Chapter One

NATASHA

“Ayoo Natasha! Where you goin'?”

Phil's voice was loud over the club song. That was no surprise, he was a whopping seven-foot Jamaican male who weighed nothing less than three hundred pounds. One look at those hulking eyes and no one in their right senses would mess up.

But this was a nightclub. Half the crowd here were definitely not in their right senses, they were either drunk or high on shit.

“It's twelve, Phil,” I yelled back. “My shift ended.”

“Nuh-uh, not if I say so, missy,” He tsked, a playful glint in his eyes. “Get your pretty ass back here. I've got some special guests comin"

“They can serve themselves! I'm not doing shit!” I blew him a kiss and as quickly as I could, moved out of the door.

Working as a waitress in a nightclub wasn't exactly every girl's dream. And perhaps if I was the average American, I would share the same sentiment.

But I sure as hell did not.

I looked like the typical American bimbo. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and tall enough for a twenty-four-year-old. As a little girl, though, I never had dreams. I was never raised to have dreams. I was brought up to do one thing and one thing only - Not dream.

I shivered as a cool breeze whipped against my exposed arms. I suppose wearing a single-strap top and ripped jeans wasn't fit for the cold autumn night, but it was all I had that seemed good enough for a club. I wasn't a fan of luxury, and I made sure to have only the essentials.

I suppose it was a habit I had picked up. My past didn't allow for hoarding clothes and fancy shit like Jewelry.

I walked down the road, moving as quickly as possible. People teemed like flies on either side of the road, yelling, hollering, and helping drunk friends into cabs, while I weaved through them, eager to get home and get some sleep.

My phone vibrated in my pocket and I whipped it out, grinning when Alisa's name popped up on my screen. I swiped to receive the call.

“Hey Ali,”

"Ve... Nat, hi,” She said sweetly. I could imagine her toying with her Chestnut brown hair between her fingers while sitting next to her husband.

Of us two sisters, only Alisa was allowed to dream. Everything I did, every mark, every cut, every single drop of blood was to ensure Alisa got the life she had today. A happy family and a stable job.

Perhaps that had been my dream. The only one I had been allowed to keep. But of course, I would never tell Alisa that.

“What's up?”

“I… I was wondering if you wanted to pick up some groceries tomorrow. We got a little extra, and I'm sure Mathew and I can spare-”

“No,” I said, stopping in my tracks. I didn't need her money. I hadn't crossed the ocean to rely on Alisa. Hell, it should be the opposite!

“Natasha,” She hissed. “Don't be stubborn!”

“I didn't want your money, Ali,” I snapped and resumed walking home. “I'm fine, and can manage on my own.”

“But I want to help,” She whined.

A chuckle slipped from my lips. She sounded so much like a twelve-year-old. At least she got to keep her innocence.

“You can help me by staying pretty and living your best life ever. How's that?”

I turned the corner that led to my one-room apartment and froze still.

Someone had broken into my home, and they had been quite subtle about it. Hell, to anyone who passed by my door, it looked locked, but I could see the spaces in between and the reflection of the light.

“Ali?” I called, cutting off her ramblings. “I'll call you later,”

I ended the call and shoved the device into my pocket, approaching my door swiftly yet quietly. Why would anyone break into a shabby one-room apartment in the shady downtown part of New York? What the hell were they hoping to find? Gold? A pile of rubies?

I peeked through the space to see if anyone remained inside, and groaned low in my throat when I couldn't make out a single thing. Taking a deep breath, I tried to pry the door wider. A sound I recognized all too well, the sound of a cocked gun filled the air and I felt the cool metallic surface of the barrel of a gun against the side of my head.

I stiffened at the feeling, trying to even my breathing. “Who are you?”

“I ask the questions here,” A deep male voice heavy with an Italian accent reached my ears. “Vera,”

I laughed, shaking my head slightly. “I think you have the wrong person, Mister,"

The gun pressed harder against my temple and I winced. It had been quite long since I had a gun against my head. So fucking long ago.

“You might want to reconsider,” He rasped. “I wouldn't want to kill the world's deadliest assassin. Now open that door and don't try anything funny!”

I followed his orders, pushed the door wider, and stepped into my home. It wasn't much. There was a ratty old mattress in a corner. Paper and clothes were strewn everywhere. There was a chair and desk that I used for dining in another corner, and shards of a plate I had broken the day before occupied them.

I wasn't swimming in money or shit like that, but I was living just fine. I worked hard, I had enough money for booze and food, and I was fine.

Until this bastard showed up.

Once we were in, I turned around to face him, narrowing my eyes into slits as I scrutinized him. I had expected some grabby older man in his fifties or something, but the man before me was a hell of a fine specimen.

He looked to be in his thirties, his eyes had enchanting black irises and his long brown hair was tied in a ponytail atop his head. His jaw was clenched as he held the gun pointed directly to my forehead.

One shot and I would be gone.

I held my hands up in the air defensively.

“Seriously, who are you? And if you want money, I certainly don't fucking have it."

The Italian man chuckled, tucked his gun into his waistband and gestured round the house.

“I would say that is very clear, Vera. I have never seen a poorer home. Not even in the slums of Italy.”

“I am not Vera,” I said simply, eyeing his movements. If I made a break for it while he was engrossed in talking shit about my house, I ought to get very far. He was slick, but there was no way he would be slicker than I was.

No one was.

“Oh please,” He scoffed, directing his attention back to me. “Sure you dyed your hair and shit, but you look exactly like Vera. I'm not stupid, woman.”

“You're sure about that?” I grinned, kicking up a piece of cloth onto his face. He got blinded, and I seized the opportunity to drive my knee into his belly and between his thighs. He groaned, let out a Yelp, and crumpled to the ground.

That was my chance. I sprinted towards the door and almost stepped out of it when a boot came from nowhere and slammed right into my chest. Pain shot through my ribs and I crashed to the floor. Before I had an opportunity to retaliate, two men grabbed my shoulders and arms on both sides and forced me to kneel.

Ah, shit. I hadn't counted on the bastard having back up and judging from the look on his face as he struggled to stand on his feet, he looked mighty pleased about that.

“Are you done being barbaric?” He spat, dark eyes flashing in anger.

“Oh trust me, you haven't seen barbarity!” I seethed, baring my teeth at him. “What do you want?!”

The Italian man sighed, rubbing a hand over his hair to smoothen the strands that had loosened. “I am Luca. And I have a mission for you.”

“I am not Vera-”

“You just kicked me right between the balls, woman! I know you're Vera, quit denying it, or I'll have my boys here teach you a very bitter lesson,”

I glanced up at his 'boys' and shook my head mentally. They were giants. Fucking hulks! I had lived a life free of pain in the past few years, I didn't want a recap. So I turned back to Luca and smiled at him.

“I don't do missions anymore. I'm retired. If you want a hitwoman, you'll have to find-”

“I'm guessing that means you do not mind if I pay a visit to Alisa Ivanov Cooper?” Luca said with a cruel, menacing grin.

My heart fucking stopped. Then it pounded wildly and violently against my chest. I growled, trying to break out of his men's hold on me. “Stay away from my sister!”

“I will,” He said, raising his hands in his defense. “If you cooperate with me.”

“I don't do this job anymore!” I yelled. “I'm retired.”

“Then get back in,” He shrugged. “Fanculo, it's not that hard, is it? It's like riding a bicycle.”

“You're sick!” I spat, disgusted with the look on his face.

“Si, I am,” Luca replied, lowering himself to a stoop, so he could stare directly into my eyes. “I have a proposition for you, Vera Ivanov. I want you to kill someone for me. Just one person. And in return, I pay you a million dollars and your sister is safe. Pretty generous, isn't it?”

A million dollars? What in the world? Who on earth did this man want to get rid of so badly?

“You're out of your mind if you think I'll say yes to that.”

“Oh I know you will,” He chuckled, whipping out a phone. “All I need to do is place one phone call, and your sister goes kaboom! You will help me, Vera.”

Alisa. I closed my eyes, trying to picture her in my mind. She didn't deserve to die. I wanted her to live. I needed her to. She was the only reason I could find the human inside me. The only reason I had fought tooth and nail to leave Russia.

Alisa was everything to me.

And Luca knew that.

I pressed my lips tightly in anger. I was cornered. I didn't have a choice. It was either this job or

Alisa's life, and I would protect Alisa with everything I had.

My eyes opened, staring blankly into his. “Who do you want dead?”

“The lord of the Italian Mafia,” He replied. “Hell.”

No fucking way!