MikhailThe penthouse is quiet when I arrive home. I half expect Maria to be sitting where she was that other night after the bombing, flipping through a book from the shelf, admiring the glossy photos of art from museums she would like to see.Places all over the world, but she’s forced to stay here with me.But she’s nowhere to be found. I make my way up the stairs to her door, my mind still seeing the reproach in her eyes earlier, the wild fear when I reached for her, and behind the fear, unmistakable revulsion.I knock and hear only a sniffle. Gently, I open the door and find her wrapped in a robe and lying on her bed. The silly dress she wore is gone. She’s changed into her pajamas and her hair is still damp from the shower.“Are you all right?” I ask, searching her eyes.Maria’s face pales as she watches me walk toward the bed. Her lips part slightly, trembling as she tries to form words. She has no makeup on and her eyes are wide—the picture-perfect image of innocence and vulne
MikhailI glance back at Maria, and her gaze is curious as she stumbles after me down the narrow flight of stairs. My own oversight led to the door being unlocked that other day, and I can hardly blame Maria’s curiosity for wanting to know what was in the room.After all, she was granted freedom to roam and explore the penthouse, and I set no boundaries.I didn’t expect her to wander down there. As much as I dislike the idea that she’s caught a glimpse of a piece of me that I keep hidden from the world, a part of me is secretly glad she’s seen it.I wasn’t ready to tell her the truth then. But I am now. I want her to see me for more than the wealthy criminal she thinks I am.Her eyes widen when we stand before the heavy door. Fear creeps into their hazel depths as she imagines one terrifying scenario after another.“Mikhail, please,” she begs. “I didn’t mean to snoop. I?—”I cut her off with a stare. “Do you trust me?”“I …” she stammers, but her denial dies in her throat as curiosity
MariaMikhail’s words send me reeling. When Larissa told me he blamed himself for his mother’s death, I had no idea that it was something like this. But just like everything he tells me, even this answer leaves me with more questions.And I’ve come too far now to turn back from finding out the rest.“How?” I ask.His grip on my hand doesn’t change, but he looks at me with such intensity that I can feel his stare crushing my bones into dust. My heartbeat picks up from his stare, but I don’t look away.“She threw herself off the terrace.” His voice is low. And even at this volume, I can hear it cracking slightly. “Eighteen years ago.”He looks away, turning his eyes—shimmering in the dim light—toward the painting of the woman. There’s no mistaking the guilt in his gaze as he looks into the soft eyes of his mother, forever memorialized on canvas.The world spins around me as I struggle to find the words—any words—to say back to him. But what are the right words when someone says somethin
MariaHis lips feel like a heady mixture of heat and firmness that I'll never forget. The warmth of his breath, mingling with mine, sends shivers down my spine, each caress of his tongue stoking my desire as I reach for him, gripping his shirt with both hands. My body reacts on instinct, fueled by a need that makes me tingle. I wrap my arms around his neck as we topple onto a nearby table.I pull Mikhail's hard body down on me and wiggle against him. I feel him harden against my thigh at the same time as a sharp twitch trembles between my legs. My thighs open as he places his hips between them, and I press hard against him. His eyes flutter shut as he moans deeply.We break apart. Panting and breathless, I search Mikhail's expression for answers. I've never felt this before, and I'm too nervous to say something, lest I break the intensity of this moment. I've never wanted someone so badly as now, someone I should never have.There's a hint of darkness lingering in his gaze, a reminder
MariaI stare up at the lights and place my hands on my stomach as Mikhail pulls my panties down. I wait for him to touch me there, but he doesn't start there. He kisses down my body, starting at my collarbone. He gently sucks and nibbles at my breasts before moving down to my stomach. He kisses my hands and pulls them away, and then he continues lower.His serious gaze causes me to giggle. That giggle turns into a long sigh as he makes his way down my body.I open my legs wider, gasping as his scorching lips leave a trail of kisses behind them. "I like what you're doing."He chuckles. "I haven't even started yet." His lips are rumbling against my skin. "I can't wait to taste you, Maria."I shiver as cool air hits my skin. Every touch of his lips shoots pleasure through my body. My senses are heightened, and I'm aware of the way the rough wooden table presses against my back and the way Mikhail's warm breath moves across my skin."Oh," I whisper as his finger slides into me."Do you w
MikhailI stumble into the penthouse and plow into a small pedestal, ignoring the hand blown vase that crashes to the floor. I step on the shards of red and blue glass in my path, breathing unevenly as I move forward. Blood stains my hands and the sleeves of my jacket. A reminder of the life I just took. A bitter taste fills my mouth, and I hate the world. The adrenaline isn't gone yet."Mikhail!" Maria sucks in her breath. "What happened to you?" She sits on the floor, a large glossy book open under her fingertips. She is motionless as she stares at me, taking in my wrecked and ruined appearance."Nothing," I snap, staggering down the hallway past her.But Maria won't listen. Instead, she follows, pestering me with questions."What happened?" she insists.Where's Dominika to take her away?"Maria, stop!" My hands shake with anger and she trips over her feet, coming to an abrupt stop. Her eyes are wide as she watches me round on her. I lean toward her and whisper, "Leave me alone."I
Mikhail"We're nothing like the people you know, Maria," I tell her. "The Bratva is a society that exists beyond what ordinary people comprehend. We have our own rules and laws based on a hierarchy of power that protects all our members. Pakhans succeed so our families thrive—no matter the cost. Outsiders might consider us criminals, but we're not concerned with their judgment. Our only concern is the survival of our legacies."I wait for a reaction, but nothing is in her solemn countenance."I must be ruthless if I am to lead my Bratva." My words are quiet. "There is too much danger and too many people looking to take me down. There are worse monsters out there than me. And I can't lose any more people close to me.""Is that what you really believe?" she asks. "That you're the best of the worst? That's not the truth, is it? You want to be pakhan because it allows you to do these terrible things." She takes a deep breath before she continues. "Dad had the same look in his eyes wheneve
MikhailI walk across the floor of the warehouse, and the hollow sound of my footsteps reverberates throughout the space. The walls were torn down during a renovation that was started years ago but never finished. Gunsyn claimed the space and decided not to put them back up except for where he built a private office in a far corner.As I walk past, fresh recruits stand stiffly at attention, guarding boxes of forged invoices and receipts that could land all of us in jail. I don't like having dirt so concentrated in one place, but this arrangement is necessary.I make my way to the office, ignoring the dried blood on the floor and the sickly smell of vomit. As I approach the open metal door, the stink of cigars camouflages the rude smell. If Alexander bought the damn things, they're probably expensive.I hate it here. But it's necessary.My eyes adjust to the sunlight as I enter the small cube built of sheetrock and studs. The three brigadiers sit around a steel desk with key locks on e
MariaThe scent of blooming lilacs fills the air as I stand on the terrace at the Barinov Estate. Their home is the perfect backdrop for me and Mikhail to exchange our vows. Spring has arrived, and with it, a sense of rebirth. The rose garden is in bloom with lavender and pink roses that scent the misty air as I hurry across the lawn and enter an opulent ballroom.The chandeliers cast circles of light on the polished floor, and the sheer drapes billow over the casement windows. I smile at the murals of angels painted on the ceiling above my head and soak in the joy that being here gives me. The staff starts to hurry in to set the room up for our nuptials, and maybe I should go upstairs to change.Dad stands in the main hall dressed in a tux. The tiredness has left his expression, and he looks younger now that we have no secrets. I hurry over to him and hug him tight. He holds me, but his smile is tinged with sadness. "Maria, I spoke to Mikhail. I'll be announcing my retirement from th
MikhailTHREE MONTHS LATER"Are you sure you want to do this?" I ask Maria. Though it had nothing to do with me, I feel responsible. It was my Bratva that murdered Maria's mother. Men that my father trusted."Yes," she replies, staring straight ahead. "I have to have closure."We've traveled to the area where Aria was killed behind a safe house. Zakhar leads the way, searching for the spot. The tall maple trees surround the isolated house with boarded-up windows. Behind it, a faint path winds its way deeper into the woods, and overgrown bushes make it a challenge not to get lost. Eventually, the path leads to a small clearing containing a rotting tree stump.There's an eerie silence hanging over the area, as if nature was holding its breath. I take a deep breath in and stare at the tangled branches high over our heads. Maria stands beside me, her hand trembling in mine."We separated here." Zakhar stops beside the unassuming tree stump. It doesn't look like it should be anyone's final
MariaThe delivery room is a battleground, and I'm the one fighting for a life. Sweat beads on my forehead as another contraction rips through me. My fingers grip Mikhail's hand tightly, seeking comfort in the strength of his grip. I feel his concern like an electric current crackling between us as he says words of encouragement, urging me on."Push, Maria. You're almost there," he says. His voice is strong and steady, even though worry is etched into his handsome features. Those intense eyes have seen so much violence and bloodshed, and now they're fixed on me. Mikhail has been by my side every step of the way, our relationship forged in danger. And now, we're about to create something beautiful out of it all."Maria, you're doing great," Dr. Galano chimes in, her tone professional but warm. "One more big push and you'll meet your daughter."My body tenses with the effort, and I think back to how we got here. Nights spent tangled in each other's arms, trying to forget the chaos of th
MikhailThe room is silent as Zakhar reveals the pain he has felt for decades while hiding himself and Maria away. He sits down heavily, and I place a hand on his shoulder, understanding his desperation for his daughter and accepting the honor of his blessing.Sorokin slams the gavel down again and says, "I'm glad to know that you will willingly accept your fate, Zakhar Sergeyevich." He looks at Maria and me, his lip set in a scowl. But then Sorokin glances away and hesitates, almost as if he regrets what he has to say. "The oath has been broken, and our original judgment stands ..."Maria stiffens and reaches for my hand. "No," she whispers, "I can't lose everything I love. I won't." She looks at me, her eyes wide and desperate for reassurance. "Mikhail ... no."Behind us the doors burst open, and Zhanna strides in, flanked by several women of the Bratva. Paige Barinov, Natasha Chuikov, Sonia Karamazov, and my own sister, Larissa. The men fall silent as the women make their way towar
MikhailWe agreed to meet on neutral territory, and the Poconos was mentioned briefly, but the Barinov Estate was chosen instead.The drive through the woods reminds me too much of driving to Sorokin's castle, but I'm relieved when two large gates open, revealing a red brick mansion. Yes, the sprawling structure is formidable, but the house is trimmed in holiday lights, and the remnants of a snowman guard the front door.The mansion has a lightness to it, which brings hope. Bright light floods the hall, bouquets decorate every table I pass, and the white marble floors are cleaned to a high gloss. Views of the gardens covered in snow are visible from the window, and a few children play outside, bundled up against the cold.I'm led by a guard to the furthest wing of the house, where I find a set of double doors. I feel hopeful until I'm shown into the dining room. My heart sinks as if it were tied to a boulder and thrown into the ocean. Contrary to my expectation of a bright and open sp
MariaThe dark road seems familiar to me, but I'm not sure why I have this feeling of déjà vu. "Where are we going?" I ask my father as his truck navigates through traffic past the dirty piles of snow."Back to the inn," replies Dad. "We've been requested to come to a meeting." Dad's mouth is tight as he concentrates on the route.My heart skips a beat, but I keep my warring emotions inside."You don't look happy about it," I reply softly."Sorokin knows how Gunsyn died," he replies. "Mikhail and I are oath breakers. Sorokin has every right to kill us both. But we're getting a hearing instead.""That's good, isn't it?" I ask, confused."Yes and no." Dad sighs loudly as he slows down for the exit. "Maria, you have to accept that things might not end in our favor. If something happens to me, you're to go live with your uncle Vito. The feud is over, so you'll both be safe.""Nothing bad will happen." I lower my voice and grip the seat to steady my nerves. "You and Mikhail did what you sa
MariaCHRISTMAS NIGHTIt's only eight thirty on Christmas night, and all day I haven't been in the mood for presents or holiday cheer. I finally give up and go upstairs to sit by my bedroom window. I don't have the energy or desire to do more than watch the snowflakes fall gently to the ground below. I glance over at the closed door and feel a little guilty for not being downstairs. But I can't imagine Dad is too eager to keep celebrating either. The last time I saw him he was sitting in the kitchen listening to a true crime podcast.I take a look around at the hot pink walls, the neatly arranged art books, and the plush stuffed animals on my twin bed.Nothing's changed in my pretty cage, except for me.Soon, I'll have a little girl of my own. I stare at the latest sonogram pictures again and that's the only thing that makes me smile.The world outside is cold and unforgiving, but it's warm and safe in here. In Holtsville, my father will keep me safely tucked away from what's out ther
MikhailThe penthouse is a mausoleum of her memories, taunting me wherever I look. I stare at the spiral staircase, waiting for Maria to come down. I wait, hoping I'm wrong, but I know she'll never appear. I wander aimlessly up the stairs into her old bedroom, and my gaze falls on the Kuzma Fedorov painting I gave her. I remember that day and how proud Maria was to tell me it was hanging upside down.I, the art expert, was being schooled by a woman who had only seen art in books.But Maria spotted the hidden image of the face in the brushstrokes so clearly. The same way she spotted the light imprints in my father's journals. The same way that she still spotted a glimpse of the man I could have been.I close my eyes, dreaming that when I open them, she'll still be next to me. But I turn and the fantasy gives way to harsh reality.Many of the paintings I owned were destroyed during the attack. And I haven't stepped into my office since she left. I haven't touched a pencil, a pen, or a b
MariaCHRISTMAS EVEA few cards sit on the mantel among a twisty wire of bright lights. The Christmas tree stands in one corner, its branches covered in twinkling lights and ornaments from the attic. For the first time in a long while, the living room furniture is draped in cozy red-and-green throws, and a plush white rug adds to the holiday style. The scent of cinnamon and cloves fills the air downstairs, but none of this is enough to put me in the mood.The only thing that makes me smile is a sonogram of my baby propped up on the mantelpiece.Dad sits in the kitchen wrapping gifts. The sound of paper folding and the cut and the hiss of tape being pulled off the spool is calming, like white noise. I stare at the colorful presents crowded under the tree with big loopy bows.I want to care that Christmas is tomorrow, but I just don't.It's hard to care when I can only think about Mikhail."You don't mind that they're coming over?" Dad enters the room, picking at a roll of tape, trying