Prologue

Helena

It’s only fitting that it should end like this.

The waves slam violently against the cliffside below me. The white foam rises and falls on the craggy rocks. The sea salt in the air is so thick that it irritates my skin, and the tears streaming down my cheeks do little to percolate through the grime. Adrenaline is pumping blood through my veins so strongly that I can hear it drumming an erratic beat in my ears.

For a moment it’s just me, the sea, and my terrified heart.

People like me don’t deserve a second chance at life.

I shouldn’t have survived the first time. That much is clear to me now. I have been fooling myself into thinking that I could ever have been able to start over again. I have spent the last handful of months living on borrowed time. There’s an all-consuming terror that crawls down my throat and grips my spine like a vice, but there’s also a sense of calm. It’s harder to find… but I’m holding on to it.

I must step forward. I have to force myself to take that final, long step into the water below, and everything will be over. All of the anguish and deception. No more duplicity, no more lies. No more living a double life, keeping track of who knows what. I don’t have to watch my tongue and carry the weight of so many secrets all at once.

I just have to take one last step, and finish what Nikolai started.

“Don’t—” a deep male voice comes from behind me. A familiar voice. But the pain and longing that fuels the word is something new, something desperate. Neither one of us can afford desperation now.

My eyes close and my fists ball at my sides. If I turn around and face him, my cowardice may triumph. I can feel Daniel’s beautiful and cryptic eyes on my back. It would be so easy to run to him and let him wrap his arms around me until I am completely convinced that things will get better—that we can solve this mess together.

“Don’t come any closer, Daniel.” The winds are so loud and ferocious that I doubt for a moment that he even heard me.

“Come away from the cliff’s edge, Helena. Right now.” Daniel’s voice is firm and unyielding.

“I can’t keep living like this!” I shout to the ocean.

The flowing skirt of my dress whips around my legs and does nothing to stop the cold air from biting into my skin. I glance over my shoulder at Daniel’s impossibly handsome face. His dark brow furrows in worry for me. He is keeping just enough distance between us to avoid startling me into jumping.

“I would rather die than do this for even one more day, Daniel!” My shoulders soften as I wrap my arms around myself. “I’m so tired of this… I’m tired of hurting everybody that I care about. I’m tired of constantly living a lie! This is the only solution. Can’t you see that?” I plead with him to understand. I’m at the end of my tether. Of all the people left in my wretched life, he is the most important. He must understand.

“No, it’s not. I have already handled everything, Helena, I have a plan. You trust me, don’t you?” Daniel shakes his head as he speaks. I know that he’s not going to stop. He’s going to keep trying until he gets his way. I hate that this hurts him. I hope he knows that I never meant to hurt him.

“I won’t let you pay for my mistakes. I can’t keep pushing you into a corner. We both know it will end with you being forced to put me down, Daniel. It can’t be you.” Tears slide down my face anew as his eyes widen in understanding. “Did you think that I didn’t know what they would make you do?”

I wish there was another way for me to express my feelings to him. I should have told him sooner, under better circumstances, but this is my last chance. Nikolai’s men will never cease hunting me. Not until he has my head. The Russian Mafia wants me to pay for the crimes I committed. I can’t even say I’m not deserving of death. At the very least, I’m prepared this time. This time it will be my choice, and it will not be by Nikolai’s hands.

I still don’t know how he found out what I did to his father, but it doesn’t matter. I took his life regardless. My mind flashes back to the night that Nikolai, my first fiancé, attempted to end my life.

It’s November. I hear Nikolai’s car screech into the driveway despite the snow on the ground. Alone in his family home outside of Moscow, there isn’t much I can do. I hope that if I gather my personal effects quick enough, I will be able to steal one of his cars and get the hell out of his mansion before he finds me.

My need for revenge trapped me once. I won’t let that happen again.

Nikolai catches me packing. He comes tearing into the room like some sort of demon. He is the sort of man that commands notice and attention. His large, intimidating presence fills a room without him ever having to say a word. The very thing that had captivated me at the start of our relationship is now a source of terror. I’ve never been on the receiving end of his wrath before—accusations spewed from his lips like knives that strike me and burrow deep into my skin. I don’t have a chance to fight back; it wouldn’t have done any good anyway.

I feel the freezing iron railing of the balcony dig into the backs of my hips. I feel the snow collecting in my hair. I’ll never forget the look of pure contempt on my fiancé’s face as he chases me toward our balcony. His sneer of derision will live emblazoned on the backs of my eyelids as a constant reminder of how everything has gone to hell.

My whole body scrapes against the metal railing as I topple backward over it. The bottom of my stomach feels as though it has fallen out of me—like I was briefly weightless. My life doesn’t flash before my eyes. I don’t have some profound realization about all of the things that I will never get to do. Everybody who talks about having a near-death experience always says that those things are supposed to happen. For me, there was only fear.

Nikolai watches me fall. I lock eyes with him as he smugly watches me plummet two stories down to the frozen grounds of the garden.

The crack of my skull against the pavement doesn’t hurt, but it does feel cold. Even now, I can still clearly remember the jarring sensation of my spine impacting the ground as Nikolai watched the life fade from me.

Then there was nothing.

At least I know the balcony fall will be nothing compared to this. Hopefully, the rocks toward the edge of the cliff will make my death swift.

“I want you to know that in spite of it all, Daniel, I never pretended with you. I never lied about what we had. It was real. At least, it was real for me.”

I don’t want him to regret our past or second-guess my feelings for him now. I had always thought I would only ever want Nikolai. Even after all the lies. Even after he tried to murder me—I didn’t think I deserved anything more.

Daniel proved to me that just wasn’t true.

“I love you more than I ever even thought was possible,” I whisper softly.

My lungs fill to the brim and it burns. I jump before Daniel can say another word.

This doesn’t feel so bad.

As I fall, the wind becomes colder, threatening to tear my skin from my bones. I close my eyes against the backdrop of Daniel’s agonizing and desperate screams.

This must be what freedom feels like.

Chapter One

Helena

“This is your life now, Helena.”

I shouldn’t refer to myself as Helena. It’s not going to be my name anymore. As soon as I can convince myself to step out of this rust bucket of a car, I’m going to become Sofia Petrov. Helena Russev no longer exists. I can’t even say with any honesty that I’m going to miss her. She was a backstabbing bitch who didn’t care who she hurt or what she had to do to get what she wanted.

Someday, I fear I’m going to merge completely with the characters I create for myself. After that, I suppose I won’t remember my true self at all. Hell, maybe that’s already happened. My whole life, I’ve had to change myself to be the woman I was expected to be.

The version of me that was once Helena would be ashamed to meet Sofia. She wouldn’t give her a second glance if they passed each other in the street. Helena was on the verge of marrying Nikolai, a Russian mafia boss. She was constantly miserable and bored. She lived in the lap of luxury, but it was only going to get her so far. She was so easily distracted that nothing felt real after a while.

I can’t pretend like I don’t miss the private jets, Louboutin’s, and couture gowns made specifically for me by the best designers in the world. I just have to get over it, somehow. Looking at me now, you would never know what sort of life I lived only a year ago.

Because now I’m parked out front of Creekview Middle School.

The building has seen better days. I imagine that schools receive little funding in a place like this. Some of the red brick has faded, and there are unmanned metal detector stations outside the front doors. At the very least, my beat-up car fits in. Every other car in the nearly empty lot appears to be in need of a tune-up and a new coat of paint. Students crowd around the building’s perimeter, standing in small groups on the dead grass, waiting for the morning bell to ring and let them in.

I can’t remember if I was ever like them. What must it be like to feel so carefree? To spend as much time as you like doing whatever you wanted? Doing homework half-assed and making plans for whatever party or hang-out was planned for the weekend. I suppose it would be like a small kind of bliss.

And it’s exactly the sort of slow life that I’m after now.

I pull down the visor and flip open the small mirror to examine my reflection.

I refuse to cry again.

If I don’t get a grip on myself quickly, my under eyes will be permanently swollen. I don’t have time to waste by missing a range rover. I can’t afford to be late on my first day. I have to make an effort to make a good first impression.

Sighing, I press the pad of my ring finger into the puffy skin of my undereye. At least, my new, shorter hair complements my angular face nicely. I’m still getting used to the honey blonde. I never expected to have to give up my signature black waves, but this is supposed to be a fresh start. New clothes, new hair, new surroundings… new me.

Whether you like it or not, this is your life.

If I keep saying it over and over to myself, it will start to feel real sooner or later.

I’ve kept my makeup neutral, nothing that will make me stick out. For a touch of drama, I’ve allowed myself a pencil skirt that clings to my curves. I got the skirt and a few other pieces for my new business-casual wardrobe from the department store in town—pieces like the flowy, powder-blue shirt that I’ve neatly tucked into the stretchy fabric of my skirt.

The town itself is only slightly more modern than this school, for the most part. The houses are all quaint with white picket fences. I haven’t felt brave enough to scope out the nightlife scene here yet or any of the restaurants. All in good time.

There’s no point in rushing.

I touch up my lip gloss again before I shut the visor and rake my fingers through my hair to push some volume back into it. When my fingers brush over the jagged collection of scars hidden by my hairline, I pause. They serve as a constant reminder of what happened to me and why I’m still here… like a phantom pain that won’t go away no matter how hard I try. The doctors tried to tell me how much work it would take to repair my skull after I awoke from my coma… However, I did not want to hear it. I still don’t. I want to put it all behind me.

I yank my hands from my hair. With a deep breath to steady myself, I shove the door of my car open with a rusty squeak.

The bright sunlight warms my skin as I pull my cello case from the car. Then, I grab my large work bag and pull it over my shoulder.

“Here goes… well, everything,” I whisper to myself as I head for the metal detectors. Just as I suspected, they aren’t even turned on. I have to hope the cops in this town are slightly better equipped to handle things should something go wrong. I walk up the three steps that lead into the building and cast one last glance over my shoulder.

He can’t find me here. I’m as safe as I possibly can be. My grip on my cello case tightens as I walk back into the main building, pushing the door open in front of me with my hip.

To my surprise, the principal is standing at the door in an ill-fitting suit. He greets me, a smile hidden beneath his full black mustache.

“Ms. Petrov!” The principal says with a happy chime. The dove gray color of his suit flatters his dark, golden skin well. His brown hair has been shaved close to his scalp, but he missed a spot just beneath his chin when he must have shaved this morning. These are things I would never dare remark upon out loud but that I can’t help but notice. It’s my nature to be observant. It goes hand in hand with the constant paranoia. “How lovely to meet you. It’s great to have you on board!”

“Hello,” I say softly, trying to hide as much of my Russian accent as possible—yet another remnant of my life that needs to fade as quickly as possible so that I can become Sofia Petrov. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“I was hoping you would make it here nice and early so that I could introduce myself. I’m Principal Alexander Martinez. We spoke on the phone before. The students should be starting to file in shortly, and I wanted to make sure that I personally gave you a tour of the place.” He extends his hand to take my cello case, and I gladly hand it over. He makes a broad motion for me to follow him but I’m still not sure where I’m going. I try to keep up with him at a reasonable pace. At least the inside of the school is much nicer than the outside.

“So, I can’t say just how pleased we are to have a real musician joining us here! I tried to look up some of your symphony performances online, but I had some trouble locating you. I’m not great at all that tech stuff, though I’m sure you can point me in the right direction,” Principal Martinez rambles on. He seems like a nice, agreeable sort of fellow. If he wasn’t so sweet, I wouldn’t feel so bad lying to him.

“Oh, I’m grateful for the opportunity. Really, it’s an honor to be here and share my love of music with the kids,” I answer plainly. No extra details, just like I’m supposed to.

“Is that a hint of an accent I’m picking up on?” Martinez asks with a smile.

“You have a good ear, sir. It is my grandfather’s accent. He comes from Russia, and he had a hand in raising me. I suppose it stuck more than I am aware of.” I try to make it sound like it’s a painful subject. Even just alluding to the fact I have Russian ties is more than I am comfortable with. Again, with the paranoia. Better safe than sorry.

“Ah, can’t say that Russia is high on my bucket list! I haven’t traveled much though, so what do I know?” The principal says with a gentle scoff as we turn into the music room. “Here we are! The music room.” Principal Martinez places my cello case on the ground with a soft thunk against the old, flat carpet. A cloud of dust wafts up, but he pretends not to notice. “I know it’s not like the fancy places I’m sure you’re accustomed to working in, but we like to keep things… modest, here.”

He looks around the room, both hands on his hips. It’s designed in the shape of a half-circle, with four sets of risers spaced about two feet apart. Heavy brown drapes are pushed open against the back wall, concealing large, bulky windows. The carpet was probably once a nice shade of red that went well with the off-white walls, but it’s now faded, and the paint appears yellow and sad. I’m sure I’ll be allowed to spruce up the place and make it feel more like my own.

Black music stands are folded together and pushed up against the far wall beside what I’m guessing is my desk. Said desk is a small, orange, wooden mess with no more than three drawers on one side, and nothing but spindly legs on the other. There is a closet door off to the side where I’m supposed to keep my personal belongings. I place my work bag on the floor beside the desk and turn in a small circle to properly take in the room. It might not be much now, but it has potential.

I clasp my hands in front of my body and tuck my elbows into my sides, imagining what a fresh coat of paint might do. I feel hopeful, as if the place is full of possibilities… until I remember I’m broke.

The bell rings and Principal Martinez jolts and glances at his watch. “Shoot! Fifteen minutes until the buses start to arrive. I meant to show you around the rest of the school, but it will have to wait.” He speaks quickly as he walks back toward the door to the classroom. “Ms. Olivia is across the hall. She’s not too much older than yourself. I think the pair of you will get along famously! She’ll be happy to help you with anything you might need or answer any other questions you might have.” Principal Martinez pauses at the door and reconsiders his exit. He jogs quickly across the room and grabs my hands and shakes them vigorously. “I’m just so happy to finally have the chance to extend our Arts program! Thank you, again. Adios!”

He rushes off in short, shuffled steps back out the door and disappears out of view.

Suddenly, I feel small.

Not just because of the size of the room. I feel insignificant in comparison to the person I used to be. At the very least, I have something to do to keep myself busy. And this isn’t my first time impersonating someone else. I take a seat at my desk. On top of it is a blue folder with the school’s logo embossed in gold. I open it to reveal the onboarding paperwork and my schedule. My own time at school feels so very far away. In just a few moments, I will have to set my new personality in stone and start introducing myself. Already, my nerves and anxiety are starting to give way to excitement. Everybody is so nice… maybe I can be nice here, too.

On that positive note, I push back from my desk and move for my cello. I have always had an affinity for music, ever since I was young. No matter what was happening in my life, music was my way to escape from it all. One of the only things that helped me get out of my recent depression was the cello. It produces such dark, chilling sounds, and it soothes me more than any other instrument I’ve tried.

I open one of the few folded chairs from beside the music stands. I’ll need to get a good sense of the acoustics to determine whether I need to quickly rearrange things for my students. I can’t say I’d ever given much thought to becoming a teacher before now.

I came into my love of music at such a young age; it feels like a natural extension of my soul. My mother taught me how to play. I suppose, in some way, it makes me feel connected to her. That being said, I don’t think she would approve of my choices, as she never thought I was good enough. She said I had the “wrong fingers” for it. Perhaps it’s nothing more than spite that fuels my desire to play.

I’ve never wanted to be a mother, even though I always thought it would happen. I still don’t know whether or not I would be any good at it—hopefully better than the one that I had, at least. It’s a low bar. I just want to be happy again, and music makes me happy. If I can show just one kid the joy of music too… Well, that just might be enough.

My skirt is stretchy, but not as much as I would like. When the cheap nylon doesn’t move the way I want it to, it’s even more irritating. I have to hike it up past my knees to properly fit my cello between my legs as I begin to tune the instrument. To my delight and despite its simplicity, the sound reverberates beautifully through the space. As I position my fingers over the strings, I rotate away from the door. My callouses will take some time to return. And I can hardly wait.

I can do this. Yeah, this might just work.

Chapter Two

Daniel

“I don’t want to go to a new school!” Henry’s voice rings out from the seat behind mine with a low-pitched whine. Anyone would think I was sending him to jail, even though a move is never easy for a child. My nephew sits with his arms tightly crossed over his sweater vest. This morning had been yet another battle. I had tried to persuade him that overdressing would put him at a disadvantage. The kids in this neighborhood will not be the same as the ones he’s used to from wealthy private schools. The designer labels may make him a target. He doesn’t want to alienate himself before he even gets a chance to speak. I wanted him to blend in and take his time. Naturally, he refused.

Henry had been quick to counter my comment with a retort I knew all too well: ‘There’s power in being the best-dressed in the room.’ I can’t argue with him, and he knows it. Hell, I’m the one that taught him that. I know it will only be a week max until he begs me to go buy the same clothes as whatever his friends are wearing.

I had hoped the change might humble him slightly as he’s never attended public school before.

It’s a very far cry from the expensive, exclusive private schools that he’s always known until now. Our family’s wealth has afforded him entrance to many doors that are locked for most. He’s gotten used to it. Removing him from everything he’s grown accustomed to was a necessary evil, so I’m willing to give him some leeway on the things that don’t matter. Like sweater vests.

“I know, Henry. You’ve told me that every day for the last three days,” I answer evenly. I know patience is a difficult virtue, and Henry is currently getting a crash course in it. I’ll maintain my composure until his whining becomes disrespectful. For the past twenty-four hours, he has been toeing the line between bad attitude and adolescent rebellion.

“I don’t understand why I have to come here! I want to go back to New York!” He stares out the window petulantly as he speaks. He observes the winding, narrow country streets as the trees around him begin to thin. It’s no longer the back roads, but rather the more developed areas. I use the term developed loosely. I guide the car around the back of the school. “It’s so green here… there’s nothing to do.”

I smirk and resist the urge to laugh. Having grown up in the city, I’m sure it must be strange for him. He’s accustomed to concrete jungles and skyscrapers. I refuse to acknowledge that I may have spoiled him. I’ve always wanted the best for him. I might have left him in New York if I’d known how long I’d be out in the sticks. But that was not an option.

Henry shifts in his seat and starts to fiddle with the cuff of his sleeve until it sits exactly the way that he wants.

“You’ll adjust,” I answer evenly. “It is perfectly normal to feel anxious about change, Henry, but you will adapt quickly so long as you keep an open mind.”

I do feel guilty that my business affects him. But given my current mission, I didn’t have an abundance of choices. There were so few options, and the only one that made sense was to uproot him from the Upper East and transplant him here. When he’s old enough to join the family business, he won’t have to be kept in the dark about things like this. I know he’ll approach everything with duty and honor, no matter how difficult our lives can be.

Hopefully, he won’t be forced to care for me the way I am for my ailing father. It hadn’t been easy getting him out of town, but it had certainly helped further my cover story.

“As soon as our business here is concluded, I’ll take you back to your beloved penthouse in New York and you’ll be allowed to finish out the remainder of the school year there.” I glance at him once more in the rear-view mirror as we pull into the back parking lot. Yellow buses with cracked and peeling letters are unloading children ahead of us. He should be able to assimilate without drawing overt attention to himself. If his clothes don’t make him a conversation piece, that is.

I can still see so much of my sister in him: the same wide hazel eyes and her full, thick brown hair. Sometimes, I think he looks like me, too: the strong jawline, the high cheekbones, his ability to keep careful control of himself. He’s unlike any ten-year-old I’ve ever met. No doubt his maturity came from watching me. I watch the emotion fade from his face in the rear-view mirror as he puts on his emotionless mask. He’s growing up too fast.

Soon, the car is parked, and we exit. Until he knows how things work with the kids here, he can’t allow himself a moment of weakness. And at that moment I know that someday, he will be far more powerful than me or my father.

“I’ll walk you in.” It’s not so much an offer as an order.

His resolve flickers for a moment as he glances back at me. “What? No! Nobody else’s parents are going in with them.”

“Yeah, but as you are a new transfer, I need to make sure that the principal has all of your correct documents, my contact information, blah blah blah…” I wave my hand dismissively at him and stroll toward the school. Henry jogs after me, trying to keep up with my long strides.

Everything that I said to him is true, but I do have an ulterior motive as well.

We’ve come to this crater in the ground of a town to find Helena Russev. We’ve come to exact our vengeance. If I don’t get Helena, I may never be able to redeem my family. I want to resurrect our legacy and get us out of the black ledgers in which we’ve been rotting. We’ll come back into the light. I won’t stop until the name Colombo is restored to its former glory, until it regains the respect it once commanded, its reputation… a reputation that my father worked tirelessly to destroy.

For her crimes, Helena’s death will be slow and painful. She should have known better than to try and run in the first place. There’s nowhere on this earth she could hide from me, nor any hole deep enough for her to wait out the brutal Nikolai. His ruthlessness and determination will make him a powerful ally to me. Truthfully, it’s almost too simple.

Kill Helena, and I will secure an alliance between our two families.

I hold the door open for Henry and pull my sunglasses from my face to allow my eyes to adjust to the fluorescent lighting of the hallway. Helena’s probably employed as a janitor or working as a secretary. She will have wanted something where she could keep her head down, where she could keep the attention from herself. It might take a bit of time to locate her. The tricky part will be getting her alone in a way that will not draw excess attention to myself.

I accompany Henry to his homeroom after we pick up his information at the registration office. He stands just outside the door and can hardly take his gaze away from the schedule in his hands. That is a good sign in my opinion. Perhaps he’s beginning to allow himself to be excited about his new situation, even if it’s intimidating. I’m not sure he understands where we’re going until we stop walking. He appears to have discovered what he was looking for.

“Thanks. For coming in… when I said not to,” he mumbles sarcastically. Henry keeps his eyes downcast. Since his mother passed, he’s been a bit closed off.

“Of course, I’m always going to be here for you.” I wrap my arm around his shoulders and tousle his hair affectionately to reassure him. Before I start to walk away, he pinches my jacket and stops me from leaving his side. All it takes is a moment of hesitation to show me just how nervous he really is.

“Suppose they don’t like me…” Henry confesses in a small voice.

“Then they’re fools. And you know we don’t abide fools.” I wink at him ominously. He doesn’t know the depth of truth to that comment. “Don’t worry too much. I’ll be here to pick you up when class lets out. Maybe, if you try to have a particularly good day, we can go out for your favorite meal. I saw a place on Main Street that looks good enough.”

Henry hugs me so tightly and quickly that I nearly miss it. He doesn’t say anything before darting into the classroom, leaving me alone in the corridor. It’s never easy to see him go. I’m overcome with sadness as I realize the one that should be here is my sister. Instead of me, she should be the one to accompany him to class. I can almost feel her presence with me right now. She would be overjoyed and proud of her son. Hopefully, she will feel the same way about my raising him in her absence.

I’m hoping he can at least make some new friends. He’s a good kid, he will quickly find a place for himself here. I know it. I only stay long enough for Henry to find a seat.

The hallways slowly empty as the rest of the students filter into their various classrooms, carrying their zealous early morning chatter with them.

I set a slow, almost leisurely pace through the halls on my way back out of the school. Most likely, I don’t have too long to look for the woman I’ve been sent to find before the staff starts asking questions. My steps echo off of the lockers until they set a beat against the background of a haunting cello tune coming from the hallway to my left.

There is no logical reason for my feet to rechart their course toward the music. I suppose I just never considered that somebody from this place could produce something so achingly beautiful as this melody. It’s familiar to me, calling to me from the recesses of my mind as I struggle to recall the name of the piece.

The somber notes carry through the halls in stark contrast to the vibrant conversations that filled them only moments ago. I follow as a man possessed. I almost forget completely about my mission as I walk toward the music. My only purpose now is to find the source of this cello and the person playing it.

I come to a stop in front of a pair of double doors, one of which is still bolted shut. The other is held open by a discarded table leg. I pause in the doorway. I’m not sure why I don’t go inside. I prefer to linger.

A woman sits in a metal chair in the center of the room. She’s posed about halfway away from me. Two teenage girls sit on the carpeted metal stand risers, whispering softly to one another. Their gaze shifts to me, curious about my intrusion but not alarmed enough to disrupt the performance.

The teacher plays with her eyes closed, and I only catch glimpses of her angular features and sharp jawline as she shifts with the notes she plays so beautifully. Her blonde hair is cropped close to the natural line of her jaw. Even from a distance, I can tell she’s a stunningly beautiful woman.

If I close my eyes, I might be able to imagine myself in a private box seat at any symphony concert I’ve ever attended. She’s far more talented than I’d expect a teacher in this place to be.

I attend every live classical performance available to me, not that it’s a fact I would ever readily advertise. It’s both a weakness of mine and my greatest joy, as I never had the talent to play a single note myself.

If she’s aware that she’s no longer alone, she doesn’t show it. It’s a really remarkable way to introduce a new group of students to a class. The few that have already arrived are enraptured by her as her bow slides so easily over the strings. Her passion must come from a place of great sadness to be able to play Chopin so well.

I’m almost ashamed that it took me so long to recognize the piece as Etude Op. 25 No. 7. The music flows through her, magnifies in intensity, and I’m as enthralled as her students.

I want… to know her. I want to know what sort of pain a person from this town could endure to make her play so authentically.

As the final notes begin to play, my hand slides into my pocket and I lean against the closed door. I flip over the small object I’ve brought with me in my hand and back again. It’s a tracker for Helena when I find her. Something that will allow me to monitor her movements and find the ideal moment to exact Nikolai’s revenge on her.

Imagine my surprise when she fumbles the final note and sharply turns to look at me with the most piercing gray eyes I’ve ever seen in my life. And they belong to the woman whose image I’ve been carrying around for weeks while putting this whole plan together.

Helena Russev.

I’ve found you.

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Chapter One

Vanessa

After classes, I went to work at The Rose. With its all-glass exterior, red carpet that led out of doors into the sideway, and massive chandeliers, it was the most beautiful restaurant in the entire city. Even though it was a little too extravagant for me, it felt cool when people asked me where my part-time job was.

“Hey, Vanessa, aren’t you coming in?” I heard a loud noise coming from the side door and saw Anna, my best friend and the source of all my problems, poking her head out of the restaurant. I hadn’t realized I’d been staring at it for so long.

As I entered, I noticed her walking toward the restroom. She raised her eyebrows at me to indicate that she was waiting for me.

I could see where this was going, and I wasn’t about to be interrogated about my date like a criminal in an NCIS episode.

Don’t get me wrong: she was my closest friend, and I enjoyed working with her, but the guy I went out with was far from the one. I felt like I’d rather stuff my head inside my chips than listen to him talk about his car-miniature collection again.

“Spill it already. I’ve been waiting for you for half an hour,” Anna said impatiently, while I pretended I didn’t understand what she meant.

“You won’t like what I’m about to say, and I’m not sure why you keep setting me up on dates.”

I felt a slap on my head. “Hey, stop that,” I whined and then proceeded to explain my big date failure to her with a deadly look.

Anna thought that my being twenty-one and still clueless as to what my type of man is was deeply concerning, so she didn’t believe me when I described how creepy the man was. She always assumed I was the odd and picky one. But let me tell you something: every single guy on the Tinder profile she created for me was definitely not a match.

As I made my way back to the restaurant tables to stop Anna’s “men lessons,” I noticed that it was a packed house this evening. Everyone was moving quickly, knowing exactly what to do and where to go.

“You ladies are late yet again. Vanessa, you honor us with your twenty-minute tardiness!” said Francesca, the assistant manager, in a sarcastic tone when she noticed Anna following behind me.

She was in charge of the restaurant staff and had her gaze fixed on Anna, who was far from an angel. My best friend was a troublemaker, and I was frequently the one who paid the price because I was with her. So, in this case, Francesca thought or hoped that Anna’s name was Vanessa.

However, she and I had nothing in common. Anna White was blonde, tall, and self-assured, so she stood out more than I would have. On the other hand, I was shorter, curvier, and the typical brunette who wouldn’t catch your attention on the street.

“We’ll be changed in a few minutes, Miss Francesca,” Anna raised her voice, drawing everyone’s attention to us.

“Well, get on with it, Vanessa,” Miss Francesca replied in a calm but firm tone. I was certain Anna intended to provoke her further, but I pushed her to the changing room.

“It’s almost as if you enjoy getting on her nerves,” I told her as I took off my large bomber jacket.

“She always calls me ‘Vanessa.’ I mean, I get that it’s more memorable than my name. Still, I can’t give my best to a woman who doesn’t remember who the hell I am.” Anna began undressing. “And I know she’s doing it on purpose,” she grumbled as she tossed her black jacket onto her bag.

“Oh come on, why would she do that? She generally seems like an okay person,” I told her truthfully.

“Francesca knows everyone who works here, and yet she still refers to me as ‘Vanessa.’ She has a grudge against me, I’m telling you, but everyone loves her so much that they don’t notice. Even you can’t see it.” Anna slipped into her pants.

I examined myself in the locker room’s mirror. It felt strange wearing such tight pants. I was a jeans girl, but The Rose had a uniform, and I was more compliant than Anna.

Anna teased behind me, “You should grow taller.”

“You should try to be less obnoxious. The rest of the staff does not arrive late like us, Anna,” I said to her in a motherly tone. “We’re not the only part-timers, but every time we come in, I get called out. You and her need to work out your differences, and let’s just try to enjoy our mundane job as much as possible.”

Anna remained quiet and nodded. She turned away from me, her face sad, to lace up her leather shoe.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized even though I couldn’t tell if Anna was acting hurt or not.

But then her expression changed abruptly, as if she had remembered something important. “My father’s coming tomorrow. I’m skipping, and I’m dragging you along with me,” she stated.

So her grumpy demeanor finally made sense. I’d known Anna for a long time and knew that her family was a sensitive subject for her.

The Whites were an Irish Mafia family. Her father got us the job at The Rose, but it wasn’t enough to repair their broken relationship. She didn’t want to be a part of their shady business, and whenever I happened to cross paths with them, it was like walking on thin ice.

In some ways, seeing her family and learning information from Anna had shaped my perception of the Mafia. Despite the fact that the city was peaceful, the Mafias terrified me. They were a gang of sick men who did whatever they pleased and killed whomever they wanted.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” I went to explain to Anna, but she was already ready to speak, a hurtful expression on her face.

“Seriously? I say I’m not coming to work, but you insist on staying, and for what? To spend time with my obnoxious father and answer questions about me? You know he’ll come looking for you if he finds out I’m not here,” she said.

“My uncle’s birthday is tomorrow,” I told her sternly, having mentioned it at least a dozen times in the previous two weeks.

“Oh my goodness!” She slapped her temple, pretending to be disappointed. She tried to save it by saying, “I thought it was next week.”

“Miss, don’t you play the naivety card on me. You forgot, didn’t you?” I told her, knowing she already had.

“No, no, I didn’t! I know how important your uncle is to you, and how could I forget?” Her straight face didn’t waver, and she would have been convincing if I hadn’t known her so well.

“You forgot,” I said as I yanked my shoulders free of her grip and walked out of the room.

“Vanessa,” Anna apologized as she followed me. “I’ll be there at the birthday party.” I didn’t look back at her, nor did I respond “I’ll help out. Vanessa, please.”

Vanessa, please. Could you blame me for giving her a hard time and having fun whilst doing so? Seeing her assume her puppy expression was priceless.

When we approached Francesca, she ignored us, overlooking the tables and guests.

“We’re here, Miss Francesca,” Anna said in her most annoying tone, the kind of tone that could incite trouble.

Francesca returned her attention to both of us, a wicked smile on her face.

“Vanessa.” She shifted her gaze from me to Anna. “Anna,” she sighed deeply.

Anna made her famous “I told you so” face at me. I could tell what she was thinking because I was thinking the same thing. Francesca definitely had some sort of beef with Anna. She did know her name and had been petty ever since we arrived. My best guess was that it had something to do with how we got our jobs at the restaurant.

Francesca was a woman who firmly believed in the American dream: equal opportunities for all. So I could see why she disliked us, but Anna liked to play with fire.

“Vanessa, you’ll get table number fourteen while—” Francesca began assigning us our tasks for the evening.

“Which Vanessa, me or her?” Anna cut her off, earning me an eye roll as well.

“While you, Anna,” Francesca motioned towards Anna as if she hadn’t said anything, “will be tending to the clients in Room Thirteen. Best of luck.” She said it almost with pity before dismissing both of us.

We returned to the kitchen, and Anna left me to speak with Jefferson, the customer service manager. I assumed she was curious about who was in Room Thirteen. I would have been intrigued as well, given Francesca’s delivery of the instruction as if it were a punishment.

While I waited for people at table fourteen, Anna returned to me, pale.

“What’s the matter?” I asked, concerned that I had missed something crucial.

“I can’t go up to Room Thirteen,” she declared emphatically. I swear I’d never seen anything scare her more than this room.

We were all aware of The Rose’s private rooms. It was more expensive than regular tables and was frequently requested by politicians and other wealthy business people who required privacy and luxury when conducting business. It didn’t make sense to me why Anna would be afraid of some suits.

“Now, I think you are being ridiculous,” I said to her.

“I’m not,” Anna grumbled. “Jeff stated that the men in Room Thirteen are dangerous. He claimed they entered through the back door and that one of them was a cop or something. I’m not going up there.” Anna approached the kitchen wall, arms folded across her breasts. “I’m not going, uh-uh.”

It took me about a minute to realize Anna wasn’t putting up an act. She was terrified and serious about it. She was constantly afraid of cops and worried that she would be arrested, questioned, or tortured one day because of her father’s known connection to the Irish Mafia.

“You must put on your big girl pants and go up there. You don’t want any more problems with Francesca, do you?” I reminded her and looked her firmly in the eyes.

“I’m afraid I can’t, Vanessa.”

I walked past my terrified friend to inspect the tables. Mine remained empty. The Rose was always completely booked every night, so I knew it would be filled in the next ten minutes.

“You already know Jeff is—” I was about to use the word delusional, but I knew he wasn’t. He was a married man who appeared to be far too intelligent for his job. There was no reason for him to lie to Anna about the men in Room Thirteen, but I knew it was up to me to get us both out of new trouble with Francesca.

“We’ll swap,” I told her. Her face instantly brightened, and she hugged me with her mischievous smile once more.

“I’ll serve your table like no one has ever served in the history of restaurant service,” she said before kissing my cheek.

“Room Thirteen!” I heard from the kitchen and knew I was up.

“Be careful,” Anna cautioned before I departed to retrieve the order for Room Thirteen. While the guests were contemplating their meal choices, a bottle of scotch was requested.

I went to the kitchen and came back with only a bucket of ice, a bottle of the good stuff, and three glasses. Three dangerous men, as Anna had predicted, were waiting to be served in this room. And, to be honest, I was more intrigued than scared.

Sure, I’d seen a few dangerous-looking men at The Rose, but there’d never been any trouble. Regardless of what Anna or Jefferson thought, I didn’t think it would start that night.

I carried the bucket and glasses up the stairs to the corridor. I was about to enter the next floor when I heard the “table fourteen” call behind me—such odd timing.

As I continued down the red-carpeted corridor, counting the numbers on the doors until I reached thirteen, there was no sound to be heard from any of the rooms. There was nothing out of the ordinary outside the door. Despite the fact that the hallway was quiet, my heart began to pound in my chest as I reached for the doorknob.

Why are you scared? I was wondering where my confidence had gone. Anna. My cool had been thrown off by her ridiculous, dramatic story.

Nobody would dare to touch you, I told myself before I opened the door slightly and heard two suspicious statements coming from the manly voices.

“What’s the man’s name again?” an older man with a grumpy tone inquired.

“Oh, the one we’re paying you for?” a man with a younger voice said just before the room fell silent.

Should I go in or run? I pondered, but I was aware that I had been noticed.

“Please, come inside. We know you’re here,” the young one ordered.

I wasn’t quick enough, and I knew the decision was no longer in my hands. I needed to get into this room.

Chapter Two

Ethan

An Hour Earlier

 I had no fear of the cops. I didn’t fear anyone after years of seeing blood, death, and life’s many pleasures that drown sorrow and regret because there were rules that governed my little world: money, respect, and, most importantly, devotion to family. I’d been told several times that my devotion to the people I cared about was sometimes bloody, but I was proud of it nonetheless.

It was finally time to start putting things back in order. My older brother Paul’s unfortunate death served as a catalyst for my ascension, which meant access to and control over the family’s vast fortune. But none of that wealth was important to me. All I sought was vengeance.

My plan had been opposed by the few people who had learned of it. They haven’t supported me since I began my crusade of revenge, a quest that started with Paul’s funeral and progressed from there.

My uncle Luke described it as both a sad and happy day because so many people had come to pay their respects to my brother. Despite the fact that, as the new head of the family, I was required to attend the funeral, I was too angry to arrive early that day. I simply failed to be strong enough to be there when my presence was needed.

Being who I am, I have seen a lot of dead people in my time. Hell, I’ve even shot a lot of them myself, but seeing Paul’s lifeless body was a sight I could not bear, especially not after having seen our father’s dead body a few months before. All this death close to me…it got the better of me.

But despite my momentary weakness, the reason for my lateness was attributed to the fact I had tracked down the hitman who had murdered my father. I’d planned to pay a visit to the man’s house, and so I did. Nobody knew, not even my capo, Tristan. My being alone with the man who had stolen the life out of my father was almost poetic, just me and my pistol. Exacting revenge on my own was the only way I wanted to avenge my family, to be standing there watching the bastard take his final breaths on his way to meet his maker in the pits of hell.

I remember standing in front of Saint John’s Cathedral, staring across the street at the house of my father’s murderer. Alberto was a feared assassin among the Mafia families and a hired gun. He had no family and was known for never disclosing the identities of his clients, even when threatened with death.

It was an admirable trait—not ratting your clients out—but, at that moment, the last thing I cared about was the qualities of his personality. The quality I was truly interested in was the fact he murdered my own, and that needed to be dealt with.

When I knocked on Alberto’s door on Sunday morning, he was sound asleep. “Is anyone there?” he inquired warily, his voice infuriatingly calm for someone whose livelihood depended on how much death he scattered on his wake.

“From the cathedral across the street, sir,” I lied, completely unconcerned about my safety. All I wanted to do was shoot him in the head, and I was quite motivated.

“Go away,” he hollered with annoyance.

“Just a minute of your time, sir,” I begged. “I guarantee you won’t have to deal with me again after this.”

Before the door clicked open, there was silence.

“Preacher,” Alberto called as he emerged from behind the open door, a pistol in his hand. He took the first shot but missed. I fired twice, once in the chest and once between his eyes.

It was on that day that I vowed vengeance on anyone and everything who had ever wronged my family. In just a few weeks, we’d become a hot topic among the other Mafia families. The Mullens and Robinsons, in particular, did not take kindly to my ever-growing bloodthirst, but I never knocked on a door that had not previously been at mine.

My uncle’s expression of relief when I told him I was leaving Chicago was palpable. He wasn’t opposed to my quest for vengeance, but he felt it had to be done quietly—something he and Paul agreed on. I used to be like them, I used to be patient and imperturbable, but this part of me died when I lost the people who meant the most to me and grew into this vindictive shell of a person. Only violence could save me now, and I was in a position to use as much of it as I needed to protect my family from old and new enemies.

“If a message must be sent, everyone should get it, so that there are always some reasonable folk who will explain it to those who may be too dim to get it,” I told my uncle Luke just before leaving Chicago with two vehicles.

“He’s a corrupt cop, easy to deal with, but we’ll have to spoil him a little,” Tristan, my capo, said when we arrived in town. He was the only person in whom I had faith.

Our meeting was with Carlos Maine, a fifty-year-old police officer. He worked in homicide, and I was told he was in charge of investigating murders in Buffalo, New York.

When the police in Chicago recognized a death as the result of a Mafia feud, they knew what to do. We have guys; we are deeply connected. In other cities, on the other hand, I had to make my presence and intentions known. It irked me, but due to the lack of enough connections and understandings, I understood the importance of acting more responsibly and staying as close to the law as possible. We were able to divert attention away from the family in this manner.

“So, what’s the best place to eat in this city?” I asked Tristan.

“There’s this restaurant, The Rose. And I promise you, it’s better than the ones we’ve got in Chicago.”

***

A few minutes later, I was inside a small room with a round table, four chairs, and a large sofa. Given its size and lack of exits, I thought it was overly opulent. There was only one door and no windows.

Given my newfound position as the head of the family, everyone was a potential threat because I now wore a crown on my head. As a result, I treated everyone as a such for I had no trust to spare. I sat on the sofa with a sense of uneasiness situated behind the table where Tristan sat across from Carlos, the corrupt cop.

“I was surprised when I received word that we might be getting visitors from Chicago. Few of your kind make it here. There isn’t much going on in Buffalo,” the officer began.

This was a dance I saw my late father and brother perform with the police. The cop would pretend he wasn’t corrupt, and I was supposed to seduce and persuade him into accepting my bribe.

“You said ‘our kind.’ What are you suggesting? What do you believe we are?” Tristan inquired.

When I saw the officer turn frantically from Tristan to me, I hid the smile that threatened my face. His gaze lingered on me, apologetic and terrified. Officer Carlos Maine struck me as a clever man. Despite sharing a table with Tristan, he knew I was the boss.

“I meant no offense or disrespect,” the officer stated, but neither Tristan nor I responded. His hands fidgeted on the table before he hid them under the table.

“Killing a police officer in this town is a terrible idea. It’s a lot of noise, which I’m sure you don’t want,” he attempted to reason with us.

I leaned forward in my seat to address him. “You never answered the question. It is none of your business whether we value a cop’s life or not. Who do you think we are?”

I didn’t trust many people outside of my family, especially crooked cops. They were imposters, as opposed to the Mafia, who knew who they were. Some people referred to us as gentlemen because of our sincerity.

The officer’s gaze shifted from me to Tristan before returning to me. There was no mercy in Tristan’s eyes and even less in mine, but he knew I had the final say.

“Businessmen?” he replied. I tried not to reveal anything, but I was afraid that a smile would break out on my face anyway.

“You two are businessmen,” he finally decided. “If I ever find myself in a situation where I have to answer questions about you two, that’s what I’m going to say.”

I slowly nodded. “You’re a quick learner, indeed. We are businessmen. And as far as everyone’s concerned, this meeting never happened. Is that clear?”

“Yes, yes, very,” he said emphatically.

I didn’t trust the cop, but I knew he was scared enough to agree on cooperating with us.

“I’m thirsty,” I said to Tristan, who stood up and walked to a corner of the room where a phone sat atop a small drawer.

“Hello, this is Room Thirteen. Could you send us one of your best bottles? Scotch? Alright, then,” Tristan placed his order over the phone.

“It’s never a good idea to conduct business with dry tongues,” I advised the tense man before he peed on his pants. Officer Carlos smiled timidly, and it appeared that most of his responses that evening would be just that: smiles.

Our transaction started before the bottle stood up.

“We’re looking for a particular gentleman. I want you to assist me in locating him and then keep things quiet following my encounter with him,” I informed the officer.

“May I ask as to what you intend to do to this man when you two do meet?” Officer Carlos questioned.

“He betrayed my family. So I plan to kill him,” I casually informed him.

I waited for the officer’s response. He didn’t seem as bothered as I expected him to be.

“Do you have a photo?” the officer asked. I nodded to Tristan, who took a picture from his breast pocket and handed it to the officer.

“You realize I can’t leave that with you, right?”

“Yes, yes,” the officer stammered, his grey beady eyes memorizing the photograph. “I’ve never met this man before, but if he’s in town, I’ll find him.”

“When should I expect an update?” I inquired.

“Within two days?” he asked, gauging my face which I was sure looked quite displeased, “Tomorrow. I can get it for you tomorrow,” he eventually said.

“Good,” I said. I didn’t intend to be away from Chicago for long. I’d only come to see Fred Westbrook because he was one of many people who had wronged my family—my uncle, to be exact. My dislike for the town grew stronger with each passing second, and the only thing that kept me seated and breathing its thin air was the spectacular mental image of Fred Westbrook’s beaten face.

“I trust you’ll keep your end of the bargain,” I said just as Tristan placed a large sum of money on the table between him and the officer. Carlo’s eyes shone brightly, giving me hope that the execution would go smoothly.

“Aside from assisting us in locating the man in the photo…” Tristan took the picture and slipped it back into his breast pocket as I continued speaking. “I want this done discreetly. You’ll conduct a minor investigation before the case is dropped due to a lack of evidence. Do you understand what I’m saying?” I asked firmly, never breaking eye contact.

“Yes, yes, loud and clear,” he said back. His gaze shifted from me to the wad of cash on the table.

Tristan took his hand off the bundle and let the police officer touch it with a single nod. To me, this amount of money was insignificant, but to a police officer, it looked like a retirement plan.

“I can cater to all of your requests, but…” he prefaced his next words with a meek expression. “There may be some complications if this man has a family. They will undoubtedly cause a ruckus,” he informed us.

“He has no family. He has always lived alone,” Tristan chimed in.

Before he stabbed my uncle in the back and injured his spine, old Fred Westbrook was a foot soldier of the family.

“All right then,” Officer Carlos said with a smile. “Can I count?”

I motioned with my hand for him to proceed. “You’ll get the other half at the end of the week after everything is cleared out and you deliver your end of the bargain,” I emphasized the final words. I wanted an excuse to shoot the cop in the head, but if he did what I asked, everything would be fine.

“I’ll get it done. You can rest assured,” he promised while counting the money.

When he was finished, he returned to me and asked half-heartedly, “What is his name?” clearly distracted by the money in his greedy hands.

“Westbrook,” I replied, still skeptical of his competence.

When I heard the door slide open just a little, my hand stopped on my thigh, just short of my calf, where my pistol was. Someone was outside the room, and they may have heard a few things.

Tristan was already up and ready to close the door when the police officer froze in his seat.

“Please, come inside. We know you’re here,” I said to the person standing behind the door.

We three waited for the stranger to make a decision.

I contemplated several different scenarios in my head as to how this could unfold, depending on who that was and what they’d overhead. But I chose to wait with the minimal ounce of patience still inside me.

When the door slid open further and a woman entered the room, my breath caught in my throat. I’m not sure why, but I watched her walk into the room unable to take my eyes off of her. She approached us with her head down, setting the ice bucket, the bottle, and our glasses on the table.

I was frustrated that I couldn’t get a good look at her features, but she still looked stunning with a body that her tight pants and shirt did little to conceal. And the fact that it had been several weeks since my last time with someone made it a tad…uncomfortable. Planning revenge had been quite time-consuming, and seeing this lovely brunette right now reminded me how much I missed it. I was certain she would be exceptionally sweet. Normally, I just wanted to have fun and didn’t care who the woman was, but now I felt compelled to taste her and only her.

“May I get you anything?” she inquired as casually as her eyes could allow. Her weight shifted uneasily from one leg to the other, despite the polite smile typical of someone in her profession. Finally, taking a good look at her face, I noticed that she had the most expressive and beautiful eyes, as well as perfectly round, full lips. I could already see them wrapped around my dick while she shyly begged for more.

“You should definitely try one of their meals. They’re the best in town, right?” Officer Carlos said, pulling me out of my thoughts and attempting to reduce the tension in the room.

But I couldn’t hear him; his voice was muted by the woman standing before me. My gaze was drawn to her deep green eyes. I needed to claim her, make her mine. And what she was unaware of yet was that I always got my way.

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Prologue 

Laura 

 There are many things I have wished for in my life.  

I’ve always wanted to win the lottery. I think that at some point in their lives, everybody has. If you were to ask anyone on the street what they would do if they won a million dollars tomorrow, they would have an answer ready to go.  

I’ve always wanted to wake up one morning to find out that I’ve secretly been a princess my whole life with a kingdom to run and a bevy of hot men that want to carry me away from my otherwise mundane life. Who wouldn’t? That sort of money could change anybody’s life overnight, for better or worse. There had been times when I thought that I was willing to do or give anything to have access to that sort of funding.  

I guess I should have been more specific about the terms I was willing to agree to. Something with a little less danger, maybe, less threatening to my general health and mental stability.  

I guess it is exciting, though…having somebody so obsessed with me?  

A tremble tremor runs through my whole body as Pietro’s hand brushes softly down my cheek. It’s not an affectionate gesture, but something warm curls low in my belly. Pietro’s piercing eyes are trained on me – carefully monitoring every minute shift in my expression as he holds my face firmly in his other tattoo-covered hand. He knows how terrified I am….just as he knows how impossibly turned on I am by his authoritative tone.  

His thumb brushes across my bottom lip, feeling the full skin there. I try to pull away and wrench my face backward and away from him. He’s hurting me, and he knows it. He tightens his grip on my face as he pulls me closer. I can’t look away from his emotionless gray eyes. How can he still be ideally in control in a situation like this?  

I need to fight him. I need to hit him, kick him, or attempt to snap my head forward and bite him – that’s what a sane person would do in my situation. He must not think that I am a threat to him.  

I don’t care how badly I want him…. if he thinks that I will roll over and do what he says. I am not some meek girl who will cower and submissively obey him.  

I grind my teeth together and brace my hands against his chest. His eyebrow arches, waiting to see if I’ll manage to summon the strength to fight him. He wants me to fight him. The sick bastard probably gets off on it.  

“You belong to me now, Laura, and there’s nothing you can do to escape,” his voice is pure sex as it washes over me, the deep vibrations making my skin erupt in trails of goosebumps. The sensations culminate as it fans the flames of desire threatening to consume me.  

I scoff and try to appear braver than I feel. I don’t want him to think that I am intimidated by him or how wet his nearness makes me. One of my hands wraps around the wrist he uses to hold me. I know what is likely to come next. I try to keep him from shifting his hand lower as I push him away. How is he so damned strong?  

“So what? You think I’m scared of you?” I say as I force a laugh through my teeth.  

His hand drops from my jaw to clamp firmly around my neck. He moves so fluidly I didn’t have the chance to stop him, and he knows it.  

“But, out of curiosity,” I choke out while attempting to pluck his fingers from around my neck. “What…what would happen if I had managed to get away?” 

I quickly change tactics, grabbing his wrist as I try to pry his fingers off my neck, but it’s no use.  

He chuckles darkly, arrogance and controls practically ooze out of every pore as he yanks me closer to him until his lips are an inch from mine. I can smell the sweet almond scent on his breath from whatever he had been drinking earlier. I can only think about how badly I want to taste him. I want him to pull me closer so that I can wrap my legs around his waist, closing the distance between us. I want to lock our bodies together and ride him until I’m too exhausted to hate him.  

“You know the answer to that, Laura,” he says in his tightly controlled voice – my proximity is starting to get to him.  

His gaze drops to his fingers around my neck and then to the space where the thin strap of my camisole has slid down my shoulder; I probably look like a ravished mess. “If you try to run from me again, I will kill you. Not in a slow, merciful way, honey…I will kill you in every way that you have ever feared…I will draw it out again and again until you beg me to finish you off.” 

I will beg. I can’t stop the dark smile that spreads across my paling lips. I know it’s messed up that I instantly think of him forcing me to beg for something far more pleasurable than death. I know he’s telling the truth. I know he will have no mercy for me if I run away from him…or even attempt to. This is a warning, plain and simple.  

“That’s hardly the threat you think it is,” I gasp and manage to get my knee up between us and push with all of my might while I bring one arm up and over his arm so that he has no choice but to let go of his chokehold on me.  

I scamper a few paces away from him while rubbing my back and coughing. My lungs feel like fire, and I know that there will be nice aggressive bruises on my pale neck come nightfall.  

I force myself to stand up straight and meet his contemptuous gaze. It should be a crime to be that damned attractive. How can I hate somebody with every single part of my being…and want him so much at the same time?  

“We both know that I would be so much better off dead than in your hands.” 

Pietro straightens and rolls up his sleeves, his rage simmering into something so much colder. Terrifying. “Alright, honey. Have it your way.” 

Chapter One 

Laura 

Buzz, buzz.  

Buzz.! 

I can’t tell if the buzzing sound is inside or outside my head. Somewhere in the edges of my mind, I can tell that my cell phone is buzzing against my nightstand…or the floor. It’s buzzing against something solid, at least. Then again, it could be the vibrator that I was using right before I fell asleep…or was that yesterday? Everything has been blurring together this week. I am not the sort of girl who likes to admit when I might be in a little bit over my head…but this week? I am drowning.  

Every morning I wake up and tell myself, “One more night, then I’ll be free.” Just a little longer, and I will be able to take a very well-deserved break. I have one more tuition payment to make with a quickly approaching deadline. I’ve been working my ass off this week to reach my goal. I feel confident that I will get it so long as the money is the same tonight and tomorrow. It has to be. There is no other option. My arms feel like rocks, but I start to fumble blindly in the darkness of my tiny studio apartment for my cell phone. I hear the thing vibrate once more and then take a tumble sideways off of my nightstand to wedge itself between my small twin tiny and the nightstand.  

“Grand,” I mutter bitterly to myself as I stuff my arm into the space until my fingers slip off the corner of the phone, and the stupid thing goes skittering across the bedroom floor. “Shit shit shit,” I groan and try to push myself upward on the bed. I forgot to take off my work clothes last night before crashing. The insanely high heels that I dance in hit the floor awkwardly. My ankle rolls the moment I misjudge the depth of my step, and down I go – face first, right beside my phone.  

Thoroughly pissed off and sorer than I was, I clutch the phone to my chest and place my thumb on the fingerprint scanner. I hist at the brightness of my screen and recoil from the migraine-inducing light when I see the three missed calls and four text messages.  

‘Where are you?’ 

‘Are you almost here? I can’t wait around all day, you know.’ 

‘Okay…now you’re starting to piss me off, and I’m going to spit in your coffee.’ 

‘Five more minutes of ignoring me, Laura, and I’m calling and reporting you as a missing person….and spitting in your coffee.’ 

“Mmm, coffee,” I sigh, and the timestamps on the messages finally register. “Shit…I’m late…I’m so late.” adrenaline bursts through my chest, and I’m forced awake and into motion far too suddenly. It feels like I’ve been electrocuted.  

I move in an erratic pattern around my dorm room. I do not fully realize what I’m doing until my brain wakes up enough to register that I need to scrub all of this glitter off my face and get dressed into something that doesn’t have my small left breast out on full display.  

I start yanking the strappy top off, sliding out of the high-waisted thong-style underwear. I practically fall into the closet, but that turns out to be a good thing as it manages to snap the strap on my heel, helping me get out of them. I pull on clean boyshort underwear and some jogger-style sweatpants, slip into my sperrys and yank a t-shirt down over my torso at random. I grab my cross-body bag and fling it over my head as I dash into the bathroom to scrub wildly at my face.  

‘I’m coming, already on the way. You wouldn’t believe the traffic. Don’t worry, babes, not a statistic yet!’ I text my best friend Maxine quickly and brush my teeth before I dash out of my small apartment.  

When I get to the coffee shop that I was supposed to arrive at over thirty minutes ago, Maxine is nowhere to be found. My shoulders slump in disappointment.  

Maxine is too important to me to risk disappointing her. She shouldn’t have to wait on me. Besides, she just got back from her honeymoon, so it’s not like she doesn’t have a million and seven things that she needs to be doing right now. It was only because she’s a literal angel of a human that she was willing to wait around for me in the first place. I was looking forward to her telling me about all of the adventures she and Dalton had gotten into on their lavish island excursion. That is assuming they managed to make it out of the bedroom long enough to make it to the beaches.  

“About time you showed up.” Maxine’s voice comes from a table across the way.  

` I spin almost too quickly to see her. No wonder I didn’t recognize her. Usually a pale beauty, Maxine is tanned to golden perfection as she has lived on the beach for the last two weeks. She probably has. I make a happy squeal and run over to her. I know she’s not much of a hugger, but I can’t help it. I practically throw myself into her lap and wrap my arms around her.  

She’s the only person who has been able to put up with me constantly over the last three years. Now that we’re in our fourth and final year – I have no idea what I’m going to do once I graduate and don’t have a reason to bother her every day. Things have been so awkward since she left. Her new husband, Dalton, was one of my managers at the Leonessa club, and I like to credit myself in some small part for having set the pair of them up together. If I hadn’t gotten so sick that fateful night that MaxiMaxine offered to fill in for me, I would never have come across Dalton! I’m a firm believer in fate. Clearly, Maxine was precisely where she needed to be at the pretended to be there.  

“You look ah-may-zing!” I curl her hair around my fingers and don’t bother to remove myself from her lap as I grin at her. Something in my chest pulls as the burden of missing her lessons. Growing up, I never had any close female friends. Mostly because my mother never wanted to have anybody around that could be competition for her someday.  

Friendship with Maxie means the whole world to me.  

“Tell me everything! How was the honeymoon! How are things going with Dalton? Holy crap…look at your ring,” I push her torso from mine as I yank her hand into better view, turning it this way. I saw her engagement band before she left, but this is a whole other another you like it? I just got it back from the cleaners. All of the ocean water wasn’t awesome for it.” Maxine shrugs humbly. “I swear it still seems like it grows every that I look at it.” 

“At least you know that should things with you and Dalton go south, you can pawn it and run away to your private island somewhere and live comfortably for the rest of your life!” I grin and tap her softly on the nose. I slide sideways onto the chair beside her and sit with one foot up on the chair. I lean forward so that I can rest my head on my knee. “Did you spit in the coffee? I don’t think that I care; we’ve shared stranger things before, babe,” I shrug as I tease her.  

“Actually, I haven’t ordered yet. I figured you would be late, but I didn’t want to wake up your new roommate by just showing up with coffee in your room or anything.” 

 “Oh, no, roommate, feel free to stop by any time. I won’t ever say no to coffee,” I wave my hand dismissively. I hate that I have a reputation for being late. I used to blame it on being a night owl or stripping. Even if Maxie has always been sweet about it, it’s something I’ve been working on fixing about myself.  

I laugh a little too loudly and have to catch myself. If I don’t dial it back a little bit, she will know that I’m faking it. Maxine has the senses of a bloodhound when it comes to those sorts of things, and she doesn’t like to see I’m suffering. She’s a great person. She won’t let me struggle…but I can’t let her help me either. I’m not her problem anymore.  

“What do you mean no roommate?”  

She lifts a perfectly manicured eyebrow at me, and I can’t stop staring at how good she looks. Her tan, the glowing skin, her professional blowout…she went full Pretty Woman on me, and I can’t be anything but happy for her….and a little jealous, like 95% happy and 5 % jealous…most of the time.  

“Just haven’t found a girl that has stuck!”  

“I know how expensive it is to have a room all to yourself. I know how difficult those campus placements can be. Do they just have everybody already assigned…or?”  

Maxine presses good-naturedly and starts to wave for a barista to come over. Panic starts to set in. I don’t want to be that friend, but there is no way in hell that I can afford to buy coffee and breakfast right now. After work closes for the night, Buffet leftovers are just about the only food t can manage. Since Maxine left, things have been more challenging than I want her to know. 

“Well yeah, but I want somebody as awesome as you to replace you or no dice. They have sent over a few different girls, but they don’t ever seem to last long,” I laugh and shrug again. “Guess I’m just not as easy to love as I like to think!” 

“Laura!” Maxine cuts through my playful tone with one of seriousness. “You can’t just push them all away! What about the boyfriend? Is he still coming around? I know that it’s unorthodox, but maybe they would let you go the co-op way for the last semester or so?” 

“We broke up. I don’t wanna talk about it,” I look down at the table in front of me. The sting of everything is still fresh in my mind. I shift uncomfortably in my seat and hope that she is willing to take that as enough explanation. She had gotten along well enough with him at the time, so she might not drop the subject quickly. This isn’t how this reunion is supposed to be going. It’s supposed to be light-hearted and fun. We’re not even supposed to be talking about me at all.  

Maxine wants to ask what happened, but the barista interrupts.  

“Hey, ladies! What can I get for you?” 

“Another latte for me, please, caramel?” Maxine orders and then turns to me expectantly.  

“Water for me!” I know Maxine will question my order, but the water is free. “A slice of the blueberry loaf if you have it?” I know that they don’t. The barista shakes her head. “Damn, okay…hmm, the pretzel bagel?” I know that they don’t have that either, and she’s sad for me to the beautiful barista’s credit  nothing, st the water – thank you so much!” 

The barista walks away, and Maxine locks her best protective, worried ‘mom’ gaze onto me. “No coffee? Who are you, and what have you done with Laura?” 

“I’m a touch hungover this morning; the water is perfect. No worries,” I lie.  

“Why did you and boy- Markus break up?” 

“It’s not that serious. I guess he just wanted to find somebody that he t have to take care of or something. Found him cheating on me with one of his fellow med students, and that was that! No big deal, I’m used to it. He wasn’t that great in bed anyway,” I am doing everything in my power to make it sound like it doesn’t matter . to me 

“It’s for the best. Now I have no excuses but to focus on the study and the work thing and then with a little bit of luck I will be able to focus on the graduation and then…whatever else comes next.”  

I had thought that I was in love with him. Markus might not have been the most thrilling man. We certainly did not have much in common outside of the bedroom. But, he had been so in love with me (or so he said) that I thought when he made me lofty promises of our future together, he might sincerely mean them. I think, in part, I wanted a ticket out of this life. Something like what Maxine got. I should have known better.  

The barista comes back with Maxine’s coffee and my water and leaves. My mouth starts to water at the sight of her coffee. I had to skip out on the meal package because it was too much money. The powdered coffee cut the hunger for a while, but they started charging for that too. Bastards.  

“…Laura, coffee is on me. I am the one that invited you out here, after all. Please, order anything that you want. My treat.”  

Maxine is genuinely the sweetest person I have ever met in my horrible life… and I would never take advantage of her.  

“It feels like yesterday we were sitting on your bed counting our quarters for laundry, and now look at you. That stunning little sundress is designer something or another, isn’t it? Aren’t you glad that you went to the Leonessa now?” I wink and breeze right past her offer to buy me things. Thankfully, she drops it too.  

“No more talking about sad things!” I lift my glass of water to toast her coffee. We’re here to talk about her, and I want the distraction for a bit longer. I certainly need it. “To your honeymoon! Tell me everything.” 

Chapter Two 

Laura 

It would be a lie to say that coming to work after Maxine had such fantastic luck didn’t suck a little bit more than it used to. I have to remember the reasons that I started. I love dancing. I love being a stripper, and I sure as hell love working for the Leonessa club. Without the place, I certainly wouldn’t have the ability to pay for college. I would have had to drop out a long time ago, and I absolutely would be living on the streets under some bridge somewhere. Sometimes, I have to remind myself that going through all of this and enduring these struggles is for the greater good.  

During my entire childhood, my mother always told me that I would never amount to anything. She told me time and time again that I was going to be a stripper and live the rest of my days in and out of deadbeat boyfriends’ houses. To her, there was no higher place that I could achieve than the Kitty Kat club and all of the redneck scum that frequented it.  

That was her life.  

I made a vow at a very young age that I would never grow up to be my mother. I never wanted any of those things. I certainly didn’t want to be content living in a single-wide trailer in some RV park with a revolving door of boyfriends and baby daddies that I practically have to prostitute myself out to.  

On the days when I’m feeling down on myself, it’s easy to think that I have escaped one small-town life to trade it for an equally lousy version of that life here in the big city. Of course, that’s not true. I’m making a bigger, better future for myself. Some days it’s just harder to summon my inner girl boss than others.  

I’m super happy for Maxie and her new husband. Some people have all of the luck, and I am not one of them. My mother always said that if I didn’t learn how to control my loud mouth, then I was never going to go anywhere in life…and I am about one more verbal sparring away from negating all of the progress that I have made since I left her double-wide trailer home and conned my way to the city.  

Growing up in the sort of situations that my mother routinely put me in, my morals might not line up with many other peoples. Still, it also makes working here a hell of a lot easier given the shady business dealings that happen down in the basements that I’m not supposed to know about.  

“Laura? You’re up in ten!”  

Ismenia pops her head around the corner to the booth, where I’m getting ready to signal that it is time for me to finish setting my face. On any other night, stage work would be my favorite. I make the most money there while I’m shining, doing my thing…but tonight, it is harder to shake the exhaustion from my limbs and get myself up there where I need to be. I have a new dance that I’m supposed to be trying out, and I spent all weekend practicing it. I’ve been saving it all week for tonight, Friday night because that’s when all of the lawyers and higher-end clientele break out their wallets and let off steam from their long, hard weeks.  

I can’t get Maxine out of my head. She’s an inspiration to me. Somebody to look up to, she always has been. She’s the sort of friend who always has her head on right. I just don’t know how I’m supposed to go about doing it. The men that would offer me a path into that life don’t go for girls like me. They go for girls like Maxine, sweet and demure with that girl’s next-door vibe. I’ve always been a touch too loud and outspoken for a lot of men. They don’t know how to handle me. I’ve always wanted a strong man to take control. But I’m fine handling things myself until the unlikely time comes that I find one.  

Suck it up, buttercup. I think to myself. It doesn’t matter. Thinking about things like that isn’t going to help my tired ass get through tonight. I polish off the last of the coffee Maxine forced into my hand on the way out of the coffee shop and stand.  

I rotate in front of the mirror to see how the dress’s fabric that I’ve chosen tonight clings to my curves. I made sure to wear my most scandalous black strappy dress so that nobody would notice the wholesaler heels have a strap that has been glued back together. I pick up the closest perfume and spray away.  

I look passable…but the bags under my eyes are getting harder and harder to cake makeup onto. I give myself a bright, winning smile and grab for my things…but my bag is missing.  

Shit. Where is it?! I turn in a small circle, pushing the largely teased strawberry blonde curls away from my face and behind my shoulder as I look for the small hobo-style bag, I always carry to work every night. Without it, I don’t have anything to collect my tips. I know and trust almost all of the employees that doesn’t mean I would leave large stacks of cash lying around without clearly marking them as my own.  

Nobody else had been in here with me, had they? I can’t be that out of it. No. Absolutely not – oh, there on the floor by the door, it must have fallen off the peg. I bend down and scoop the fallen contents back into the bag and hope that later tonight, it’s going to be a hell of a lot heavier than it is now.  

“Five-minute warning!” they call around the corner to me.  

Room key, pack of gum, wallet…where’s my purse? No, no, no. I check the floor and under the bench, but it’s not there. I can’t go out on stage without my wallet! I have to find it!  

The door to the dressing room cracks open once more, and I can hear the sounds of my song intro starting up. Panic bubbles up the back of my throat. Dread and anxiety start to settle deeper as I frantically look for the wallet that isn’t there.  

Deep breaths, Laura, calm down. It’s not like there’s any money in there, just your I.D.  

I can go out without it, I guess. It’s not like there is anything that can be stolen…not really. Every last dollar and cent that I have made went straight to the tuition department like it always does. If I don’t make this song tonight for my long set, I’m not going to cover my last payment…the humiliation of being kicked out of college right before graduation? I can’t fathom it. I will have to find it after because there is no way that I can miss my song.  

I remove my small personal belongings and shove them into the closest wooden cubby beside the door. I wad up the rest of the bag I use to collect my tips into my hands and start to run out in the direction of the stage – and collide firmly with a huge, very sturdy man. His hands clamp onto my hips to keep me steady and keep me from falling over as I nearly bounce off him.  

Good going.  

Like a deer caught in headlights, I stare at him through my long stage lashes. For a moment, I’m transfixed by the strong cut of his jaw and the firm line his full lips are pulled into. The low club lights dance off of his skin and well-tailored suit. The man glares down at me with the coldest look that I have ever seen in my life. It doesn’t even occur to me to tell him that he’s not supposed to be back here, and I know everybody who works at the Leonessa club, so he’s absolutely not an employee here.  

“Sorry!” I blurt out of reflex. I don’t even try to pull out of his grasp right away, not until I get a better gauge of his temper and how this interaction will go.  

This man is devilishly handsome and looks like he’s walked out of a fantasy. He is tall and broad. I can tell that he’s well-muscled even through the suit that he’s wearing. If I wasn’t about to go on stage for my set right now, I might be thinking about trying to find a way to talk him right back into the dressing room. There are quite a few things that I could do to a man who looked like that for a few hours. Hell, even better of an idea, I might be able to talk him into accompanying me into the back rooms of the club. He looks like he can afford it easily.  

“Shit…I’m so so sorry…so sorry, I misplaced my wallet, I was looking for it…lost track of time, and now I have to get on stage…rushing around like an idiot. I’m so sorry…,” I ramble as my hands run down the man’s chest.  

His suit doesn’t appear wrinkled, and for a moment, he doesn’t do anything to attempt to stop my roaming hands either. He simply watches me with a grunt of disapproval…and doesn’t let go of my hips for anything. His hands are warm, the callouses catching on the blended fabric of my dress as I smile brightly.  

“There you are, good as new,” I wink for good measure…but it doesn’t do anything to crack into that touch exterior that he’s got going on.  

Slowly, his brow arches as he looks down at me. He removes one hand to dip into his back pocket and pulls up the exact thing I was looking for. “This wallet?” 

“Hey! My wallet!” I repeat with a happy chirp and move to reach for it, but he pulls it out of my reach. It’s not hard to do; the man is huge. The happy mask that I’m wearing slips a little.  

“I thought that it must belong to somebody who works here. You ought to be more careful with where you place your things…the barman didn’t even know who this was from your picture,” he flips open the wallet to show my driver’s license. “How do I know this is really  

“Well…they don’t let you wear wigs in the DMV pictures, and the picture was taken long ago,” I reach for the wallet again. “Hey man, you’re being really weird a wallet.” small red warning bells start to go off in my mind. I don’t know why he won’t give me back my property. Is he trying to get a reward or something? Like with most other things, I ignore them quickly and change tactics.  

“This is some ploy to get yourself a finders fee, isn’t it?” I shift my weight onto one hip and twirl a curl of hair around my finger as I bat my lashes up at him. Maybe he’s just looking to play the role that most men who come here assign dancers like me. I’m playing into what men stereotypically want me to act like while in the club. Pretty, overly interested, with the illusion of being easy. All oWe at the Leonessa are supposed to be walking, talking fantasies for the clientele.  

“You could have just said something. It’s not like giving you a free lap dance will be hard…,” I grin suggestively. “Or maybe it will be.” 

I thought that maybe that was what he was hoping for…but the idea seems to repulse him slightly. That hurts. The sting of rejection doesn’t usually hit that hard. I drop the act and look up at him expectantly. I wiggle my fingers to emphasize that I would like my property back. 

He finally pushes my wallet back in my direction, and I snatch it back to my chest.  

“Thank you anyway?” I try, but that doesn’t seem to have much of an effect on him either. What a strange, overly handsome man. He nods in my direction. 

“Laura!” Ismenia barks from down the hallway, and the sudden sound of her voice makes me jump on reflex.  

I whip around to see her waving at me frantically from the other end of the hall. I turn around to tell the man to thank you again and that I have to go… but he’s nowhere to be seen. How can a man like that move so quickly?  

“Girl, now!” Ismenia nearly shouts, and I take off running in her direction.  

I can’t risk putting myself on the shit list here. I need this job too much. I thrust my wallet at Ismenia without explanation while she fumbles to catch it as I sprint past her. I run as quickly as I can to the back of the main stage and slow to a walk right before I start to sway my hips and ascend the three steps onto the stage’s platform. The spotlight warms my tired skin, and the music kicks in.  

Showtime.  

This is the easy part. This is the part where I can pretend that in another life, I am a real dancer, maybe a ballerina somewhere up on a fancy stage where people pay hundreds of dollars for tickets to see my graceful moves alone. Up here, I can be anybody that I want to be, and everything else fades away.  

Nothing matters for the length of my song as I revel in the movements and focus on the fantastic things that my body is capable of. No men gawking at me, hoping to see something more than what they are paying for. No worries about food or how I’m going to make payments – just me and the music.  

Maybe it’s silly, but it’s my happy place. The stage is the place where I can allow the bright lights to make all of the rest of the world simply fade away until there is nothing else but the vibrations of the music and the movements of my body.  

I close my eyes and allow the feeling to consume me.  

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