, we’re screwed.”

He’s right about that and I agree with him. While from the outside it might look like no big deal to just open another club, we will be losing a lot more than just the income.

That’s why I’m here tonight, overseeing the new round of auditions, which is not something I usually participate in. Even though officially I run things from my family’s main office building downtown, with Eden being our most profitable front, I spend a lot of time at the club. But my job is taking care of the money, not watch the girls audition for a stripper. Still, I can’t let things slip out of my hands. Not when so much is on the line. And if that means personally taking care of every little thing in this place, I will do it without hesitation.

Really wanting to catch the son of the bitch that’s been trying to bury me and my family is a great motivator.

“Cain has been getting really impatient,” Malachi continues. “You know how obsessive he can get, and with all of this, he’s becoming more and more anxious about catching this person.”

“I can’t say I don’t relate to that feeling,” I pour myself a glass of whiskey before briefly glancing at the current dancer on stage. She looks like another replica of every single girl that auditioned before her and I immediately lose interest. “But we can’t lose our heads with this. We have to play it smart.”

The hazel eyes staring straight into mine in that hallway earlier flash before my eyes and I take another sip of whiskey to calm myself down. I might not be able to catch whoever is trying to take us down tonight, but what I will make sure of is that I will take care of her.

“Agree,” I notice Malachi is still scribbling something down in his notes, evaluating the girls. His ability to multitask never fails to impress me.

He always thinks several moves ahead. Malachi doesn’t get distracted by minor inconveniences and his strategic mind has always been one of his strong suits. I would dare to call him a cold-blooded, psychologically ruthless genius, and even if we weren’t blood related, I would want someone like him to be my right hand. I do not envy those standing on the opposite side of him.

Just as I’m about to say something else, the music changes to a sensual song, one that I really like, and both Malachi and I look up at the girl dancing. She’s a little stiff at first, as if she doesn’t feel comfortable being here, but once her body starts moving to the rhythm, something takes over her and I can see her immerse herself in the dance, the song taking control of her body. It takes me a minute, but I recognize her as soon as I take a closer look, even with the lights dimmed.

Her features appear softer as she’s dancing, and I notice that her body is incredibly strong. She’s on the shorter side, but the taller girls who came before her pale in comparison to her natural talent and charisma.

My balls are what is making me eager to get her into my office and have a word or two with her. They aren’t so willing to forgive her for that kick earlier just because of her pretty face and hot body.

Her beauty is nothing like the practiced glamour of the girls in Eden, and it’s what makes her stand out even more. Suddenly my pants feel tight and I try looking away, but the way her hips move to the beat keeps me captivated, making me even more eager to be alone with her and question her to find out what she knows.

Our eyes meet briefly but I know she doesn’t recognize me under the stage lights. She continues moving to the slow beat, her blonde hair catching the red neon lights, making her look almost ethereal.

I grin, taking another sip of whiskey.

She thinks she escaped me, but she has no idea she walked straight into my cage.

“This one,” I tell Malachi when she finishes her dance. She’s the last girl to audition and we are supposed to take some time and discuss the decision before announcing it. “I want this one. What’s her name?”

“Riley Monroe,” He responds after taking a quick look at his notes. “But we need to hire two girls, so we still need to share our evaluations and…”

“Did she come with a friend?”

My brother checks his notes once again before speaking. “Yes, someone named Mia Bennett.”

“We need to hire both of them immediately,” I put my drink down. “You can let the other girls go home and inform the security that there is no need for a lockdown anymore.” But I will still take a look at that security footage and see what Riley has been up to since the moment she sat foot inside.

“All right,” Without questioning my orders, Malachi gets up from the couch and steps up on the stage, announcing who the two selected girls are. “We want to thank all of you for auditioning tonight and we hope you had a great time. Thank you!”

I watch the look on her face turn from neutral and composed into a complete terror as she recognizes me when I get up and join my brother on the stage. I grin, taking the microphone from him. “Riley Monroe, please head to the manager’s office to take care of all the paperwork and documentation. As for Mia Bennett, everything will be taken care of right here.”

My eyes never leave hers as I step down from the stage, and oddly enough she doesn’t break eye contact. I can still see the terror behind her eyes, that same fear that made her kick me in the balls earlier. Yet she remains composed and professional, making me wonder if she’s used to wearing a mask even when her entire world is crumbling.

I can’t wait to know more about you, Riley.

“What’s all of this about?” Malachi asks as I move past him, heading to the office.

“It’s her, Mal,” I turn around to face him as I put my hand on my brother’s shoulder. “The girl who saw me beating up that guy.”

My brother’s face turns pale. He doesn’t say anything, instead he nods, his eyes finding her. I can see him thinking and I recognize that look in his eyes. I would be willing to bet I have that same look.

“We need to find out how much she saw, who she really is and whether she’s just an unlucky girl who happened to witness something that she shouldn’t have,” I glance at her one more time. “Or if she’s another problem I have to bury.”

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Chapter One

Calina

Laughter spills out of me as Milana and I stumble through the club doors into the cool night air. The bass still throbs behind us, and I so badly want to go back in there and continue dancing but unfortunately, we have to leave.

I hook my arm through my sister’s. She stumbles a little in her heels as we make our way toward the valet stand.

Darn, it’s still so early. A long queue of people snakes down the sidewalk, dressed to kill, all of them eager to get inside.

I wish we could stay longer. But we really, really can’t. Milana leans into me, giggling. “Are you drunk?”

I grin. “No. I only had one drink a while ago. I’m fine.”

“Or should we just call a cab?” she teases.

“I can drive,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Unlike you.”

Milana chuckles, the sound light and carefree. “I’m not drunk. I only had two drinks.”

I look at her and something warm settles in my chest. It’s rare to see Milana like this. Loose. Happy. Laughing without any care in the world. Out of the two of us, she’s always been the more reserved one, the quiet observer who keeps her guard up, even at home. Tonight, for a few precious hours, she got to be twenty-three instead of a Morozov princess.

The valet finally pulls up with our car, the black Porsche 911 Carrera that Artyom gave me for my twenty-sixth birthday. I tip the valet quickly, snatch the keys, and slide into the driver’s seat. My sister drops into the passenger side, still smiling.

“I wish we didn’t have to go home,” she says wistfully as she buckles her seatbelt.

“Me too.” I start the engine and pull away from the curb. “But we have to get back before Artyom comes home and realizes we’re gone.”

Milana groans. “He’d be so pissed if he found out we snuck out.”

“That’s why he’s not going to find out,” I reply, keeping my voice light even as nerves twist in my stomach. Our brother’s control has only gotten tighter since everything that happened with our father. He means well, but sometimes it feels like we’re suffocating.

Milana leans her head back against the seat, staring at the passing lights. “It was fun though… dancing, being free for once.”

A small smile tugs at my lips. “I know. I enjoyed every second of it.” It was her first time ever stepping foot inside a club without a million guards, and God, it was great.

Milana turns to me, cheeks still flushed. “Do you think we can do this again?”

“Yeah,” I say, smiling. “We’ll just have to find another night when we can sneak out without Artyom finding out.”

She looks out the window for a moment, the city lights sliding across her face. Then her voice gets quieter. “We’ll really be in trouble if he finds out.”

I slow to a stop at a red light and turn to look at her. The carefree glow from the club is already fading, replaced by that familiar worried crease between her brows. I reach across the console and brush my hand over hers.

“Hey. Don’t worry. If he does find out, I’ll handle him.”

Milana’s lips twitch. “Imagine what he’ll say if he does.” She sits up straighter and drops her voice into a perfect imitation of Artyom’s cold, commanding tone. “I can’t believe you two, sneaking out like criminals. You will remain in this house until you are thirty.”

I burst out laughing. She keeps going, mimicking his stiff posture and icy glare, and soon we’re both cracking up, the sound filling the car until tears prick at the corners of my eyes.

For a short while, we feel like ordinary girls. Not Morozov daughters. Not sisters trapped inside a dangerous family name. Just two girls who snuck out for one night away from our brother’s iron control.

Artyom has always been protective of us. He rarely lets us out of his sight, and when he does, his men are never far behind. But ever since he became Pakhan, it’s gotten worse. He watches us too closely now, treating us like we cannot make a decision without his permission.

Not that I can blame him entirely. The past months have been brutal, between our father’s death, the attempts on Artyom’s wife Kira, and Irina, the wife of our other brother, Mikhail. I understand why he’s so concerned about keeping us safe.

Still… I wish he would let off sometimes. Stop treating us like fragile children.

We’ve been sheltered our entire lives. That’s why, at twenty-six, I still had to sneak out to go to a nightclub. The light turns green. I press the accelerator, still smiling.

“Should we tell Kira about this?” Milana asks, still grinning.

I shake my head immediately. “No way. She might tell Artyom.”

Milana snorts. “You’re right. That woman cannot keep a secret from our brother to save her life.”

We both burst into laughter again. I have never seen my eldest brother so completely whipped in my entire life. He and Kira are madly in love, and honestly, I’m happy for him. After everything he’s been through, he deserves that kind of happiness. We are close, but still, she’s loyal to him first.

My smile disappears when bright red and blue lights suddenly flash in the rearview mirror.

Milana’s laughter cuts off. “What’s going on?”

I ease my foot off the gas and pull over to the side of the road. I’m annoyed more than anything. We’re so close to home.

“Stay calm,” I tell her, keeping my voice steady. “I’m sure it’s just a normal traffic stop.”

“What if they arrest us?” Milana whispers, her earlier lightness gone.

“Why would they arrest us? We didn’t do anything wrong.” I glance at her and force a small smile. “Just stay calm and act normal. We’ll be out of here in a minute.”

In the rearview mirror, I watch one officer step out of the patrol car and walk toward us. He’s huge, built like a tank, broad shoulders straining against his uniform, thick arms swinging at his sides. The sheer size of him unsettles me.

Another figure remains inside their vehicle. I roll down my window, pasting on a polite expression.

“Good evening, officer.”

“Ladies,” he replies, his tone flat. “Where are you coming from tonight?”

“We were just leaving a club downtown,” I answer honestly. “Is there a problem?”

He doesn’t respond to my question. “License and registration, please.”

I reach into the glove compartment, pull out the documents, and hand them over. He studies them for a long moment under the beam of his flashlight.

“Have you been drinking tonight?” he asks.

“Yes, but only one drink at the start of the evening. Nothing to worry about.”

He looks at me for a beat, then says, “Step out of the car, ma’am.”

My heart kicks harder. “Officer, I’m fine to drive—”

“Out of the car. Now.”

I unbuckle my seatbelt and push the door open, still trying to explain as I step onto the asphalt. “I’m really not intoxicated. We just—”

The second officer gets out of the patrol car and moves straight to Milana’s side. He’s just as built as his companion, massive, and muscular.

“Ma’am, you need to step out as well,” he orders her.

The night air suddenly feels colder. I glance at Milana through the windshield and see the same flicker of fear I’m trying to push down in her eyes that.

The second officer yanks open Milana’s door and hauls her out before she can even unbuckle properly.

“Take it easy with her! I just told you we’re not drunk.”

This doesn’t feel like a normal traffic stop anymore. I notice immediately that they aren’t listening to a word I’m saying.

“What’s going on?” I demand. “What is your name and which precinct do you work for?”

They don’t answer.

That’s when the unease settles. I look around the empty street, we’re the only ones here. The officers are too tense, their hands hovering way too close to their weapons.

“What is this about?” I ask again, louder this time.

Still no real answer. The officer beside me suddenly grabs my arm in a bruising grip. At the exact same moment, the other man seizes Milana.

“Get your hands off me!”

I twist hard, slamming my elbow back into the man’s ribs with all the strength I have. He grunts but doesn’t let go. Milana screams and starts kicking wildly at the man holding her, her heel connecting with his shin.

“Get your hands off her!” I snarl, fighting like hell. I manage to wrench one arm free and strike the officer across the face. For a second, I almost reach Milana, our fingers brush, but I’m yanked back by my shoulders. Just then two more men pour out from the shadows. And they don’t have police uniforms on.

That’s when it hits me. These are not real cops. My blood turns to ice as they overpower us, dragging both of us away from our car, past the police car and toward a black limo waiting further down the shoulder.

“Milana!” I shout, still struggling, still clawing.

But it’s useless. They are too many, and we are completely alone. I shouldn’t have stopped; I should have kept on driving.

I scratch, claw, and swing with everything I have, nails raking down the arm of the man gripping me. Milana is right beside me, screaming and kicking, her heel connecting with someone’s knee hard enough to make him curse.

We twist and buck, trying to break free, trying to run back toward our car.

It’s useless.

My shoulder slams into the side of the black limo. “Get off me!” I snarl, still fighting as they shove the back door open.

Milana’s scream cuts through the night again, but they’re already forcing her inside ahead of me. I keep struggling, heels scraping the ground, until one of them lifts me off my feet entirely and pushes me forward.

I tumble into the cool, leather-scented interior. “Who are you guys and what do you want…” my words die in my throat as I see the man sitting across from me.

He’s sitting inside, one arm resting along the back of the seat, legs spread with lazy authority. He is not dressed like the fake officers or the other men who grabbed us.

Instead, he’s wearing a perfectly tailored black coat over a crisp black shirt, open at the collar, the fabric stretched across broad, powerful shoulders. Dark blond hair cropped short. Sharp, aristocratic features that look like they were carved from ice and stone. He is devastatingly good-looking in the most terrifying way possible.

Power rolls off him in waves. His presence fills the entire limo, thick and suffocating. Tattoos peek from beneath his cuffs and collar. His posture is relaxed, but there’s nothing soft about it. It’s the kind of stillness that feels dangerous, like a predator conserving energy before it strikes.

I know instantly that he’s in charge.

He looks at us, first at Milana, who is pressed against me, chest heaving, then slowly, deliberately, at me.

His gaze drags over my face, my disheveled hair, the way my chest rises and falls with each ragged breath. There is no heat in it. No obvious lust. Just cold assessment, like he is deciding exactly what exactly he’s going to do with me.

He doesn’t seem like some low-level thug or hired muscle. He seems like something far worse.

I hold his gaze, breathing hard. My arm aches where the man grabbed it, and I can already feel bruises forming. Milana is trembling beside me, but I refuse to let whoever these men are see me break.

I lift my chin and glare straight at the stranger.

“Who the hell are you?” My voice comes out a little shaky. “What are you doing? What do you want with us?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Those cold dark eyes slide from me to Milana, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world. Then he leans back slightly, the movement elegant and predatory at once.

“I’m here to collect a debt.”

Chapter Two

Calina

I stare at him, heart hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat. No. This has to be a joke. Who the hell is this man? And what kind of debt is he talking about? How does any of this have anything to do with us?

“Debt?” I snap. “What are you talking about? We don’t even know you—how could we possibly owe you anything?”

He doesn’t answer. Just looks at me, slow and unimpressed, like I’ve said something painfully naive.

“I’m sure this is a misunderstanding. You’ve got the wrong people. So how about you let us go, and we can all pretend this never happened?”

His mouth curves, barely. Not quite a smile.

“Nice try,” he’s calm as ever. “But I don’t make mistakes.” His gaze flicks between us, deliberate. “I’ve got the right girls. Your family owes me.”

A beat.

“And I’m here to collect.”

It doesn’t take long for the pieces to click into place. This has to be about my brothers. Some old grudge, some unfinished business with Artyom or Mikhail. He probably couldn’t get to them directly, so he decided to strike at the easiest targets, us. Their sisters.

Who is he? When he spoke, I caught the faint Russian accent. What could have possibly transpired between him and my brothers?

My mind races with worst-case scenarios. What is he going to do to us? My pulse is frantic, slamming against my ribs. I force myself to take slow, deep breaths, trying to stay clear-headed.

I glance around the limo, at the two stone-faced men flanking us on both sides, and the other two sitting next to the dangerous looking man. Every single one of them looks dangerous. Lethal. There is no easy way out of this car.

I turn to my sister. She is shaking beside me, small tremors running through her body. Tears glisten in her wide hazel-gray eyes. I slide my hand onto her thigh and squeeze gently. When she looks at me, I mouth the words slowly: Calm down.

She tries. She really does. But the fear in her eyes is so raw it makes my chest ache.

This is all my fault. I never should have pushed her to sneak out with me tonight. We should have listened to Artyom. We should have stayed safely inside the house like good little Morozov princesses.

We wouldn’t be here, if only we had listened. Now look at us, dragged into a stranger’s limo in the middle of the night because I wanted one taste of freedom.

I tear my gaze away from Milana and snap it back to the man watching us. He hasn’t taken his eyes off me.

“You won’t get away with this,” I say, forcing my voice to stay strong even though my hands are trembling. “Our brothers will come for us. And when they do, you’re going to regret ever laying a finger on us. You and every single one of your men will be sorry.”

He slowly crosses one long leg over the other, the movement relaxed, almost bored. The expensive fabric of his trousers shifts smoothly.

My gaze betrays me instantly, dragging lower before snapping back up. His hand curls around his knee, large and veined, the sleeve of his black shirt riding up just enough for dark ink to peek from beneath the cuff. My stomach tightens.

I can’t stop staring at his hands. At the tattoos disappearing beneath the fabric. At the slow flex of his fingers. And suddenly, horribly, I’m imagining those same hands on me, sliding over my waist, gripping my thighs, pinning me…

My eyes widen as the sensation spirals lower, soaking me through with heat. Jesus Christ, am I seriously turned on right now?

“Is that so?” his voice is low and steady.

I lift my chin higher. “Yeah,” I reply, trying to clear the fog in my head. “It’s not too late. Let us go right now and we’ll forget this ever happened. We won’t tell our brothers about this.”

“Nah, I want your brothers to know I took you.”

I swallow hard. “I’m not sure you want that, you really don’t want to know what my brothers are capable of.”

Something like dark amusement flickers across his sharp features. He doesn’t smile, but the corner of his mouth tilts just slightly, like I’ve said something mildly entertaining.

“How about we wait and find out what your brothers are going to do, huh?” He shrugs one broad shoulder, completely at ease. “I’m curious.”

His calm certainty is terrifying. And I realize with a sinking, icy dread that this man is not bluffing. He doesn’t look even slightly scared.

And it terrifies me. The dangerous aura rolling off him is unmistakable, but his complete lack of reaction confirms this man is in a completely different league. He isn’t some hot-headed thug acting on impulse.

I swallow hard. “Maybe you don’t know who we are,” I say, trying to sound intimidating. “I’m Calina Morozova. This is my sister, Milana Morozova. Our brothers are Artyom and Mikhail Morozov. You really don’t want to mess with them.”

He rubs his temple with two fingers like my voice is physically painful, eyes half-closed in irritation. “I know exactly who you are,” he says flatly. “And I’m not even a little scared of your brothers. Now shut up. Your voice is giving me a migraine.”

The casual dismissal stings. Anger flares hot in my chest. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have taken us in the first place,” I snap. “You wouldn’t have to listen to my voice if…”

The look he gives me is deadly. It cuts straight through me and steals the rest of my words. I clamp my mouth shut instantly.

I turn to Milana instead. She’s breathing hard, jaw clenched tight, and her free hand is fisted in her lap like she’s fighting the urge to swing at someone. I squeeze her hand tightly, trying to offer some comfort I don’t even feel. She grips me back, eyes begging me to do something. I wish I could.

“You’re not going to get away with this,” Milana grits. But he ignores her completely.

I look out the tinted window, searching for landmarks, trying to figure out where he’s taking us. We’re still inside the city. That’s something, at least.

“Where are you taking us?” I ask.

He ignores me completely.

I glance at my watch. Almost midnight. Artyom or the night guards will notice we’re not home soon. They’ll start searching. The thought gives me a small spark of hope.

But then the limo turns onto a familiar road. As I continue to look out the window, I realize this is the private access road that leads straight to Artyom’s office building.

What the hell?

I consider screaming for help the second we get close enough, maybe one of the guards stationed outside will see us through the window. But before I can even open my mouth, the limo glides to a smooth stop right in front of the office building.

He’s taking us to Artyom? This guy does really have some nerve. I turn to look at him, and still he’s as relaxed as ever.

The man beside Milana opens the door, and steps out. The man across from us tilts his head toward the exit in a silent command.

“Get down,” one of the fake police officers commands.

We obey and step out on shaky legs. The cool night air hits me. Two of Artyom’s guards patrolling the grounds immediately spot us and start walking over, confusion clear on their faces.

“Miss Calina? Miss Milana? Are you okay? What are you doing here at this—”

“Help us!” I scream, voice cracking with desperation. “They took us against our will! These men kidnapped us!”

Everything explodes in a single heartbeat.

Weapons are drawn on both sides, Artyom’s guards raising guns toward the limo and the men, the ones who dragged us here, instantly aiming right back.

One man clamps onto my arm, yanking me backward as another grabs Milana. Before I can even react, cold metal presses against my temple. I stand frozen between the two sides, heart in my throat.

And the dangerous man steps out of the limo behind us, like he’s arriving at a business meeting, completely unfazed by the dozen guns now pointed in his direction.

“Let the girls go,” one of the guards says, now pointing the gun at his head.

He doesn’t even flinch.

“Everyone calm the fuck down,” he drawls, his voice low and bored, carrying that faint Russian accent. He looks at Artyom’s guards with mild irritation. “Put your guns down.”

My brother’s men don’t move an inch. “Let the girls go,” one of them repeats.

The man mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like stupid. Then he sighs. “Instead of acting like idiots, why don’t you call your boss and tell him Maxim Orlov is here to see him?”

Maxim Orlov.

The name doesn’t ring any immediate bells. I search my memory, but nothing surfaces. Whoever he is, he’s clearly someone who expects doors to open when he says his name.

The guards hesitate, eyes darting between us and him. I can tell they know him. Maxim snaps his fingers impatiently. “Are you deaf?”

One of the guards finally pulls out his phone, while keeping his weapon trained on Maxim. He speaks rapidly in Russian into the phone. There’s a long pause on the other end. Then he ends the call and gives a stiff nod.

“Inside,” he says.

They march us into the building, still pointing guns at each other. Thankfully, the guns are no longer pointed at us.

We arrive the elevator, and only six of us go in: Maxim, one of his men, Milana and me, and two of the guards. The rest stay behind outside, still facing off with Maxim’s people, guns still raised.

As the doors slide shut, Maxim glances at the armed men and says calmly, “Try not to shoot each other’s heads off while I’m gone.”

The doors close. The tension inside the small metal box is suffocating. No one speaks. The air feels ready to ignite.

As we ride up to my brother’s office, that’s when I realize, what this abduction might be about. Him bringing us here instead of taking us to an abandoned warehouse, or somewhere far where our brothers can’t find us.

Maxim didn’t want to kill us or torture us in some dark warehouse. I think he needed a way to meet with Artyom. If he had simply asked for a meeting, my brother could have refused him. But he knows Artyom can’t ignore a man who shows up with both of his sisters in tow.

But what of the debt he was talking about? What does that mean?

Milana’s hand is ice-cold in mine. I can feel her trembling. Maxim stands relaxed against the wall, looking almost bored, like this is just another Tuesday night for him.

When the doors open on Artyom’s floor, we’re greeted by even more guns. At least six of my brother’s men are waiting, weapons raised and aimed directly at Maxim and his guard.

Maxim doesn’t even blink.

“Get those out of my face and lead the way to Artyom,” he says, voice smooth and commanding.

The guards exchange uneasy glances but comply, keeping their guns trained on him as they escort us down the hallway toward my brother’s office.

My heart is still racing.

Whatever this debt is, whatever Maxim Orlov wants… we’re about to find out. And my brother is about to get so pissed at us for sneaking off to a club.

It’s not long after we step into Artyom’s office and he arrives from home looking worried. His steel-gray eyes lock onto Milana and me first, scanning us from head to toe, checking for injuries.

“Calina, Milana, are you okay?”

“Yes,” we both answer at the same time.

The relief that flickers across his face is brief, and gone in less than a heartbeat. Then his expression hardens into pure ice. He draws his gun in one smooth motion and points it straight at Maxim’s head.

“Give me one good reason not to put a bullet in you right now,” Artyom says, voice deadly calm.

Maxim doesn’t look even a bit bothered. He drawls, “That would be a very stupid thing to do, considering I currently have your sisters.”

“They’re here now,” Artyom replies coldly, finger steady on the trigger. “I could end you before you even blink.”

Maxim lets out a low, almost bored sigh and walks straight past the guns pointed at him. He drops onto the leather couch like he owns the room, crossing one leg over the other with casual arrogance.

“Why don’t you and your men put your toys away so we can talk about why I’m really here?”

Artyom’s jaw clenches so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t crack. I can see the fury rolling off him in waves. He wants to shoot Maxim. Badly. His knuckles are white around the grip of the gun.

“You have some fucking nerve coming in here like this, Maxim,” Artyom growls.

Maxim waves a dismissive hand. “You talk too much. Now I see it runs in the family.”

Artyom looks like he’s about to burst an artery. He takes a threatening step forward. “You have one minute. Start talking.”

Maxim leans back against the couch, completely relaxed, and finally speaks without emotion, like he’s discussing the weather.

“Vladimir Morozov owed my family a blood debt. He killed my adoptive father, Oleg Orlov. After the murder, a contract was signed between Vladimir and my father’s remaining allies. The debt was to be paid whenever the Orlov family decided to collect it. That contract is still valid. The debt was never settled.”

Artyom’s brows pull together in genuine confusion. “What the hell are you talking about? My father never mentioned any blood debt with the Orlovs.”

Maxim’s dark eyes narrow slightly. “Because your father was a coward who preferred to bury inconvenient truths. The contract was signed in blood. It states clearly that the Morozov family owes the Orlovs one bride as payment. I’m here to collect.”

The words land like a bomb in the room. I feel the blood drain from my face. Milana’s hand tightens painfully around mine.

Artyom stares at him, gun still raised, but I can see the calculations running behind his eyes. “You’re lying.”

“Don’t insult me Arytom,” Maxim replies flatly. “The contract is ironclad under our laws. And I have chosen my bride.”

Everything is happening so fast. What blood debt is he talking about? Why would our father have gotten into a blood debt with him without letting Arytom know?

“The youngest one will do,” Maxim drawls, his cold gaze shifting from Artyom… straight to Milana.

The room goes dead silent for half a second.

“What?” Did I just hear correctly? No. This has to be some sick joke.

“No,” Artyom snarls, the single word sharp enough to cut glass. His gun stays locked on Maxim’s forehead, finger twitching like it’s taking every ounce of control he has not to pull the trigger right now. “Over my dead fucking body.”

Maxim shrugs. “That can be arranged.”

Shock slams into me so hard my knees almost buckle. Marriage? He wants to marry Milana? My younger sister, who we’ve all spent our lives trying to shield from exactly this kind of monster?

Milana makes a small, broken sound beside me. Her hand squeezes mine so tightly I feel the bones grind together. I can feel her terror vibrating through her fingers, raw, choking panic.

I expect Artyom to do something. To shoot Maxim. To throw this bastard out of his office in pieces. He’s the Pakhan. He’s supposed to be untouchable. He’s supposed to protect us.

“Get yourself off my couch and out of my office!”

But instead doing that, Maxim reaches into the inside pocket of his coat and pulls out a folded document, holding it up between two fingers.

“I came prepared. Here’s a contract signed after my father’s death. Between Vladimir Morozov and the remaining Orlov allies. Just as I already said, it states the blood debt between our families will be paid whenever the Orlovs choose to collect. The payment is one Morozov bride.”

He pauses holding Arytom’s gaze. “You dismiss this and you risk open war… your choice.”

Artyom snatches the document and unfolds it. I hold my breath as I watch him read it. I’m dying to know what it says. Do we really owe his family a blood debt?

I watch as Artyom’s face twists with fury, and I catch the exact moment something shifts behind his eyes. The gun in his hand doesn’t waver, but his jaw clenches so hard I hear his teeth grind.

He looks up and our eyes meet. I don’t see victory in his gaze. The realization crashes over me like ice water. My brother, who has ruled this city with an iron fist since our father died, is trapped. And Milana is the one who will pay the price.

Fear for my sister claws up my throat until I can barely breathe. Milana is only twenty-three. She doesn’t deserve this. She doesn’t deserve to be handed over to a man like Maxim Orlov, a man who looks at her like she’s a chess piece instead of a person.

I can’t let this happen.

“Artyom,” I say, my voice cracking with desperation as I step forward, pulling Milana half behind me. “Do something. You can’t… you have to stop this. Please.”

My brother’s eyes flick to me for a split second. I see the storm of rage and helplessness there.

Maxim watches the whole exchange with that same bored, predatory calm, and he knows he’s already won.

My heart is pounding so violently I feel sick at the thought of Milana being forced to marry this man, of her being taken away, locked in his world.

I take another step forward, positioning myself directly between Maxim and my sister.

“You can’t marry Milana.”

“Calina, stay out of this,” Arytom drawls, his tone dripping with annoyance.

“I’ll take Milana’s place,” I say, the words leaving my mouth before I can even think them through. “I will marry you instead.”

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