KISSING THE

ENEMY

HELENA NEWBURY

FOSTER & BLACK

CONTENTS

Copyright

1. Angelo

2. Irina

3. Angelo

4. Irina

5. Angelo

6. Irina

7. Angelo

8. Angelo

9. Irina

10. Angelo

11. Irina

12. Angelo

13. Irina

14. Angelo

15. Irina

16. Angelo

17. Irina

18. Irina

19. Irina

20. Angelo

21. Angelo

22. Irina

23. Angelo

24. Irina

25. Angelo

26. Irina

27. Irina

28. Angelo

29. Irina

30. Irina

31. Angelo

32. Angelo

33. Irina

34. Angelo

35. Irina

36. Irina

37. Irina

38. Angelo

39. Irina

40. Angelo

41. Irina

42. Angelo

43. Irina

44. Angelo

45. Irina

46. Irina

47. Angelo

48. Irina

49. Angelo

50. Angelo

51. Irina

52. Angelo

53. Irina

54. Angelo

55. Angelo

56. Irina

57. Angelo

58. Irina

Epilogue

Lying and Kissing Chapter 1

Lying and Kissing Chapter 2

Lying and Kissing Chapter 3

Lying and Kissing Chapter 4

Contact Me

Copyright

� Copyright Helena Newbury 2016

The right of Helena Newbury to be identified as the

author of this work has been asserted by her in

accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act

1988

This book is entirely a work of fiction. All characters,

companies, organizations, products and events in this

book, other than those clearly in the public domain, are

fictitious or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to

any real persons, living or dead, events, companies,

organizations or products is purely coincidental.

This book contains adult scenes and is intended for

readers 18+.

Cover by Mayhem Cover Creations

Main cover model image licensed from (and copyright

remains with) Tverdohlib.com/Deposit Photos (head),

Curaphotography / Deposit Photos (body)

1

Angelo

It was raining, the day she danced into my life and

changed it forever.

It was February and New York hunkered under a sky

the same color as the sidewalk. Bullets of freezing water

hammered the car�s windows. I hate winter. Give me a

roasting summer sun any day. I got my driver to drop

me six feet from the building, but my hair and the back

of my neck were still soaked by the time I made it

inside.

People scattered ahead of me: my size or my expression

or maybe just my reputation. As I passed, the

receptionist got as far as calling, �Sir�?� before a

security guard put a hand on her arm and shook his

head. �That�s Angelo Baroni!� I heard him whisper.

Any other time, that would have pleased me. But I

wasn�t in the mood.

Up on the twentieth floor, I marched straight into the

office of Peterson, the little prick I�d come to see. He

turned pale as I came around his desk, craning his head

to look up at me. �Mr. Baroni! I wasn�t expecting��

I put my foot on his chest and shoved. Peterson and his

office chair shot across the room towards the floor-to-

ceiling window. He screamed in terror, clutching at the

arms of the chair... and crashed to a stop. He sat there

panting, eyes huge, staring down at the ant-like people

twenty stories below. There were hairline cracks

spreading across the glass, but the toughened pane had

held.

This time.

I hooked my toe under the front of his chair and tugged

him back towards me, castors squeaking. My voice was

low and very, very cold. �You were good to me,� I told

Peterson. �You made sure our containers got through

customs. So I was good to you.�

Peterson nodded. Sweat was beading on his forehead

and trickling down under his shirt.

�But then you had to get greedy,� I said. And I shoved

his chair towards the window again. It crashed into the

weakened glass and this time there was a definite

cracking sound. A spider web of lines fanned out across

the glass. Peterson began to panic-breathe.

I�m a big guy. Six-three and most of it muscle. But

when I�m really pissed off, my voice can go what people

call dangerously quiet. I hauled Peterson back towards

me. �I even let you take bribes from other people. I said

you could smuggle what you wanted, except for one

thing. Do you remember what that one thing was?�

�I swear, Mr. Baroni, I don�t know what��

I shoved his chair again, this time putting every ounce

of my anger into it, and it hit the glass with the force of

a quarterback going into a tackle. The window finally

caved, becoming a flexible sheet of frosted white held

together only by its safety film. �Women!� Peterson

screamed. �You said no women!�

�Women,� I confirmed. �You smuggled women. In my

fucking city.� I put my foot higher on Peterson�s chest

and pushed. The chair tipped, the whole window slowly

bowing outwards over the street twenty stories below.

Peterson�s feet lifted off the floor.

�Here�s what�s going to happen,� I told him. �You�re

going to keep our containers moving. You lose your cut

for the next six months. And if you ever, ever help

someone traffic women again, I�ll chain you to that

fucking chair and toss you into the harbor myself.�

Peterson nodded frantically. I lifted my foot and his

chair crashed down onto its wheels. Peterson hurled

himself out onto the carpet, then scrambled on hands

and knees away from the window. The temperature in

the office dropped as the outside air started to howl in

through a thousand little cracks.

�Thank you, Mr. Baroni.� Peterson dug in a pocket,

hands shaking. �Here! Take these. A gift. My company�s

a sponsor. Tickets to the ballet.�

�Do I look like I go to the fucking ballet?� I snatched the

little strips of cardboard out of his hand and stuffed

them into the pocket of my overcoat. I could feel the

thick, black rage boiling up dangerously high in my chest

�I was this close to picking him up like a bag of trash

and hurling him through the glass for what he�d done.

But he was still useful to me and he wouldn�t dare try

anything like this again. So I straightened my tie and

smoothed down my lapels�my equivalent of counting

to ten�and stalked out of his office before I changed

my mind.

In the hallway, office workers scattered ahead of me.

The women shrank back against the wall, paperwork

clutched to their chests, eyes a little too wide and

breathing a little too fast to be just fear. When I�d gone,

they�d tell each other how terrified they�d been, and how

they hated men like me. And then, that night when they

were all alone, their hands would creep down between

their thighs�.

That�s what I am to them: a monster, a fantasy. I live

outside their safe, happy little world and I�m fine with

that. I don�t want their fucking world. I have my own,

one built on power, honor and respect. One that

touches theirs in a thousand subtle ways every single

day.

Those designer sneakers that were such a bargain?

They came from us: we stole the truck carrying them

and sold them off cheap. That cute little coffee shop you

stop at on your way to work? A percentage of every one

of your lattes goes to us, to pay for our protection. The

guy you voted in as mayor? His success was decided

long before you ever heard his name. He�s a friend to

us, as is the chief of police.

We make New York work and you don�t even know it.

We are the Cosa Nostra and I am the youngest,

hungriest boss in twenty years. I love New York. I love

my piece of it, one of the most fiercely-contested

territories there is. And I will never, ever let anyone take

it away from me. Not the Irish, not the street gangs and

especially not the Russians.

Downstairs, my driver�Tony�was gone. Goddammit!

When I called him, he confirmed what I�d thought: the

cops had made him move, so he�d had to circle. Now he

was stuck in traffic. �It�ll be twenty minutes,� he

grumbled. �We�re not even moving.�

I sighed. But I didn�t chew him out: it wasn�t his fault.

And if it took twenty minutes to even reach me, then a

half hour to get to my apartment� �Don�t you have your

kid�s game tonight?� I asked.

I could almost hear his embarrassed shrug. �That�s

okay, boss. I gotta pick you up.�

I looked through the building�s doors: the rain had

eased off. �Forget it,� I said. �Go home. Go to your kid�s

game. I�ll find a cab.� No need to make his day shitty

just because mine was.

�Thanks, boss.�

Out on the street, the rain was lighter, but a bitter wind

turned every drop into a vicious little bit of ice. By the

end of the block, I was starting to regret my decision. I

could have called for a limo, but nothing was moving

and I grew up poor enough that paying to sit in traffic

was unthinkable.

As I moved downtown, the rain came back, heavier than

ever, so hard it bounced up from the sidewalk and

drowned out the traffic noise. My overcoat shielded me

for a while, but I could feel the icy drops working their

way under my collar and down my back. My pants were

getting soaked, too, the expensive fabric clinging wetly

to my legs. I�d be soaked to the skin in minutes.

Goddamn it! I looked around for a cab but, as always,

the rain had made them all disappear.

I growled in frustration and looked around for a bar or a

coffee shop to shelter in, but there wasn�t one. Then I

frowned. I was outside a theater and the name on the

poster was familiar: some sort of ballet thing. I dug in

my pocket and found the tickets Peterson had given me.

Yep, it was starting right now.

Do I look like I go to the fucking ballet? But it would be

dry inside. What the hell� I pushed open the door.

A smiling woman took my tickets and showed me to my

seat. I was still shaking water from my coat and hair

when the lights dimmed. I had no idea what I was

going to be watching. Ballet, to me, was little kids in

pink tutus or guys in tights. It was something the New

York elite went to see, along with art galleries and

operas. These days, I had that kind of money�I even

moved in those kinds of circles, though I scared the shit

out of those people. But I�d never considered going to

see anything like that. I didn�t have time for art, not

with an empire to run. Not with the Russian mob

invading my territory.

Then the dancers came out on stage and I frowned and

leaned forward in my seat.

It wasn�t dancing�at least not like I�d ever seen. The

women seemed to float as if they didn�t weigh anything

at all, making long, graceful leaps, coming down on one

delicate foot and then powering back up into the air

without apparent effort. I watched, still frowning but

transfixed. Maybe those rich New Yorkers were onto

something. In their tight white costumes and gauzy

skirts, the dancers seemed otherworldly, like elves or

pixies or whatever the fuck they have in those fantasy

movies.

And then my life changed.

As the music swelled, she leapt onto the stage, long

legs extended almost horizontally, doing the splits in

midair. How the fuck is she doing that? I felt my jaw

drop. Wires. There must be wires�. But there weren�t

any. She could just move with a grace so far outside

anything I�d known, it seemed like magic.

She seemed to hang there, the stage lights picking out

every detail of her body: her perfectly-pointed toes, the

exquisite smoothness of her thighs, the twin hillocks of

her upthrust breasts. Her lips were pursed in

concentration, satin-soft and pink, contrasting with the

delicate tan of her skin. I�ve never wanted to kiss a pair

of lips so much: her expression was just so noble, so

richly fucking unknowable. If the others were elves, she

was their queen, untouchable by mortal man. Her hair,

tightly pinned into a bun, was platinum-blonde and that

only enhanced the look: she was an ice queen, regal

and perfect.

My hands tightened on the arms of my seat. I didn�t

care how unknowable she was. I had to know her. I

didn�t care how untouchable she was: I had to touch

her. I needed to feel those lips under mine, now. I

needed to run my hands along the length of those long

legs, feeling the warm flesh through the thin fabric of

her tights, and cup her there, right where she lived, and

rub her until she moaned into my mouth. I had no idea

who she was but I needed to find out. Right now.

She landed and spun on one leg, going faster and

faster. Each time she�d whip around to face the

audience, I caught a glimpse of her face: those pursed

lips, that tightly-pinned hair. I was seeing her in freeze-

frames, drinking in the image of her until the next one

replaced it. Her eyes were so cold, so imperious, yet

with just a hint of molten heat�.

Jesus, I needed to do bad things to this girl.

She bounded across the stage and was gone.

Immediately, the other dancers were forgotten: all I

cared about was seeing her again. I was leaning so far

forward in my seat, it creaked. The guy in front of me

twisted around in irritation, but I just gave him a glare

and he paled and faced front.

Then she reappeared, lifting herself right up onto the

points of her toes and stepping so lightly across the

stage that she could have danced on a soap bubble.

How did she do that? Didn�t it hurt?! I was noticing

detail after detail, now, and every one of them was

sweet fucking perfection: the soft skin of her neck,

revealed by her pinned-up hair, ripe for kissing. The firm

curves of her ass, when that gauzy skirt floated up,

athletic and yet feminine. Her long, supple legs, one

moment stretching out into the splits, the next

scissoring together and propelling her skyward: I

wanted them wrapped around my waist, wanted those

ankles hooked behind my ass, urging me on.

I sat there for an hour, spellbound. I�d never sat in such

rapt attention in my life, not even watching the Yankees

take on the Mets with ten thousand on the table.

Then the dancers were taking bows, the lights were

coming up and, too late, I realized it was over. And

something I�d never felt before seemed to clutch at my

chest and grip tight. Shit! I didn�t even know her name!

I jumped to my feet, my heart suddenly thumping in my

chest. I�m never going to see her again!

My hands tightened into fists. Unacceptable.

Backstage. That�s where she�d be, right? I headed for

the stage, fighting through the tide of people heading

towards the exits. But when I tried to vault up onto the

stage, someone grabbed my arm. �Um...sir? You can�t

go up there!�

I turned and glared...but it was just one of the ushers.

She shrank back and the fear on her face made me

stop. What the fuck are you doing, Angelo? You�re

acting crazy!

But I couldn�t help it. Something had taken control of

me.

I took a breath and tried to speak calmly. �The dancers.

I gotta speak to one of them. Where are they?�

The usher blinked. �They�ll be in their dressing rooms by

now,� she said uncertainly. �But the public�s not��

I nodded and turned away from the stage, heading for

the nearest exit like a good boy. But as soon as I hit the

hallway, I peeled off and headed straight for a door

marked No Admittance.

I didn�t get where I was by following the fucking rules.

I thundered down a flight of stairs and emerged into a

hallway. I knew I was in the right place: there were

women in stage make-up chatting and laughing, but

most of them were already in their street clothes. Shit!

They�re leaving!

�Are you supposed to be back here?� asked a voice

behind me.

I turned and found one of the dancers looking up at me.

I hadn�t figured on how small they�d be, up close. The

top of her head was only up to my shoulder. She was

pretty enough, with long chestnut-colored hair hanging

in tresses down her back. But she wasn�t her.

�I�m looking for one of the dancers,� I told her. �The

one with the platinum-blonde hair.�

�Irina? She left already.�

Shit! But at least I had a name. Irina. I gave the dancer

my best smile. �Are you all in a ballet���shit, what was

the word��team?� Maybe I could find out where they

were dancing next and get a ticket.

�Ballet company,� she said. �No, we�re�Wait, how did

you come to the ballet and you don�t even know which

company you�re seeing?�

I ran my hand up the back of my still-soaking hair. �I

kinda stumbled in.�

She gave me a doubtful look. �Yeah. I can tell. We�re

students from Fenbrook Academy.�

I�d vaguely heard of it. Some upscale performing arts

place. That TV star, Jasmine Kane, went there. �So I

can find her there? What�s her last name?�

The dancer gave me a what the fuck look and stepped

back, and I realized how stalkerish I sounded. It

probably didn�t help that I loomed over her, my

shoulders almost brushing the sides of the narrow

hallway. You moron! But I was out of my element, here.

I couldn�t remember the last time I�d gone after a

woman: usually, I just showed up at a party and they�d

start sidling up to me, all big-eyed and breathy, hot for

the whole criminal thing. I�d take them to my

apartment, ride them hard and then have trouble

remembering their names the next morning.

This was different.

I took a deep breath and put out my hands in a show of

peace. �I�d just really like to run into her again.�

For a second, the dancer�s face seemed to soften and I

thought she was going to help me. Then she quickly

shook her head.

Shit! I�d blown it. The dancer shifted from foot to foot: I

was standing between her and the exit, blocking her. I

thought about staying there, making her tell me...but I

wasn�t going to start scaring women just to get my way.

With a sigh, I stepped out of her way and leaned back

against the wall, rainwater trickling down my neck as it

was squeezed out of my hair. What the fuck was wrong

with me? I didn�t even know this Irina, hadn�t so much

as spoken to her, but my heart was pounding.

The dancer walked past me. A few seconds later, I

heard the door at the end of the hallway open and night

air flood in. I waited for the door to close, but it didn�t.

Then, �Hey!�

I looked round at her.

�If you really want to meet her, she�ll be dancing in

Central Park tomorrow. Noon.�

It felt like my whole chest lifted. �Thank you!� I wanted

to shower the girl with flowers, or chocolate, or fucking

Rolexes.

�Yeah, well...I�ll be there too. So don�t turn out to be an

asshole,� And she was gone, the door banging shut

behind her.

In the sudden silence, reality started to set in. What the

hell am I doing? I felt like I�d been temporarily

possessed: why was I down in the basement of a

theater, chasing after a ballet dancer? I didn�t have time

for this. I had territory to protect, deals to make.

So why did the thought of seeing her again make a grin

tug at the corners of my mouth: the first time I

remembered smiling in a long time?

Irina, I thought. I�ll see you tomorrow.

2

Irina

It was so cold that our breath hung in the air: a trail of

tiny white clouds that marked where we�d danced before

another dancer�s outstretched arm or leg whipped them

away. We were dancing to a section of La Sylphide that

was fast and energetic - because energetic is what you

need when you�re in a leotard and the temperature�s

close to freezing.

Rachel, my roommate, was shivering. She gave me a

what the hell did you talk me into look as she leapt past

me and I gave her a sympathetic smile. But the truth

was, the cold didn�t bother me all that much. Maybe it�s

because even New York in February is nothing

compared to Moscow.

Or maybe it�s because I�ve started to welcome the cold.

Instead of fighting and shivering and trying to keep it

out, I want it to soak through my clothes and my skin

and into my bones.

If I was entirely numb, I couldn�t feel anything at all.

The past�the bad stuff�disappeared. And dancing took

so much concentration that it stopped me thinking about

the horror of my future. Between the two, I could

almost imagine I was free.

I leapt up onto a park bench, my shoes crunching in the

frost. Then I stepped up onto the arm, balanced on one

foot and began to tip forward towards fourth arabesque,

my other leg rising into the air behind me. I was making

the most of it because I knew we wouldn�t be able to

dance for long: I was going to lose feeling in my feet

pretty soon. Plus, the string quartet who provided the

music were freezing, too.

I extended my arms and let my upper body sink a little

further into the freezing air. It almost hurt to breathe it

in, the air was so icy. I reveled in it.

Dancing�s always been my escape. When I was a kid,

ballet classes let me pretend I was just like any of the

other little girls, right up until the time I had to get back

into the armor-plated limo. When things started to get

dangerous, around the time I was twelve or thirteen,

and I was first sent to stay with my uncle�s house for a

few days, I danced around the big, echoey hallways and

kidded myself I was really in some famous dance

school. And when the violence ripped my parents away

from me and I had to go to live with my uncle

permanently, dancing became my last-ditch plan to get

to America.

I�d thought, that day I stepped off the plane, that I�d

finally escaped. I was that naive.

I arched my back, pointed my toe...and that�s when I

saw him.

The crowd was big despite the cold, maybe a hundred

people. The charity music and ballet performances had

been running for a few years, now, and they�d become

a thing�we were even in the tourist guides. But it

wouldn�t have mattered if there�d been a thousand

people in the crowd. I would have noticed him

immediately.

It wasn�t just the immaculate black suit, which looked as

though it cost six months� of my rent, or the equally

classy overcoat or gleaming shoes. It wasn�t his size,

even though he was big: at least a head taller than me,

his chest broad and solid. It was his sense of purpose.

I�ve never, ever, seen anyone with such absolute focus:

he looked like a sprinter coming off the blocks, eyes

locked on the finish line.

Except...his eyes were on me.

And he was dangerously, sinfully gorgeous. Some

Russian guys can be handsome in a rough-hewn, brutish

way. They were tanks; this man was a Ferrari, sculpted

by the devil himself to bring about a woman�s downfall.

High, elegant cheekbones were matched with dark

brows, just the right blend of beauty and raw male

power. Soft, sensuous lips were balanced by a solid jaw

dusted with black stubble. But what hit me were his

eyes: rich, dark brown with tiny flecks of amber and

burning with that purpose...he wanted to�

I flushed and wobbled. I never wobble.

I came up out of the arabesque and jumped down off

the bench, heart thumping in my chest. I flowed into a

pirouette and then started a series of jet�s that would

take me all the way across the path because I needed

the thinking time. I needed to process what I�d just seen

in his eyes. It had leapt like a spark across the gap

between us and now it was spreading through me,

roaring and blazing like wildfire.

He wanted to kiss me. Fuck me. Possess me. All of

those things and all at once. It wasn�t the clumsy, ugly

lust guys throw at you in the street. It was like a force

of nature. I�d never felt anything like it in my life.

And as the crackling fire turned to throbbing heat, I felt

something tugging, answering, from inside me.

I liked being cold. I needed to be cold. But right then,

just for a second, I wanted to be warm again. I wanted

that special sort of warmth you only get when you�re

pressed tight up against someone, their arms wrapped

around you to warm your back. I wanted to be warmed

by him and I wanted the hotter, darker heat I saw in his

eyes. I wanted to let that melt through all the ice, burn

me up and freakin� destroy me, vaporize my atoms until

I was just a moan carried on a scorching wind.

I risked a glance at him as I turned. His eyes were still

locked on me: Rachel and the quartet might as well not

have existed. His gaze followed me as I bent my knees

and sank down into a pli�. The air didn�t feel cold

against my skin, anymore. His stare was wrapping me in

heat, caressing every millimeter of my body from my

extended foot to where my leotard stretched tight

between my thighs. I�d never felt so watched in my

entire life.

I rose and spun into a pirouette, glimpsing him in pieces

as my head whipped past him�

Thickly-muscled legs under tailored pants�

A tight, toned waist above the shining leather belt�

Big hands, olive skin next to white shirt cuffs, hands

that could easily pin you to the bed�

White shirt smooth over hard abs, broadening to a

powerful chest�

God those shoulders, the guy was built like a bull, all

intimidating power�

I broke out of the pirouette and danced on, trying to get

an image out of my head. An image of me pressed

against him, my white leotard soft against his dark suit,

my arms over his shoulders, wrapping myself to him as

he leaned down and owned my mouth.

I stumbled and cursed: chyort! What the hell was wrong

with me?

And then I passed Rachel, coming the other way, and

saw her give a quick glance towards the guy and then at

me. My chest tightened. Did she know him? Had she

invited him, or set this up?

At that moment, the music came to a close. As the

crowd applauded, I saw the leader of the quartet, a tiny

cellist named Karen, rise to her feet and hug her hands

to her chest. �OK, enough,� she said. �I need hot coffee

now. I think my fingers are frozen to the bow.�

I�d finished on one leg, arms upraised to the sky. I

slowly lowered them and gave a quick glance towards

the guy in the crowd. He was applauding along with the

rest, but his eyes still hadn�t left me. Just for a split-

second, my gaze met his and I felt it again. This time,

the feeling was even clearer: his burning need, rolling

towards me in waves...and my matching response, a

sudden, urgent ache that came from deep down inside.

It was as if he�d awakened me, as if he�d struck exactly

the right note to make me resonate.

I swallowed and looked away, then marched over to

Rachel. Yep: she was glancing at him again and

smirking. �Do you know him?� I whispered angrily. �Is

this you?�

Rachel walked over to her bag and started pulling on a

hooded top. �I might have mentioned you�d be here,�

she said innocently. She gave me a filthy smile. �He

came looking for you after the show. Quite the smitten

kitten. I would have told him where to go except...��

she glanced at him��cheekbones.�

I thumped her in the arm. �Vy idiotskaya��

�You�re welcome.� She smirked. �Have some fun for

once. Drop the ice maiden routine.� And she started to

back away.

Too late, I looked up and saw the guy marching

towards us. The crowd was parting ahead of him:

people took one look at him and just stepped aside.

�Wait!� I whispered to Rachel. �You�re not an idiot!� I

grabbed for her arm. �Don�t leave me with him!�

But she was already out of reach. And then the man

was just a few feet away and I had to turn to face him.

I could feel every defense slamming up. What Rachel

calls my ice maiden routine, except it�s not that at all.

It�s not an act: it�s a survival mechanism.

In Russia, plenty of men wanted me...but not for me.

They wanted me for who I was, for a way into our

family. They were rich and powerful and, because they

were all in the same business as my uncle, violence

came easily to them. Violent, often drunk men who

were used to being obeyed. The idea of marrying one of

them made my stomach knot...but that�s what I was

expected to do. I was supposed to smile and date and

choose one, marry him and start producing the next

generation of the dynasty.

The only way to avoid it was to keep pushing them

away until I could get to America. I learned a thousand

different ways to say no. I was polite when I could be,

savage when I couldn�t. And all the time I was cold,

cold, cold. It went on for years and it was hellishly,

heartbreakingly lonely, but it was better than the

alternative. If I gave in even once, if I let myself be

drawn into their world, I knew I�d be trapped in it

forever. And I was determined not to let that happen.

Except now here I was in America and I hadn�t escaped

my fate at all. And the coldness?

I didn�t know how to turn that off, anymore.

The man reached me and God, I hadn�t realized how tall

he was. Up close, the top of my head only came up to

the top of his chest. It didn�t help that I was still in

ballet slippers. I felt myself tensing up, eyes going

everywhere except his face, partially because I was

trying not to encourage him and partially�.

Partially because, if I looked into his eyes again, I was

scared I�d feel that again, that lick of pure fire that

seared through all the ice I could possibly throw out and

scorched me from the inside out.

�What?� I finally mumbled, my eyes on his shoes.

�Irina.� He said it as if he was testing it out, matching

the name to the person...and I realized he was still

gazing at me, drinking in every little detail of me, even

though I wasn�t dancing anymore. I could feel his eyes

on the loose strands of hair that had escaped my bun,

on the little patch of skin revealed by the neck of my

leotard, on my bare, freezing arms.

I�d known he wouldn�t be Russian, of course. But his

accent was still a surprise: it was everything I�d

dreamed of, back in Moscow, the throaty rasp of every

US movie hero. Plenty of times, I�d thrashed under the

sheets, hand between my thighs, to a fantasy of an

American guy who�d say my name just like that as he

fucked me. But this was even better. That low rumble,

like a V8 engine that throbbed through my whole body,

had been tuned and given a musical note: it sang like a

sports car instead of just bellowing like a truck. I

couldn�t place it but I wanted to hear more of it. Now.

And immediately, I clamped down on that feeling. So

what if he had a sexy accent? It didn�t change anything.

I looked around for my bag. Found it. Started to walk

over to it.

He followed. �You dance�. Shit, I don�t even know how

to describe it. It�s amazing.�

That made me frown. He didn�t sound like the guys who

normally come to ballet shows, or stop to watch it in the

park. They�d wax lyrical about graceful jet�s or how my

pas de chat was magnificent. This guy sounded blue

collar, not white collar, yet his clothes were expensive.

Literally white collar clothes: a snow-white shirt that

looked tailored, a black suit cut to fit his muscled body

perfectly. And yet I could see something beneath the

crisp whiteness, now that he was closer: big, black

shadows on his pecs that could only be tattoos. What

sort of man dressed in a thousand dollar suit but had a

tattooed chest? I was momentarily fascinated.

No, you idiot! Get out of there! �Thank you,� I muttered,

as gruffly as I could. I picked up my bag.

�I�m Angelo.�

I sneaked a glance at him and finally figured it out: the

name, the olive skin and jet-black hair, the subtle,

musical note in the New York accent. Italian-American.

And then the glance slid and changed into a gaze and

then I couldn�t stop it: we were staring at each other.

The air was so cold and he was so close that I could

feel the warmth radiating from his body and his breath

toying with the loose strands of hair which fell against

my cheek. I needed to look away but I just...couldn�t.

And the thing that really shocked me was that he had

the exact same expression on his face. This big,

gorgeous man looked as out of control as I was.

And then a freezing gust of wind cut between us,

numbing my bare arms and stinging my cheeks. And I

remembered who I was...what I was. I had to end this

now, before it ever began.

�The collection bucket�s behind you,� I said, nodding to

it. �If you want to make a donation.�

I waited until he turned away from me and pulled out a

roll of bills.

And then I ran.

3

Angelo

That accent.

I hadn�t expected it. Delicate but savage, like frozen

shards of the finest wine. Holy shit. She spoke and

about a million images filled my mind: every Russian

stereotype I�d watched in a movie or seen drawn in a

comic book. Da, comrade and red stars and hammer

and sickle flags, Cold War spies seducing our agents and

ruthless, pouting, blonde women in fur hats. Jesus

Christ. It took my breath away. But it made sense:

where else was a beauty like her going to come from

but Russia?

She went, in that second, from being the most gorgeous

woman I�d ever seen to being simply off the chart. She

couldn�t be number one: numbers were now fucking

irrelevant. Other women were fucking irrelevant. And

her frostiness...I was used to women giggling and

flirting, grabbing my arm and whispering in my ear. She

was the opposite and it made her all the more enticing.

Especially because of what I�d seen in her eyes, when I

could actually get her to look at me: a spark of fire, hot

enough to glow even under all that ice. She liked me,

even if she didn�t want to.

And then, suddenly, she was gone. I stood there

blinking like a moron for fully three seconds.

Oh, no. No you don�t.

I sprinted after her. Her friend from the night before

gave me a panicked look�shit, now I really did look like

a crazy stalker. But I didn�t care: I wasn�t going to lose

her again.

She moved fast, even in those weird ballet shoes she

wore. As she ran, she pulled a black hooded top out of

her bag and tried to pull it on over her head, but then

she nearly collided with a jogger and thought better of

it, stuffing it under her arm instead. She must be

freezing! �Stop!� I yelled, and saw her tense, but she

didn�t slow down.

I pushed myself harder, shoes pounding the icy path,

feeling like a rhino chasing after a gazelle. She slipped

between the passers-by; I just battered them aside.

�Stop!�

If anything, she sped up. I threw myself forward and

managed to grab one wrist, then hauled her to a halt.

She cried out in frustration and shock and looked down

at my hand. My big fingers completely encircled her

slender wrist.

�Just...stop,� I panted. �I just want to talk.�

She was panting, too, and the way her breasts rose and

fell under the tight leotard had my cock swelling against

my thigh.

�I�m going to let you go, now. Don�t fucking run away

again.�

She just glared at me, as if ready to go for my throat.

I took a deep, slow breath. �Please.�

Her expression relaxed just a fraction. I slowly released

her wrist, both of us looking down at my hand as I

broke contact. Immediately, I missed the touch of that

soft skin. And she followed my hand with her eyes as if

she missed my touch a little, too.

�Why did you chase me?� she asked, lifting her eyes to

my face.

�Why did you run?� I gazed down at her. God, she was

beautiful. And that accent was making me fucking

delirious, every syllable carved from ice, razor-sharp but

with that throaty, sensuous rasp. �I just want to talk. I

think that�� I stared at her, suddenly tongue-tied. Why

was this so difficult? I�d whispered in plenty of women�s

ears that they were so fucking gorgeous while I was

pounding them. But that didn�t do Irina justice. �I think

that...sei bellissima,� I said at last.

Maybe she knew it meant beautiful or maybe she could

tell I meant it, but I swear, just for an instant, I saw a

flare of color in her cheeks. But then she shook her

head, almost as if to clear it, and glanced left and right,

ready to run again. Shit! I couldn�t let her slip through

my fingers again,

Then she shivered. Immediately, she glared down at her

bare arms as if furious she�d shown weakness. But it

was too late: I was already whipping off my overcoat

and settling it around her shoulders. �Here,� I said.

�Take this. You�re freezing.�

She squirmed as I put it on her, as if she really didn�t

want to accept it...but I knew just how much difference

the thick cashmere made because I could feel the wind

knifing through me as soon as I took it off. And the coat

was warm from my body...I saw her resistance melt and

she relaxed just a little, letting the coat fall over her, the fabric drowning her small body. She really was freezing:

the back of my hand brushed her bare shoulder as I

pulled my hands back and she was like ice. Just that

tiny contact, skin-to-skin, was enough to make her head

whip round and stare at my hand uncertainly but she

didn�t pull away.

Her friend skidded to a stop behind her, but Irina didn�t

even notice. And when she saw how we were looking at

each other, her friend slowly backed away.

I lowered my voice, making it as gentle as I could. But I

couldn�t stop the hard edge of lust that crept into it: I

needed her too much. �Irina,� I started�God, I loved

saying her name. �Why did you run? Why do you keep

trying to run?� I blinked. Glanced down at myself. Had I

gotten so used to intimidating people that�. �Are you

scared of me?� The idea sickened me.

She shook her head. And the weird thing was, I believed

her. She had every excuse to be scared of me, but she

wasn�t.

I took a deep breath. �You dance like a fucking angel,� I

said. �You�re the most beautiful woman I�ve ever seen. I

just want to get to know you.�

She stared up into my eyes and it was like all those

layers of ice were slowly melting away. I could see

deeper and deeper into her, down into her scalding,

molten depths�

And then she shook her head quickly and looked away.

�I can�t.�

The frustration boiled up inside me. �Why?� I�d studied

every inch of her so intently, I would have noticed a ring

but I checked her finger anyway. Nope. �Do you have a

boyfriend?�

She closed her eyes for a split second as if she�d given a

silent, bitter little laugh. �No.�

�Then let�s go for coffee!� I held out my hand towards

her.

She pressed her lips hard together and shook her head

again. And then she started to slip the overcoat from

her shoulders. I felt a sickening lurch of fear�that panic

again, like I�d felt in the theater. What the fuck was

going on? I�d never felt anything like this before. �Give

me your number, at least!� I said. �Tell me your last

name!�

Another shake of her head, and now she was tossing

the overcoat to me and turning to go. My eyes locked

on her wrist. I could grab her again...but then what?

Take her prisoner? �What the hell is the matter? Tell

me!�

She gave a sad little smile�just a tiny twitch of her lips.

God, it was heartbreaking. I wanted to find whatever

was causing her this much pain and batter it into

submission against the frozen path. �I just can�t,� she

said.

She turned and walked away, not even stopping to pull

her hooded top over her head, even though the wind

was like breathtakingly cold. I stood there helpless for a

second and then called after her, �Cafe Auben. I get

dinner there at eight, every Thursday. I�ll be there

tonight.�

She faltered, long enough that I knew she�d heard me.

But then she walked resolutely on and I stood there

watching her until she was out of sight, my chest tight

with the thought that that might be the last time I ever

saw her.

4

Irina

I didn�t get into my street clothes right away. I wanted

to put as much distance between Angelo and me as I

could because I was having to fight the urge to turn

around and�.

Throw myself into his arms and let him devour me with

those lips. Press my body so hard against that hard

chest that my breasts flattened against him and every

inch of us was in warm, close contact, from my chin to

my ankles�

What the hell is wrong with me? I�d never reacted this

way to a man before. And I�d never had a man pursue

me like this, charging straight through every layer of ice

I threw out like a crazed bull. Doesn�t he know when to

quit?

I remembered that focus in his eyes, that drive. No, he

really didn�t know when to quit. He never would.

And part of me really liked that. I started to feel a pull in

my shoulder, an ache. I wanted so much to turn around

and look at him.

No! Starting something with him would be beyond

crazy. My uncle would never allow me to date an

American�a civilian. And as soon as Angelo found out

who I was, he�d be scared off anyway�and with good

reason. Either way, we�d be broken apart and I couldn�t

take that pain. Better to be numb and not feel at all.

I drew in a big lungful of freezing air. The warmth from

dancing had long since faded and, in only a leotard and

tights, I was getting seriously cold. It should have felt

good. It always felt good. But now�.

Now I just wanted to be warm again. I wanted to be

wrapped up snug in his huge overcoat, the faint scent of

his cologne and the heat of his body enveloping me. I

wanted to wrap it around both of us and press myself

tight to him, let his blood and fire melt me into liquid.

My chest tightened. I didn�t want to be alone anymore.

I shook my head and cursed myself. Slabovol'nyy

chelovek! Weakling!

I stopped and pulled on my jeans, then my Fenbrook

Academy hooded top. I�d be just fine. But when my

clothes were on, I didn�t feel any better.

I was on one leg, swapping my ballet slippers for

sneakers, when Rachel slammed into me like an

enthusiastic puppy. I yelped, flailed and managed to

keep us both upright.

�So?� Rachel asked. �Who is he?!�

I groaned and shook my head. �It�s not going to

happen. And please, don�t send any more men my way.

You know I can�t.�

Rachel knows that my uncle won�t let me date

Americans. She just doesn�t know why. She has no idea

my whole family are bratva�Russian Mafia. And if I

have my way, she never will. She�s my best friend and I

couldn�t take it if she was scared away.

�You could see him in secret,� said Rachel. �Your uncle

would never have to know.� A slow grin spread across

her face. �That would be so romantic! He could send

you love letters!�

For a second, I imagined Angelo writing love letters. He

did come across as romantic: the old school, hot-

blooded, sweep-you-off-your-feet kind. I�d never known

a guy like that. Then I sighed and shook my head.

�Leave it.�

�But he�s a total�� Rachel�s phone bleeped, thankfully

cutting the conversation short. She dug frantically in her

purse for it and almost dropped it twice getting it up to

her face. Then she read the email and punched the air.

�Yes!�

I felt my eyes go wide. �Is it��

�Yes! Check your phone, see if they��

At that second, my own phone bleeped. I grabbed it

and checked the screen. I�d gotten the same email

Rachel had: a callback from the audition for a TV

commercial we�d both attended the day before. �Yes!�

And the best part was, we were auditioning for different

parts so we weren�t competing.

Rachel put her arm around my waist and tugged me

forward, leading me out of Central Park and into the

street. �This is going to be awesome,� she said. �And

have you any idea how much they pay for those

things?�

I grinned back at her. She was right: if we got the parts,

neither of us would have to worry about rent for

months. Then I noticed something in the email and my

grin disintegrated.

�What?� asked Rachel.

�It�s tomorrow,� I said quietly. �At two.�

Both of us work in the same electronics store. I wasn�t

due to work tomorrow�my shift started in a few hours

�but Rachel was.

�Oh shit,� said Rachel softly. Both of us stopped

walking. �No. No, no, no�� Her shoulders slumped

under her leather jacket. I felt my chest constrict.

�These things are like getting hit by lightning. You

remember Natasha Liss? She got her big break doing

that commercial for washing powder.�

�There�ll be others.�

�Not like this! God, I could have danced the shit out of

this one!� She bit her lip. �I could just quit the store.�

�You need the money. What if you don�t get it?�

She bent almost double and let out a long, strangled

groan of frustration, drawing stares from passers-by.

�Argh! Why do you have to be so damn Russian and

logical all the time? You�re like a Russian Mr. Spock!�

I nodded sadly and rubbed her back. It wasn�t fair. She

deserved to get this part�.

I closed my eyes. �I�ll work your shift tomorrow,� I said.

�You go to the callback.�

Rachel spun around and gaped at me. �What? No!�

I swallowed down the lump in my throat. �You worked

really hard for this. I heard you practicing in your room,

doing the allegro over and over.� I shrugged. �I

probably wouldn�t have got my part anyway. You have a

better chance, so you should go.�

�That�s bullshit! You�re a way better dancer than me!�

She shook her head. �No. I won�t let you do this!�

I put my arms around her and drew her close. My own

disappointment was swelling up inside me, but I

crushed it back down. �You�re going to go to that

callback,� I told her firmly, �and you�re going to ace it.� I

bent her forward and kissed the top of her head, then

ruffled her hair. �Da?�

�Da,� she said reluctantly. It sounded funny in her soft,

American accent. Then she threw her arms around me

and crushed my ribs. �Thank you, Irina.�

* * *

By the time I made it across town to our house, I only

just had enough time for a quick shower and change

before I had to head out to my shift. I hurried up the

path and ducked under sparkling icicles that hung two

feet long from the roof of the porch. Rachel and I had a

bet going on how long they�d get before the end of

winter.

Our place isn�t much. The clapboard is stained and

broken in places, it�s freezing in winter and hot in

summer and it�s not really convenient for Fenbrook or

anywhere else. But it�s cheap and lovably quirky: my

room even has an old, wrought-iron balcony I can stand

on when I�m having my coffee in the morning.

I raced inside, already peeling off my clothes. Naked, I

climbed into the shower and was just about to turn on

the water when the doorbell rang. Chyort!

I wrapped a towel around me, padded back to the door

and checked the door viewer. My heart sank as I saw

six-foot-plus of imperious suited muscle, topped with

hair as silver as a bullet.

Vasiliy. My uncle.

I opened the door. �You didn�t think to call, first?�

He waved away my protests. �I was in the

neighborhood.� He looked around and sighed, shaking

his head as he always did when he visited. �Why do you

live in this place?� He sounded genuinely confused.

�I like this place.� And we both knew what I meant by

that. I liked it because I could afford it without help

from him. We glowered at each other for a second and

then kissed each other on the cheeks.

I love Vasiliy. He helped raise me when I was young

and then, after my parents died, he took care of me.

Without him, I wouldn�t be alive today.

But without him, I wouldn�t have been in danger in the

first place. Vasiliy is the embodiment of everything my

family is famous for, everything I ran away from. He

isn�t in the Russian Mafia; he is the Russian Mafia.

�You�ll have to make yourself tea,� I said as I closed the

door. �I really need to take a shower��

The door was pushed open again from outside. Chyort!

Vasiliy hadn�t come alone.

�You look fine as you are,� said Mikhail, grinning as he

stepped inside.

Mikhail is the epitome of everything I hate about

Russian men. He doesn�t have an ounce of Vasiliy�s class

or intellect, just lots of money. And while Vasiliy, even in

his sixties, is still a tough, good looking guy, Mikhail is

running to fat even though he�s only forty. His face is

always pink and shiny, as if he just ran up a flight of

stairs, and when he looks at me a chill goes the entire

length of my spine. It would be bad enough if he was

just Vasiliy�s business partner, but he�s more than that.

As far as Vasiliy is concerned, Mikhail�s going to be my

husband.

Mikhail�s eyes crawled over me. I pulled the towel

tighter around myself and wished I�d put my clothes

back on before I answered the door.

�I�ll make tea,� said Vasiliy. �You have your shower.

Then we can talk.�

I hurried off to the bathroom, feeling Mikhail�s gaze on

my ass the entire way.

It�s not a forced marriage, as such. Vasiliy won�t make

me marry Mikhail. He�s happy for me to choose a

man....as long as that man is Russian and a member of

the Russian mob. I know he�s doing it out of love: he

thinks only a gangster can protect me from our family�s

enemies. But that doesn�t stop my future feeling like a

prison cell being built brick by brick around me.

Back in Moscow, I�d been surrounded by gangsters�

suitors, in Vasiliy�s mind. That�s when I�d learned to be

cold, to keep pushing them away. I�d thought that I�d

escape my fate by moving to New York, but I�d only

made things worse.

I�d been in America only a few days when Vasiliy arrived

and told me about his new partnership with Mikhail, a

local bratva boss who needed Vasiliy�s money to

expand. By then, I�d enrolled at Fenbrook and it was too

late to change my plans. Now Vasiliy spent almost all of

his time in New York and visited me almost daily.

Escape? I saw more of him than ever. And here, instead

of a procession of suitors, there was just one: Mikhail.

No way was I going to marry that creep...but that left

us at an impasse, because no way was Vasiliy going to

let me be with an American. I was going to be

unhappy...or very, very lonely.

I closed the bathroom door, dropped the towel and

climbed back into the shower. The steaming water

slowly thawed me...and reminded me of a different kind

of heat.

Angelo...I silently mouthed his name. Just thinking

about him, remembering those brown eyes, made me

gently sway my hips in a circle as if being touched. The

whole thing was impossible, of course. I�d done the

right thing�the only thing�by pushing him away.

But there was something about him...he had a passion

that I�d never seen in a Russian man. Angelo was dark,

smoky lust and scalding anger. He was chaos to their

logic, impulse to their cold rationality. Angelo was red

wine and thorny roses and hot, hot blood. He was the

opposite of everything I�d known, everything I was.

That should have made us completely incompatible...so

why was I so drawn to him?

I caught my breath as I remembered the looks he�d

given me, like he�d been ready to throw his coat down

on the frozen path, tear off my clothes and take me

right there on the ground�.

I realized I�d spent longer soaping my inner thighs than

I really needed to, the edge of my hand rubbing, my

hips grinding in slow circles. I forced myself to stop,

rinsed off and grabbed a towel. But however hard I

tried, my thoughts kept going back to Angelo and, every

time they did, I felt myself flush from the inside out,

just the memory of him lighting me up.

Then I turned off the water and the sudden chill brought

me back to reality. Idiot. My future was out there,

lounging on the couch.

I hurried into my room and pulled on the pants and polo

shirt I wore for the store. Then I opened the door so

that I could call down to Vasiliy and Mikhail. �I have to

run to work,� I told them as I sat down at my dressing

table to do my make-up. �I�m sorry�you should have

called.�

Vasiliy�s heavy footsteps came up the stairs. In the

mirror, I saw him lean against the door frame. �Why do

you insist on working?� he asked.

�You know why.�

Another sigh. He thought I was stubborn, refusing to

take an allowance or gifts. But I didn�t want his blood

money. I was determined to support myself, even

though it meant working two jobs.

�You are as stubborn as your mother was,� Vasiliy

grunted. He moved a few steps closer and lowered his

voice. �You should get to know Mikhail. He could look

after you.�

�I can look after myself,� I said tersely, combing my

hair.

�If you don�t like Mikhail then come back to Moscow:

there are more men there.�

I met his eyes in the mirror. �I have a life here!�

He walked over and looked down at me sadly.

�Irina...what do you think you�ll do when you graduate?

Become a dancer? Marry some American and get a little

dog and a house with a white picket fence?�

I said nothing, just stared resolutely at his reflection.

He squatted down behind me until his face was next to

mine. �You are a Malakov,� he said, squeezing my

shoulders. �This is your life.�

�I don�t want it.�

�It�s not something you choose, Irina! The family needs

you. Even if we didn�t, you can�t have this...civilian life

you dream of. Even if you turn away from us, other

people will never forget who you are. My enemies are

your enemies. You need a man like Mikhail to protect

you.� He glanced over his shoulder towards the living

room, then lowered his voice. �Marry him and you could

stay here in New York.�

I stared helplessly up at him. What could I say? That

the thought of sharing my life, my bed with Mikhail

made me want to throw up? That I just didn�t see

anything approaching warmth or love when I looked

into his eyes, only ugly lust and a hunger for power?

That whenever Vasiliy�s back was turned, Mikhail tried to

grope me?

There are some things you can�t say to your uncle. I

settled for: �I don�t love him.�

Vasiliy just looked at me sadly, as if I was a child who

didn�t understand how the world worked. The worst part

was, he hadn�t used to be like this. Back in Moscow,

he�d been tough but fair...he�d used to smile and joke.

Then I announced I was moving to the US and he

became...cold. Something had changed and I couldn�t

figure out what.

The frustration rose inside me, hot and jagged: it wasn�t

fair. I crossed my arms and glared at myself in the

mirror. If I kept looking at Vasiliy, I was going to start

crying and a Malakov never shows weakness.

Vasiliy�s hands relaxed on my shoulders and he let out a

long sigh, then leaned sideways until his head rested

against mine. �Chyort,� he cursed. �I wish your mother

was here to talk to you.�

I closed my eyes and felt my anger slowly slip away. He

was the closest thing to a father I had and he thought

he was doing the right thing. �I really do need to get to

work,� I told him, my eyes still closed.

I felt his kiss on the top of my head and then he was

moving away. I heard frustrated muttering from Mikhail

in the living room as Vasiliy collected him: he wouldn�t

get to �accidentally� brush my breast or fondle my ass

tonight.

When I heard the front door close behind them, I finally

opened my eyes and stared at myself, and that made it

real. This is my life. Go back to Moscow? That wasn�t an

option. I came to America to make a life here, so that

one day my kid sister, Lizaveta, could join me. If I went

back to Moscow, we�d both be trapped there forever

and, when she finished boarding school and was old

enough, she�d be expected to marry a gangster, too.

Which left Mikhail. A life with a man I hated.

I felt the heat begin to build behind my eyes. No. I

clamped down hard on it before the tears could start.

Angelo? A real life, a happy life with someone I liked?

That was a fantasy, a fairy tale. Grow up!

This is your life.

I quickly stood, grabbed my purse and ran out before I

could think anymore. And for the next four hours I

smiled sweetly and explained ultra-high-def TVs and

asked people if they wanted extended repair plans and I

crushed all thoughts of freedom down into the depths.

The busy store, glowing screens and noise made for a

different kind of numbness. Cut off from emotion, the

coldly logical part of me started to think, maybe Mikhail

won�t be so bad. Maybe I can grow to love him�.

By the time I�d finished my shift and taken the subway

home, I�d almost convinced myself. You can convince

yourself of anything, if you try hard enough.

And then, as I reached my house, I saw the icicles. I�d

been in too much of a hurry when I left to notice, but

now I stopped and stared. Every single one of the long,

gleaming spikes was now lying in the yard, shattered

into a million glittering pieces. Someone had snapped

them off at the root and hurled them down on the

frozen ground.

I closed my eyes. I could see it unfolding in my mind:

Mikhail following Vasiliy out of my house. He�d been

bitter and resentful because he wouldn�t get to slide a

hand up my skirt that night. And so the first beautiful

thing he�d seen, he�d destroyed.

This is your life.

I stared and stared at the glittering fragments of ice.

And something cracked, deep in my soul. A tiny drop of

everything I�d been trying to contain seeped out and,

when it hit the surface, it ignited like gasoline.

I ran into the house and grabbed a dress. Angelo had

said he�d be there at eight. If I ran, I could just make it

in time.

5

Angelo

I nursed a Scotch and waited. Mario, the bar�s aging

owner, had said the Russians would be in any time now.

Normally, the frustration would have gotten to me. I�m

not good at waiting: life�s too short.

But tonight, I didn�t mind so much. It meant I had time

to think about her.

My overcoat had been around her shoulders for only a

few seconds, but I could still smell her scent on the

collar and it filled my mind with the cornflower blue of

her eyes and the silken sheen of that platinum-blonde

hair. I felt my fingers unpinning it, letting it slide down

her back in a shining wave. I wanted to feel it against

me. I wanted to part it like a curtain to kiss my way

down her naked back.

It was just dark enough, at my table, that if she�d been

there I could have pulled her out of her seat and onto

my lap. Dark enough that, if she�d been wearing a skirt,

I could have hauled it up her thighs and stroked her

pussy through her panties, my actions hidden by the

table and her thrashing cloaked by the shadows. I could

have brought her to silent, panting climax right there,

feeling the pleasure roll through her as she trembled

against me. And the whole time, I�d whisper in her ear

exactly what I�d do to her when I got her back to my

place.

I was itching, aching for this girl. Had been ever since

I�d seen her on stage and it had only gotten worse since

Central Park. I couldn�t remember ever being this

desperate to get a girl into bed. But there was

something else, something that worried me. Wrapped

around that hot, primal desire to bed her was something

else, something lighter and harder to pin down. It

slipped away every time I tried to focus on it, but it was

there. Whenever I thought about seeing her again, just

seeing her, not even spreading her thighs and fucking

her or slipping my cock between her lips, I

felt...impatient. Tense. Like I couldn�t draw a full, deep

breath until I was with her again. What the fuck was

that?

Maybe I was tired. God knows I had enough on my

plate.

Just as I thought it, the Russians arrived. Two big guys,

probably ex-military, their bratva tattoos just visible

above their shirt collars. They swaggered in like they

owned the place.

I hate Russians...with one recent, platinum-blonde

exception. I�ve never understood them: from what I�ve

seen, they�re power-crazed and ruthless, without any of

the honor of my people.

And in particular, I hated these two Russians because

they were sent by Mikhail Stasevich, the local Russian

mob boss. A nasty SOB, but until recently not too much

of a problem. Vicious if you backed him into a corner,

but he hadn�t had enough money to expand. Then he�d

teamed up with Vasiliy Malakov, an old-school bratva

boss from Moscow who wanted a New York base

through which to move guns. With Vasiliy�s money,

Mikhail was trying to take over my turf.

I�d be damned if I was going to let it happen. My dad

fought hard for every foot of this territory and it�ll be

Baroni forever. I�d sworn that the day he and my mom

died.

That brought me to the main reason I hated Russians.

The one that hit me every single morning, making me

tumble out of bed and hit the ground doing push-ups so

that I would be ready when I needed to be. The one

that made me finger my gun every time I thought about

it�.

The one that demanded I kill every last one of them.

The two Russians hustled Mario into a back room. I

silently followed, the rage building in my chest. I

reached the back room just in time to see them pressing

Mario up against the wall, a knife blade gleaming

against his throat.

�Ten percent,� said the one with the knife in fractured

English. �Is good deal. You take it.�

�No,� I said firmly, announcing my presence. �He

won�t.�

Both of the Russians spun to face me and I saw in their

eyes that they recognized me. �Tell Mikhail it ends

here,� I said. �This is the start of my territory.� I started

walking towards them. �One street over, you shake

down whoever the fuck you want. But this? This is

Baroni turf. Always has been. Always will be.�

The two Russians glanced at each other. The one with

the knife held it ready, weighing it in his hand. I was a

tempting target: two against one, and he�d get to be the

big guy who took out a mob boss�.

But that�s not how the game is played. No one�at least,

no one smart�wants all-out war and that�s exactly what

killing me would bring. So it came down to intimidation.

It came down to who had the biggest balls.

I walked right up to him, until the point of the knife was

nicking my suit jacket, and stared him right in the eye.

The room was so quiet I could hear his breathing. Show

no fear. My father�s voice in my head. Show no

weakness. I could hear his hand clenching and

unclenching around the handle of the knife and feel the

point twisting and scraping against the fabric of my suit.

He was as big as me and he probably had fancy military

training I didn�t, plus he had his buddy beside him.

But he didn�t have what I had. He didn�t have the will

my dad bred in me, the will to do whatever it takes to

maintain control. I�d die to defend my turf and that

meant he didn�t scare me. But I scared the shit out of

him.

His eyes flickered and I knew I had him. �Get the fuck

out of here,� I told him, my voice barely more than a

whisper.

The guy stepped past me. �This isn�t over,� he

muttered. �Mikhail wants this territory. We�ll be back.�

From behind me, there was the metal click-clack of a

shotgun being pumped. �No you won�t,� said a calm,

deep voice. Everyone looked up as the man stepped

into the room.

Rico. My sotto capo, my second-in-command and my

best friend since high school. He was in his usual long

leather coat, his favorite shotgun cradled in his arms

and pointing right at the Russians. He�d been outside in

the car, with orders to follow the Russians inside once

he�d made sure there were only two of them. Just in

case I needed backup.

The Russians looked at each other again and scowled,

but they knew when they were beaten. They slunk past

me, the knife disappearing into a pocket. The tension

drained out of the room. Mario gave a loud sigh.

I turned and grinned at Rico. �Thanks.�

Rico lowered the shotgun. �You would have been fine

without me,� he said graciously.

Maybe. Maybe not. It worried me how cocky and

aggressive the Russians were getting. The thought of

Rico and that shotgun might just keep them from

coming back for a while. And it had felt good to have

him watching my back. It always did.

I embraced Mario and told him not to worry and to call

me if the Russians were dumb enough to shake him

down again. Then I strolled out to the car with Rico.

Rico knows as much about the business as I do and he

handles a ton of the day-to-day shit I don�t have time

for. My guys respect him like no one else. If we weren�t

such good friends, I�d be watching my back, expecting a

coup.

�You want me to drop you at Cafe Auben?� Rico asked.

He knows my routine.

I nodded.

�I�ll join you.�

I hesitated. Normally I loved spending time with my

buddy, but I was hoping�praying�that Irina would

show up.

I didn�t even need to say anything�that�s how well Rico

knows me. He glanced across at me, saw my expression

and his jaw dropped. �Wait. Are you meeting someone?

Do you have a date?!�

I shrugged, embarrassed. But I couldn�t stop a smile

tugging at the corners of my mouth.

He started driving, staring out through the windshield in

silence.

�What?� I asked at last.

�I�m just trying to figure out when you last went on a

date. I�m back three....no, four years.�

I elbowed him in the guts. But he was probably right. I

didn�t go on dates: I met a woman, fucked her once or

twice and moved on. I didn�t have time for fucking

romance.

But Irina? I had time for her.

I still couldn�t get my head around her being Russian.

She had zero in common with the Russian thugs I

battled every day�it was difficult to accept they were

from the same country. Although I�d be lying if I said

there wasn�t a little part of me that loved the thought of

seducing one of their countrywomen. Da, comrade, see

how you like that.

�So who is she?� asked Rico. �Hot?� He was grinning,

now, practically bouncing in his seat in excitement.

Which was kind of funny because Rico�s as big as I am,

solid muscle, and the car was creaking on its springs.

�Of course she�s hot,� I told him. �What the fuck do you

think?� Again, I couldn�t help grinning. Which was crazy:

I didn�t want people�even Rico�thinking their boss was

turning soft. But something about her made me feel...I

don�t know, lighter.

Lighter....and hotter than I�d ever been for any woman.

I really hoped she showed up because, if she didn�t, I

was going to have to track her down all over again. I

wasn�t giving up on her any more than I�d give up on

my dad�s territory.

6

Irina

I walked slowly up to the cafe, heels crunching in the

snow. Warm light spilled out through the big plate glass

windows, making the sidewalk gleam gold. I stayed

back in the shadows. I wanted to see if he was there

before I�

There. I caught my breath as I saw him. God, the man

had presence. He sat right in the middle of the cafe,

completely unfazed at sitting alone. He didn�t read the

menu or tap at his phone in an attempt to look busy. He

just gazed around, utterly relaxed.

He hadn�t ordered anything yet. He�s waiting for me. I

felt my heart start to race.

Every eye in the place was drawn to him, especially the

women. I could see women on dates surreptitiously

glancing at him over their dates� shoulders and two

waitresses giggling and blushing in the corner as they

sneaked looks at him. I hated them immediately. He�s

mine! And then flushed because that was nuts: I�d

barely met him. He wasn�t mine.

Then he turned and saw me through the glass. Our eyes

locked.

And I realized I was his.

It was freezing, out on the street, but I lit up from

within with a violent heat that made me audibly gasp. It

was as if I was an ice sculpture and someone had

poured lava into the center of me, making me glow red,

yellow and white even as it melted me completely. The

warmth radiated out, hit my skin and made me flush,

then contracted back in and twisted down to my groin.

I was his. His gaze felt like it was going to pull me right

through the window. Like no one else in the world

mattered or even existed. Like he�d fight through a

thousand men to get to me.

And he wanted me right now. He wanted me on the

table in front of him, my ass thumping down on the

table as he hauled my dress up my thighs, my legs

kicking either side of him as he tore off my panties and

rammed himself inside me.

I didn�t think I looked special. I�d had to get ready in a

hurry, quickly adding a touch more make-up and

scrambling into the little black dress. I�d left my hair

loose, hanging straight down my back. And most of me

was covered by the thick black coat that reached down

to my thighs. But I�d never seen desire as strong as I

saw in his eyes. I. Was. His.

This is nuts! He�s an American! I should walk away�.

But I knew I was kidding myself. The lust in Angelo�s

eyes was so strong it was almost frightening...but it was

nothing compared to the deep, hot ache that was my

body�s response. I took a deep breath and stepped

inside.

He got up out of his seat. I caught my breath as I

neared him and he reached for me. I wasn�t sure what

he was going to do: embrace me, kiss my cheek...a full-

on kiss on the lips?

His hands landed on my upper arms and he traced

down them to my hands as he drew me closer. I could

feel the heat of him throbbing into me�I hadn�t realized

how cold I�d gotten, standing outside on the street.

�You�re freezing again,� he told me. His big hands

closed around my smaller ones, engulfing them, and the

warmth crept up my arms, soaking into my chest.

I swallowed and the room seemed to tilt and spin. I

could feel the layers of ice fracturing and splitting,

devastated by his heat. He drew me even closer, our

bodies less than an inch apart. I had to tilt my head

back to look at him and, as soon as I looked up into

those brown eyes, I was lost. God, he was gorgeous. I

wanted to brush my fingers through that gleaming black

hair, slide my palms over his curving pecs. With his

overcoat off, his suit jacket could open a little more and

I had a better view of those mysterious tattoos beneath

his shirt. I couldn�t make out any detail but they were

big, covering the whole top part of his chest.

He squeezed my hands, his thumbs slowly caressing my

knuckles as if to show me what he wanted to do with

every inch of my body, later on.

�I�m very glad you came,� he said at last. That rich purr

of a voice resonated through my body but there was a

stress behind it, too, and he squeezed my hands just a

little on the very and the glad while staring deep into my

eyes. Those words don�t describe it, his eyes said.

They�re just the best I can do.

When he finally released me, it was with great

reluctance. I could feel the tension in his body�as if he

was barely managing to restrain himself from just

grabbing me and kissing the hell out of me.

I stripped off my coat and sat down. He pulled my chair

back for me. That was a first, too. Did all Italian-

American men go to manners school? As he helped me

slide my chair under the table I could feel the strength

in him, the way he made me and the chair just float. He

put his hands on my shoulders for a second, thumbs

brushing the back of my neck, and everything seemed

to stop. I could feel the pent-up tension in him again, all

the more palpable because I couldn�t see him. He was

hovering on the very brink of control. He wanted to

throw me forward so I was bent over the table, pull up

my dress and�

I heard him take a long, slow breath and then his hands

lifted and he came around the table. When he sat, his

eyes were blazing, almost angry with lust, as if he

cursed me for having this effect on him. But I�m not

doing anything!

I had to look at the menu just to break the tension. As

soon as we were ready to order, he summoned a

waitress. Not called. Summoned. He only had to lift his

head an inch and glance in her direction and she

scurried over, ignoring everyone else. She�d either been

eying him up since he walked in or it was just

something about him that commanded attention�

maybe both. She was my age, pretty with long, dark

hair and a white fitted blouse that showed off a lot of

cleavage. I braced myself for his inevitable flirting.

But he barely glanced at her as we ordered, his eyes

fixed on me. And when she did a flirty little giggle and

asked if there�d be anything else, he just dismissed her,

politely but with great finality, and leaned in to me as if

to say, I�m with this woman. Don�t bother us again.

I�d never experienced that before. Russian men�at least

the ones I�d met�never considered themselves taken or

off-limits until they were married. And the other women

knew it: make the mistake of leaving your date for a

few minutes and you�d come back to find another

woman perched on his knee. You had to fight viciously

to keep him�literally, with some women handing out

brutal beatings in nightclub toilets if they thought you

were competing for �their� man. The aim of the game

was to keep your man interested for long enough to

coax him up the aisle, at which point he was

yours...except for the mistress in some discreet

apartment somewhere, plus the hookers he�d fuck while

away on business.

Angelo had only just met me, but he looked at me like I

was the only woman in the world.

�Tell me about dancing,� he said as soon as the waitress

was gone. �How do you do that?�

�What?�

�Float. And spin around on your toes and shi�stuff.�

He was trying not to curse in front of me. In his eyes, I

was innocent and he didn�t want to corrupt me. It was

almost funny: innocent? Me? Imagine his reaction if he

knew some of the things I�d seen, thanks to the family

business.

What kept me from laughing was how good it felt. No

one had ever cared about trying to shield me from

things before�even Vasiliy just accepted that violence

was part of my world. I�d grown up around tattooed

men who�d spent most of their lives in prison: I could

probably out-curse Angelo, given the chance...but the

fact that he thought of me as innocent made me light

up inside in a way I wasn�t expecting. It was almost like

glimpsing myself as I would have been if I�d been born

into a normal family. I wanted to be innocent. And I

wanted him to corrupt me.

I told him about Fenbrook Academy and early-morning

practice, about dancing the same piece a couple of

hundred times, about calluses and stone bruises and

climbing stairs on your ass because your feet hurt so

much. I told him about transferring from the ballet

school in Moscow, skimming over why I�d left. I focused

on the good stuff: how I�d always loved America and

wanted to come here.

The food arrived and we savored every bite. Talking

with him was so...easy. I could feel myself relaxing, the

layers of ice gradually thinning and cracking. With other

men, I had to weigh every word, worried in case it

sounded dumb...or sounded too intelligent. With most of

the guys Vasiliy introduced me to, talking really meant

polishing their egos.

Not with Angelo. I got the feeling he hated bullshit more

than anything else. And he didn�t talk like a rich person,

with all their little games and attempts to score points.

He talked about simple pleasures like eating hot dogs at

Coney Island and swimming off Sandy Hook Beach. I

told him about watching my cousin Luka play ice hockey

when the government froze all the paths in Gorky Park,

and buying blinchiki filled with butter and jam from

street stands.

I suddenly caught myself. This is crazy. I shouldn�t be

here. This whole happy date was an illusion, a soap

bubble that would be destroyed as soon as Vasiliy found

out about it. But�.

I liked him.

It was more than just lust. That was still there: the

conversation would slow down every few minutes and

we�d just gaze at each other. My eyes slid down the

lines of his hard pecs under his white shirt; his eyes

skimmed over my bare shoulder and then all the way

down the side of my dress, following the shape of my

body as if he longed to do the same thing with his palm.

But I liked him. I liked his confidence and his warmth

and his refreshing lack of games.

He�s too good to be true. There were distant alarm bells

in my head: something familiar about him. But that

made no sense: he was so different to the Russian guys

I knew.

He told me about growing up right there in New York,

with scarcely enough money to eat. How things had

slowly improved as his dad worked his way up the

business and how Angelo had followed in his footsteps,

eventually taking over his dad�s position when he died.

�What is it you do?� I asked.

He opened his mouth to speak, pride in his eyes. As if

he knew I�d be impressed. I suddenly knew what it was

going to be: he was in banking, and it was going to be

some place I�d heard of, some place that would make

my jaw drop. I�m a vice-president at Goldman Sachs.

That would explain the money and the confidence. It

was weird, because he didn�t sound like some Harvard-

educated guy from a rich family. He sounded blue-collar

and proud of it.

But at the last minute, he seemed to change his mind.

The pride faded from his eyes. �Y�know. Just business.

Loans. Insurance.�

I frowned. I could tell he was downplaying it. Why?

No matter. I realized I�d dodged a bullet�if we got onto

the subject of jobs, he might ask what my folks did, and

then we�d get onto my family. I didn�t want to go there.

He poured the last of the wine and, as the final heavy

red drop fell into my glass, I felt it begin. He didn�t say

anything, but the question started to form in the air

between us. The end of the meal was here: what now?

This is where I�d normally say something, like, �Wow,

I�m really tired,� or �I have an early rehearsal

tomorrow,� just to start clueing the guy in to the fact

that no, I wasn�t going home with him. Even if I liked

the guy, I wouldn�t have sex on a first date.

But I stayed silent. I let the question grow and grow.

What are you doing, Irina? My heart started thumping.

I�d already come on a date with him when I knew this

couldn�t go anywhere. I had to come to my senses and

end it now.

But the thought of seeing that broad, muscled chest

without the shirt, of running my fingers down his bare

abs�.

The waitress asked if we wanted dessert. We both

agreed we didn�t. I asked for the check and he caught

my eye. And we both knew, and, immediately, things

changed. His gazes had felt like soft caresses but now

they turned firm and direct: I could almost feel his

hands as they slid up my sides and over my back, could

feel the touch of his lips on the upper slopes of my

breasts.

I went to speak, but it was suddenly difficult to get air.

Part of me still couldn�t believe I was about to do this on

a first date. But I didn�t want it to end.

�Would you like to come back to mine?� I asked. My

house felt safer: familiar territory, plus Rachel would be

there, just in case all my instincts were wrong and he

was an axe murderer.

A smile slowly spread across his face, eyes twinkling

with a mixture of joy and raw, hot lust.

He stood behind me to slip my coat on and, when it was

wrapped around me, he stopped like that for a second,

holding the edges tightly together in front of me so that

the coat hugged me. As if, now that he was embracing

me, he couldn�t bear to let me go.

Then we were stepping out into the freezing night air. I

looked up the street one way then the other for a cab.

As I turned back to him, he stepped right up close to

me, so close that his leg slipped between mine. I

blinked up at him: we were so close, I had to tilt my

head right back.

�I�ve been wanting to kiss you since I first saw you,� he

said. �Time�s up.�

I had time to open my mouth in astonishment. Then he

was kissing me.

He didn�t just bring his lips down to mine: he scooped

an arm under the small of my back and lifted me,

bringing me to him. By the time our lips touched, my

toes were only just scraping the icy sidewalk.

His first touch was gentle, just a graze of his lips against

mine. But I had a hand on his arm and I could feel how

his whole body had gone hard with barely-restrained

lust. He was fighting to go slow, forcing himself to taste

me first before consuming me completely. I could feel

the power of him, even in that brief touch, and it made

me go weak.

His second touch was a flick of his tongue across my

lips, sampling my softness. The pleasure crackled out

from each millimeter he touched, rocketing its way

down my body. I came alive in his arms, writhing and

arching, my breasts pushing against his chest. I grabbed

his other arm in my free hand and clung to him, my

mind spinning. I needed more. Now. My whole body

was throbbing, pulsing to the rhythm he�d started.

We stayed like that for a second, mouths open and lips

almost touching, our panting breath forming clouds of

mist around us. I could hear the blood rushing in my

ears. I was almost drunk with anticipation: I wanted it

more than I�ve ever wanted anything in my life. Kiss

me!

He gave a low growl, one that vibrated through me. I

could feel every muscle tense as he primed himself, but

still he didn�t move. Kiss me!

I had my eyes closed, but I could sense that he�d

opened his. He was gazing down at me, savoring the

moment. I couldn�t take it any longer. �Pozhaluysta

potseluy menya!� I panted desperately, forgetting that

he wouldn�t understand.

The urgency in my voice was enough. A big, warm hand

slid across my cheek, fingers sinking into my hair, and

then he was kissing me full-on and for keeps, lips hard

against mine. I could feel every ounce of his pent-up

lust: he wanted me with an intensity I�d never known,

wanted to take me in every conceivable way, to know

every inch of my body. But there was something else,

as well, something that was so powerful it took my

breath away, something that felt like it shocked him as

much as me. He wanted to possess me, to wrap me up

in his arms and carry me away somewhere so that no

one else could have me.

And even as part of me wanted to draw back from the

intensity of it, something deep inside me was rushing

towards it, as if it was something I�d been missing my

entire life.

It was a kiss that moved, that made me twist and slide

against him as I followed it. My hands were grabbing at

his arms, my cold fingers sinking into the soft cashmere

of his overcoat, feeling the hard bulk of his muscles

beneath the layers of clothes. His tongue found mine

and danced with it and I moaned through the kiss,

clutching at his shoulders. He answered with another

low growl, kissing me even harder, as if my moan

turned him on. And as our bodies shifted together I felt

it for the first time: the hard, hot outline of his cock

against my upper thigh, very close to my groin�.

Movement beside us and the rattle of an engine. I

opened my eyes to see a cab had pulled up beside us.

We must have looked as if we needed a taxi, now.

Angelo reluctantly broke the kiss and lowered me gently

to the sidewalk, then held the door of the cab for me.

He strode around to the other side, overcoat billowing

out behind him like a cape, and got in beside me, his

thigh against mine, his muscled body huge in the

confined space. I leaned forward to tell the driver my

address and, the instant I�d finished and we were

moving, Angelo�s hand was on my shoulder, pressing

me back in my seat. �What was it you said, back there?�

he asked. His eyes darted between my eyes and my

lips.

I swallowed. �Please kiss me,� I translated.

His eyes ate me up for a second and then he pounced,

twisting around so that he was in front of me, my head

cupped between his hands as he pressed me back

against the leather and kissed me. I panted into his

mouth and kissed him back, my hands roaming over his

neck and shoulders.

The cab whisked us towards my house...and whatever

came next.

7

Angelo

I�d never been so hot for a woman my entire life. Not

just hot for her, but just totally...I couldn�t even find the

words.

The traffic was light and we were rushing through the

city, heading God knows where: I hadn�t heard the

address she gave the cabbie. But it didn�t matter. I

didn�t once glance out of the window. We could have

been driving via the fucking North Pole with polar bears

ambling past outside and I wouldn�t have known. I

couldn�t take my eyes off of her.

Captivated. That was the word. I was captivated.

She was so completely unlike any woman I�d ever met.

There was this...grace to her, even when she was still.

And when she moved...Jesus, watching her walk into

the restaurant had been like watching a prowling cat,

and everyone in there, men and women, me included,

were just yapping, clumsy dogs.

Lithe. That�s what she was. Soft, smooth skin, elegant

curves, but underneath it all were those toned dancer�s

muscles, giving her flexibility and stamina. Combined

with the fire in her eyes and the way she�d panted at

me to kiss her...she was going to be unbelievable in

bed.

My kisses slowed down, growing purposeful as my

hands explored her. I couldn�t get enough of her mouth.

She was the perfect combination of sweet femininity

and raw, untamed sexuality. Kissing her was like

throwing myself head first into a warm, dark canyon

with no bottom: my lips met hers and I was just lost

and I didn�t care at all.

She seemed to be oblivious to how insanely sexy she

was, unlike the preening women I normally met. But

she couldn�t be: that was impossible. Every little detail

must have been carefully calculated to turn me on, like

she was some Soviet spy from the 80s who�d been

tasked with my seduction.

Her hair, which had looked so tauntingly prim when it

was up in a bun, now hung loose down her back,

making her look like some ice princess off the cover of a

fantasy novel. I couldn�t believe how long it was and I

couldn�t stop thinking about what it would look like

when she was naked and it was the only thing shielding

her modesty. I wanted to brush it forward over her

shoulders so that it covered her breasts, nipples peeking

out between the strands, just so I could have the

pleasure of sweeping it back and revealing her again.

Her dress, her coat, even her shoes were all black,

setting off the soft tan of her skin and making that

platinum-blonde hair shine even brighter. When she�d

shrugged out of her coat and her back had arched a

little, her high, pert breasts had lifted under the thin

fabric of her dress in a way that made me catch my

breath. I�d been looking at that dress and the way it

hugged her body all evening. I�d been imagining

cupping her bare shoulders and then following the sides

of the dress all the way down.

Now I could finally do it, growling as I circled my palms

on the soft warmth of her shoulders, kissing her slow

and deep as my hands slid lower, lower...past her chest,

the heels of my hands almost grazing her breasts, down

her sides, over her hips and along her thighs.

My thumbs touched nylon and she gasped against my

mouth. The feel of her smooth thighs was addictive. My

kisses became hungry and open-mouthed. I sucked that

gorgeous lower lip into my mouth and nibbled on it, the

sound of her rapid breathing exciting me even more.

She�s as turned on as I am. My thumbs circled and

stroked, my fingers nudging the fabric of her dress

higher. Was she wearing nylons or�

My thumb touched a band of smooth fabric, then the

soft warmth of naked skin. She was wearing stockings.

My cock was harder than it had ever been. I have to get

this dress off of her. Right. Now.

And then the cab slowed to a stop and we were there.

I threw some money at the cabbie and then we were

sliding out of the seat and into the night air, still kissing, my hands on her hips. The air was shockingly cold after

the warmth of the cab, rushing under my coat and down

my collar. I knew it must be even worse for Irina, with

her stockinged legs, so I pulled her right up against me,

leaving not even a hair�s width between our bodies. We

stood there kissing as the cab pulled away, our fronts

keeping each other warm while our backs grew colder

and colder.

When she finally broke the kiss, she said, �That�s my

house.�

For the first time, I bothered to glance around. We were

in some suburb I didn�t recognize, way out in the sticks.

The street was quiet and it was a clear night, the stars

shockingly bright overhead. �Uh-huh.� And I drew her

back into the kiss.

A moment later, she broke the kiss again and ran a

nervous hand through her hair. Her face was flushed,

her pupils huge with need, but she looked worried. �My

roommate will be there.�

�Uh-huh.� I cupped her cheeks and brushed my thumbs

through her hair, marveling at its silken softness. I was

vaguely aware that something was up, but I was too

busy trying to kiss her to figure it out. My lips came

down on hers and she gave a soft little moan. I ran my

hands down her back, tracing the shape of her through

the layers. I was desperate to get her inside and

undressed, but kissing her was just too fucking good!

She broke the kiss a third time. �My room�s a mess,�

she said.

This time I finally forced myself to focus because I could

tell something was wrong. She wasn�t changing her

mind: I could see it in her eyes, hear it in the husk of

her voice. She wanted this as much as I did. But�.

I had to fight hard to get through the fog of lust

clouding my brain, but I finally got it. She was worried I

was going to think she was a slut or something because

she�d invited me back here on a first date.

Just as I worked it out, she opened her mouth to speak

again. Immediately, I put a warning finger on her lips.

She went silent, but gave me a look of outrage that was

so fucking adorable I nearly forgot what I wanted to

say.

�Shh,� I said sharply. Then I leaned closer, so I could

speak right into her ear. �Irina: I want you. Right now.

You�re driving me crazy and I�ve got to have you. But

���she shifted minutely and the feel of her soft lips

against my finger made me almost groan out loud

��But, if you�re not ready, tell me now and I�ll go.� The

words were rolling out of my mouth before I even knew

what I was saying. Was I really telling her I�d wait for

her? �We can do this tomorrow or the next night or in a

month�s time. It�s okay. I�ll still be here.� I felt her draw

in her breath, as if what I was saying was shocking.

�But if you want this now, like I do...then let�s go

inside.�

I drew back a little and blinked at her. I was at least as

surprised by what I�d said as she was. But it had

worked. She nodded once, quickly, her mind made up,

then grabbed my hand and led me inside.

I only caught brief glimpses of the interior. She rushed

me through it, maybe self-conscious that it was small. I

wanted to tell her that it was a hell of a lot bigger than

the place I�d grown up in, but I couldn�t drag my eyes

from her legs, or from the curve of her ass as she

walked ahead of me. Plus, I was still trying to come to

terms with what I�d said to her outside. Offer to wait?

Me? It wasn�t something I�d ever done before�hell, the

women I normally met didn�t expect anything more than

a one night-stand. But with Irina...I realized it was true.

I would have waited, if she�d made me. I am fucking

obsessed with this woman.

By the time we made it into her bedroom, I couldn�t

wait any longer. I grabbed her as she pushed the door

closed and pressed her full-length against it. Then I

cupped her head in my hands and ran my fingertips

through her hair as I kissed her hard. The feel of her

soft, supple body against the hardness of mine had me

panting. I grabbed the hem of her dress and started

dragging it up her thighs, still kissing her. My fingers

brushed over nylon, then her stocking tops, then the

soft smoothness of her thighs. She moaned into my

mouth and that stoked my lust even more.

I hauled her away from the door and spun her around,

pulled her coat off her arms and let it fall to the floor.

Then I pulled her back against my chest until her ass

was grinding against my cock. I pulled her dress higher,

revealing a pair of simple, black panties. Somehow, that

triangle of black fabric between those smooth golden

thighs was more enticing than any elaborate lingerie.

I snaked one hand down her body and between her

thighs, groaning as my fingertips pressed against her

warmth. I started to stroke her there and, immediately,

she clenched her thighs tight around my hand, her

dancer�s muscles pinning me tight for a second. Jesus,

she�s going to be an incredible fuck. I moved my hand

more firmly, overpowering her, and she groaned in

surprise and pleasure as I worked at her softness

through the thin fabric. A minute of gasping, panting

friction and she was wilting against me, thighs clenching

around my hand in time with my movements. Two

minutes, and I could feel her slickness wetting the

fabric.

I almost hurled her onto the bed. She landed on her

back, dress rucked up around her hips, and stared up at

me with a look that drove me wild. It was only there for

a second, but it was like looking down through layers of

ice to white-hot magma. Underneath all that cold, there

was a raw, powerful lust that matched my own. The

idea of that, in a woman as gorgeous as her, blew my

mind.

I tore off my coat and climbed onto the bed, one knee

between her legs. Her dress had slid down a little and I

started to push it up again, wanting to grab hold of her

panties and pull them off. I wanted to see her, there,

just gaze at her for a while, then I was going to spread

those thighs and lick her until she screamed�

My elbow hit the little table next to her bed. A framed

picture fell over and toppled over the edge. I grabbed

for it and caught it before it hit the floor, then lifted it to put it back in its place�

I froze.

That�s�

No, of course it fucking isn�t.

I lay there willing the picture to change, but it

stubbornly refused to. Yes, it fucking is.

The picture had been taken in a forest. There was Irina,

just as gorgeous as she was in the flesh. One arm was

wrapped around a kid who might be a younger sister.

And her other arm�.

Her other arm was wrapped around the waist of a

silver-haired man in his sixties. A man I knew very well.

�Irina,� I asked, fighting to keep my voice level. �What�s

your last name?�

She stared up at me in confusion. �Malakov.� She

glanced at the photo and then my horrified expression.

Her voice went tight and cold. �Vasiliy is my uncle.�

The picture slid from my fingers. I heard the glass break

as it hit the floor.

I got up off the bed, stumbling a little. It felt as if the

whole room was spinning.

Irina�s eyes narrowed in anger. �What?� she snapped.

She tugged her dress down over her thighs. �So what?�

Seeing her mad made me chest ache. Ruining

everything we�d been building towards cut me

deep...but I couldn�t speak, couldn�t even reassure her

that it was okay�my mind was whirling too fast.

And telling her it was okay would have been a lie

anyway, because it most certainly was not fucking okay.

She was Vasiliy Malakov�s niece.

My body seemed to move by itself. I saw myself grab

my coat and head down the stairs to the front door and

then I was away, off into the night.

8

Angelo

I had no idea where I was. I had no idea where I was

going. I just walked.

It wasn�t the best neighborhood, but I�d been in worse.

Plus, if anyone got any ideas about messing with the

guy in the nice suit, they�d change their minds when

they got a look at my expression.

Vasiliy Malakov. I�d been about to fuck the niece of my

sworn enemy. One of the most dangerous men in

Russia and, since he partnered with Mikhail, one of the

biggest crime bosses in New York.

I�d known he had at least one kid�Luka, who�d pretty

much taken over from his dad back in Moscow. I�d had

no idea he had a niece, or that she was right here in

New York.

My mind darted through images of Irina: on stage at the

ballet, frozen in midair with those long legs akimbo;

glaring at me in Central Park, eyes full of suspicion;

standing outside the restaurant watching me through

the glass, her blonde hair gleaming in the streetlights�.

And finally, in my arms, looking up at me and begging

me to kiss her. I wanted her. I needed her.

You must never, ever see her again. The leaden truth of

it slammed into me so hard that I stopped dead in the

middle of the sidewalk. Don�t see her. Don�t call her.

Just pretend it never happened. She clearly had no idea

I was Cosa Nostra�we�d both been as clueless as each

other. As long as I disappeared into the night and never

saw her again, she never needed to find out. She�d write

me off as just some asshole who�d walked out on her.

That thought stabbed deep into my chest.

But the consequences, if it had gone any further, would

have been unthinkable. When Vasiliy found out, it would

have tipped our two sides into full-on gang war...hell,

he�d probably have put a hit out on me. My own people

would have lost all faith in me. How can you trust your

leader when he�s literally in bed with the enemy? And

my bosses�the aging pack of old-school Cosa Nostra

who oversaw New York�they would have gone fucking

apeshit. They hated the Russians even more than me. I

would have been busted down to errand boy or just

shot in the head.

I took a deep breath. I felt as if I�d stepped on a fucking

land mine and heard the sickening click. Now I had to

back away, very carefully, and pray it didn�t go off.

Being a leader is about making sacrifices. I couldn�t risk

everything I�d built. Not even for her.

* * *

By the time I got to my apartment, it was the early

hours. I tried to sleep, but I just lay there staring at the

ceiling, trying to get Irina out of my head. I could see

her lying there on her bed, looking up at me with raw

lust in her eyes. God, I wanted her so much. I finally

gave up on sleep, got up and drove to work.

I run most of the business from the backroom of a big,

sprawling bar called Underground, right in the heart of

my territory. A hundred years ago, when immigrants�a

lot of them Italian�dug out the first subway, it was

where they used to go after their shift to shake the rock

dust out of their hair and sink a cold one. It�s a busy

place: even when it�s too early for customers, some of

my guys are there. There�s always coffee in the pot and

music playing. Being there always makes me feel better.

Not today, though. I was in a lousy mood. What the

fuck was wrong with me? It had been months since I�d

been with a woman�I just hadn�t had time. Now I�d

met one and lost her. So what? Back to the status quo.

Two days ago, I hadn�t even known Irina existed.

So why was it bothering me so much?

More people arrived and the business of the day started

rolling in: decisions to be made, problems to be solved.

I sat back in my big leather chair and called people in

one by one. A nightclub owner needed an extension on

his loan after a fire: I gave it to him. Two of my guys

were short on their collection runs: I leaned forward,

voice low, and put the fear of God into them, telling

them to hit their totals tomorrow or else. Some morons

from a local motorcycle club had started dealing meth

on our turf: I sent a car full of guys to remind them

where the boundaries were. Just a typical morning, but

I was grouchy and irritable, yelling more than I should

have done. I knew better. Ruling isn�t about screaming

at people: calm and determined gets you a hell of a lot

further. What�s wrong with me?

Then Rico arrived with more bad news. Some guys from

Mikhail and Vasiliy�s gang had visited an Italian-owned

bar. They�d smashed the windows and scared off the

customers.

It had happened only a few hours after Rico and I had

stood up to the Russians. They were sending a

message: go quietly or we�ll destroy you.

I�d been nursing a cup of coffee in the hope it�d make

me feel better. I suddenly snapped and hurled it across

the room to smash against the wall. �Goddammit!� I

yelled.

Rico blinked at me. �Easy,� he said gently. �We�ve had it

worse. We�ll figure it out.�

I stared at him. Rico�s always so dependable. I love the

guy. For a second, I even considered telling him about

Irina. I knew he�d back me up in my decision, tell me

that staying away from her was the only sensible thing

to do.

Thing is, I didn�t know if I wanted to be backed up. And

just that tiny admission released the brakes on

something that had been building all day. All the

longing, all my lust for her, started to coalesce,

shrinking but concentrating, going from a hot, painful

cloud that filled me to a tiny, hard point of light that sat

right at my core. A seed.

No. No, don�t even think about it.

A seed that I could feel starting to grow.

�Give me some space,� I growled. �I gotta make a

phone call.�

Rico nodded and left, closing the door behind him. I

grabbed my phone.

Don�t do it, Angelo. Don�t you fucking do it!

I�d gotten her number from her during dinner. I told

myself I was just going to end things like a gentleman,

to make some excuse so she didn�t think it was her

fault. But I could feel that seed throbbing and burning

inside me, growing steadily bigger and bigger.

I drew in a long breath...and called her.

9

Irina

I was up on the flat roof of Fenbrook Academy, lying on

my back in the snow. It�s not as crazy as it sounds: my

coat was thick enough to insulate me from the cold and

long enough to cover me down to my thighs, so my ass

didn�t get wet. And there wasn�t much wind. Just big,

soft flakes of snow fluttering straight down, invisible

against the white sky until they were almost touching

my face. Gazing straight up, nothing but the sky was

visible. I could have been anywhere in the world. I could

have been in Moscow.

For the first time since I arrived in New York, I really

wanted to go home.

When Angelo had walked out, it had felt like a slap in

the face. It was a million times worse because of

everything I thought I�d seen in his eyes that evening:

not just raw, hot lust but a hint of a deeper need.

But all of that had become irrelevant as soon as he�d

found out who I was.

Bastard!

I knew it was unfair. Everyone was scared of Vasiliy.

Angelo was some sort of banker and what banker in

their right mind would want to get mixed up with the

Malakov family? There�s a reason that all the suitors I�d

met were criminals themselves. Who else would want

me?

And anyway, this was for the best. It was my own fault.

I should never have gone to dinner with him. I�d known

it couldn�t go anywhere.

If he hadn�t seen the photo, we would have slept

together. Maybe we would have managed a few more

dates but, sooner or later, he would have found out

about Vasiliy or Vasiliy would have found out about him

and we would have been torn apart. This way, at least

we hadn�t had time to get to know each other.

So why did it hurt so much?

My phone rang. I very nearly didn�t answer. Whatever

excuses he made would only make it worse. And yet�

And yet, when I closed my eyes and felt the snowflakes

landing on my cheeks, all I could think about were those

brown eyes burning into me, the feel of his lips on

mine�.

Without opening my eyes, I answered and put the

phone to my ear. �Hello?�

Silence for several seconds. I could hear the tension in

his breathing, imagined his big hands clenching and

unclenching. �I�m sorry,� he said at last.

Hearing him say it should have helped, but somehow it

made the pain real. �It�s okay,� I lied.

And then I could hear it coming: an intake of breath as

he braced himself for what had to be said. I screwed my

eyes closed. I didn�t want to hear the words. I didn�t

want to hear: I think it�s best if we don�t see each other

again. I didn�t want to be reminded that, however far I

ran from Moscow, I could never, ever escape who I

was.

�I want to see you again,� he said.

I was braced so hard that it took a few seconds to sink

in. My eyes slowly opened. �What?�

He sounded as surprised as I was. But he repeated it

and his voice grew more determined with every word. �I

want to see you again, Irina. I need to see you again.�

I just breathed for a while, processing it. Then, �Why?

So you can do this in person?� My voice went cold. �So

you can let me down gently?!�

�No!� I heard him rub his face with his hand. �I want to

see you. I want to keep seeing you. I�m sorry I...left. I

was just...you caught me off-guard.�

�And now you�re okay with it?� I didn�t allow my voice to

warm up. �You�re okay with me being a Malakov?�

Another long silence, as if a battle was going on inside

him. �Yes.�

A tiny flame flared into life inside me, barely enough to

push back the cold. Hope. I wanted it to be true. But I

couldn�t let that hope build until tonight or tomorrow,

only to have it snuffed out again. I had to know. I had

to see him in person, now.

There was a metallic creak as the door to the stairwell

opened. I sat up and saw Rachel standing there. �Irina!�

she called. �Move your ass! Break was over five minutes

ago. Miss Kay�s about to go freaking nuclear!�

Our ballet teacher�s rants are legendary. �I can meet

you in front of Fenbrook in a half hour, when this class

ends,� I told Angelo.

�I�ll be there,� he said immediately. And the tiny flame

flared a little brighter.

I ended the call and ran for the stairs. Rachel held the

door for me and gave a long-suffering sigh, ruffling my

hair affectionately as I passed. As we raced down the

stairs to class, all I could think about was Angelo. In a

half hour, I�d find out if this thing was real or not.

I wanted it to be real so bad it scared me.

10

Angelo

I grabbed my coat and pulled it on. My mind was

whirling: I had no idea what I was going to do about

her being Vasiliy�s flesh and blood and every logical part

of my brain was screaming that this was a bad idea. But

that wasn�t enough to stop me. I had to see her, and

fuck the consequences.

Jesus, what�s this woman done to me?

Rico was waiting outside when I opened the door. �I�m

going out,� I told him before he could speak.

�Now? What about the Russians?�

Just the mention of Vasiliy and his crew made my

stomach knot. �They�ll still be there when I get back,� I

said.

�But we need to hit back! Show them we�re not going to

be��

I rounded on him. �Goddammit, Rico! Later!�

He backed off, shocked more than scared. �Okay, sure,�

he said, a trace of hurt in his voice.

I took a long, deep breath. What the hell�s the matter

with me? Rico was like a brother. I couldn�t even

remember the last time we�d argued. I laid a hand on

his shoulder. �There�s just something I need to take care

of. Okay?�

He nodded, but I could see the confusion in his eyes.

Normally, nothing came before business, especially

when it concerned the Russians. �You want some

backup?� he asked.

I fucking loved this guy. Always there for me, even

when I was behaving like an asshole. Again, I

considered telling him about Irina...but I couldn�t.

Knowing Rico, he�d talk sense into me. I squeezed his

shoulder. �Not this time,� I told him. I turned away

quickly, shoved open the door to the parking lot and

stalked outside�

And stopped. I stood there blinking in amazement as

the door swung shut behind me.

It had been snowing. It must have started right after I

arrived at the bar that morning because everything was

covered with a thick white carpet, untouched and

perfect. After the dim interior of the bar, the sunlight on

all that bright white was blinding.

The whole world looked different. New. And...I�d never

seen snow as anything other than a pain in the ass,

before, something that slowed traffic and had to be

shoveled out of the way but now�..

Maybe it was because snow made me think of Russia

and Irina but it looked goddamn beautiful.

I glanced back at the bar. Inside, the other guys didn�t

even know it had been snowing out here. I wouldn�t

have, if I hadn�t called Irina. I�d still be in there,

worrying about the ugly, brutal reality of the job.

I looked ahead of me, at the unbroken snow. And took

a big, deliberate step.

I blasted across town and pulled up outside Fenbrook

Academy in plenty of time. I sat there outside the red-

brick building, watching the students milling around on

the steps: musicians with instrument cases on their

backs, dancers with their hair up in buns and a few

cocky guys I guessed were actors, hitting on all the

girls. All of them just sitting there, happily chattering

away in their nice, safe world where crime was

something you heard about on the news.

I frowned. I�d almost forgotten that world existed.

Then Irina hurried down the steps wrapped up in a long

black overcoat, so beautiful it made my chest hurt. Her

hair was still up in a dancer�s bun from class. I pushed

open the car door so she could get in, but she shook

her head.

�I need to keep moving,� she told me. �I have another

class in ten minutes and if I sit still, my legs will stiffen

up.�

The air coming in through the open car door was so

cold it took my breath away. �Are you serious?�

She nodded. �Walk, or don�t talk.�

I didn�t even have to think about it. I grabbed my coat

and jumped out. She�d already taken a few paces along

the street by the time I caught her, her long legs eating

up the distance. She hadn�t been kidding about keeping

moving.

Or�. I glanced over my shoulder at the students on the

steps. Or she didn�t want to have this conversation in

my car, right in front of them.

She was afraid I was going to end this and reduce her

to tears in front of her friends. Jesus. Just the idea of it

made me feel ill. Even though ending it was the only

smart thing to do.

I grabbed her hand, but she didn�t stop walking.

Wouldn�t even look at me. �Irina,� I said, �I�m sorry. I�m

sorry I ran out on you. I shouldn�t have done that.�

She kept walking but she slowed just a little. Maybe

something in my voice told her I meant it.

�It�s...understandable,� she said at last. �Everyone�s

scared of Vasiliy.�

I stared at her in horror. She thought I was scared of

him? I�m not scared of anyone. But what explanation

could I give her?

The truth, a little voice inside me urged. Tell her the

truth. Tell her that you�re her uncle�s number one

rival...and then watch her walk off into the sunset.

Maybe it won�t be like that. Maybe she isn�t loyal to him.

But I couldn�t risk that. This was about more than just

wanting to fuck her, now. I couldn�t get her out of my

head and I wasn�t about to give her up, not even if it

meant lying.

I drew in a deep breath. �I just...I know what your

uncle�s like,� I said slowly. �And I couldn�t believe that

someone as amazing as you was connected with

someone like that.�

I waited to see how she took it. I hoped it rang true

because it was the truth.

She slowed a little more. And then, for the first time,

she turned and looked at me. God, even now, even

when we were in the middle of all this, she was

heartbreakingly beautiful. Those blue eyes burned with

so much emotion, so much pain. It took everything I

had to stop myself just grabbing her and pulling her into

my arms.

�Vasiliy has done very bad things,� she said slowly.

Down in the depths of my soul, the hot black anger

uncoiled and stirred. I knew exactly what bad things

Russians were capable of. I�d had personal fucking

experience. And Vasiliy was no different to the bastard

who�d�

Irina�s gorgeous voice cut me free from the memory

that had threatened to drag me down into rage.

�Sometimes because he had to,� she said. �But

sometimes�especially in the last few years�just to

grow his empire. He didn�t used to be this ruthless.�

I forced the memories back down inside me before they

could take over, but the bitterness remained. Just to

grow his empire. Just another power-crazed Russian,

trying to take what wasn�t his. At the same time,

though, I felt a tiny shred of hope. She sounded bitter,

too: maybe they weren�t close. Maybe she�d cut ties

long ago. �Are you close?�

She nodded. �After my parents died, he practically

raised me.�

Shit. My disappointment must have shown on my face

because she shook her head. �But I turned my back on

that,� she said with pride. �I don�t take his money. I

hate everything about his business. Vasiliy wants me to

marry someone like him, a gangster. I never will.�

Oh Jesus...it got worse and worse. She hated gangsters.

When she found out I was Cosa Nostra she�d never

want to see me again. I have to end this now, before

she finds out.

I opened my mouth to say it.

But nothing would come out.

I stared at her, completely fucking helpless. Just do it! A

moment�s pain. She�d cry. Then it would be over. I had

to be honest with her. I�m a vicious son of a bitch, but

I�m not a complete asshole.

But I just...couldn�t. Whenever I went to speak, the

thought of losing her felt like someone crushing my

fucking chest.

�What?� she asked. She finally stopped walking and

turned to me. I could hear the fear in her voice�she

could tell something was wrong. �What are you trying to

say?� There�ll never be a better time. Do it! Tell her!

I stared into those cornflower-blue eyes and thought of

never seeing her again.

�I need you.� It was out before I even knew I was

going to say it. �I need to keep seeing you.�

She blinked...and then a smile spread across her face.

Immediately, I got a stab of something I hadn�t felt in

years: guilt. What the fuck are you doing, Angelo? What

happens when she finds out?

I knew it was wrong. But every second in her presence,

watching her look up at me with that little smile tugging

at her lips, felt so valuable that I would have done

anything just to buy a few more of them.

Something inside me snapped: I had to have those lips,

had to have them now. I grabbed her waist and pushed

her back, almost lifting her clear of the sidewalk as I

slammed her up against the trunk of a tree. She yelped

in surprise and then, for the first time, I heard her

giggle. The sound rippled through me like champagne

bubbles, light and intoxicating, fucking glorious. I hadn�t

been able to imagine her laugh: she was always so

serious. Now I wanted to hear it again and again.

But I wanted something else more. I moved in close

and put one hand on her cheek, heard her breathing

hitch as she realized what I was about to do.

Then my lips came down on hers.

11

Irina

As soon as his lips touched mine, I could feel the animal

hunger in him. Ferocious, savage: he didn�t just want

me, he needed me. It made me go weak inside and the

feeling was as unfamiliar as it was fantastic. I�d had so

many years of being hard, of never showing weakness

for a second, that being just...overcome was incredible.

This is what it�s meant to be like. This is what I�d been

missing from all the Russian men Vasiliy had tried to set

me up with.

His kisses were soft and brutal, tasting me and directing

me, pushing me one way then the other so that he

could sample every inch of my lips. The kisses got faster

and I felt his hands tighten on my waist, his lips working

down across my cheek and then along my jaw, tilting

my head up and back. Each kiss was a little explosion of

pleasure, my breathing notching faster and faster along

with his. Both of us were sliding fast, out of control�

He broke the kiss and put his mouth to my ear, his

stubble brushing my cheek as he pushed my head to

the side. �Sei bellissima,� he said. I didn�t know much

Italian, but even I knew that meant you�re beautiful. A

warm glow rippled out from my center, slamming into

the pleasure and making it flare even hotter.

His hand slid up my back, captured my hair, still in a

bun, and pulled it down, his grip firm but not painful. My

chin tilted up to the sky and he kissed down my throat,

each touch of his lips soft and measured but full of

barely-restrained power, like putting your hand on the

hood of a sports car and feeling the throb of the engine.

His whole body was pushed up against me from his

chest to his thighs and I could feel the hard bulk of him

dwarfing me. I grabbed for his upper arms and found

every muscle had gone tense: God, he was having to try

so hard just to hold himself back�.

He pushed my head to the side again. When he spoke

into my ear, the low rasp of his voice made me catch

my breath. �I need you,� he said. �I fucking need you. I

have to have you.� Then he drew back and I realized he

was looking at me. I opened my eyes, stared up into

his, and I saw him frowning. �What have you done to

me?� he growled.

I didn�t have an answer. I just stared up at him, my hair

still gripped in his hand.

�You�re making me nuts. I can�t get you out of my

head.� He kissed me again, open-mouthed and hungry,

his tongue dancing with mine for long seconds. Then he

drew back and stared at me again, still frowning...but

the lust was winning, those brown eyes burning with it.

�I can�t stop thinking about what I�m going to do to

you.�

I�d never heard a voice like his before: so heavy and

deep, every word loaded with intent. He said something

and it was going to happen.

He leaned very close, his lips right on my ear, his hot

breath making me tremble. His voice was strained with

lust. �I�m going to throw you down on your bed and

strip every fucking stitch of clothing off you.� His hands

were hard on my waist, holding me like he never

wanted to let go. �Then I�m going to kiss you. All over.

Starting on your mouth and all the way down to here.�

His free hand cupped my groin and my eyes fluttered

closed. The layers of clothing between us were

irrelevant: I could feel his touch throbbing straight

through, his palm against the softness of my folds. My

breath caught in my chest and a rippling, white-hot

ribbon of pleasure snaked up inside me, making me

arch. His hand pressed a little harder and I gasped...and

found myself pushing back against him, the pleasure

pulsing and changing, turning to hot slickness.

I suddenly remembered where we were. My eyes

opened but all I could see was Angelo: he was so big,

he blocked out everything behind him. Behind me was

the tree. I twisted my head to the side and felt my eyes

go wide as I saw the passing cars. �We can�t do this,� I

mumbled. �Not here.�

He frowned, glanced at the traffic and turned back to

me. �Who gives a fuck about them?�

He grabbed my shoulders and spun me around, so fast

and so hard that I would have lost my footing if he

hadn�t been holding me. Then he pushed me face-first

up against the tree. He moved up tight behind me so

that I was sandwiched between him and the trunk

again. The hard wood pressed right against my groin.

He tugged the collar of my coat down a little so that he

could kiss the back of my neck. I felt his hands at my

waist, loosening the belt that held my coat closed and

then diving inside. I heard his gasp of surprise when he

realized I was still in my leotard: I�d just thrown a pair

of jeans and my coat over the top. His hands slid over

my denim-covered hips and then squeezed my ass. I

groaned and pressed my thighs together, excitement

and fear twisting together and merging into something

stronger.

His mouth at my ear again. �You tell me if you want me

to stop.�

One hand started to rise, skimming up over the smooth

Lycra of my leotard and tracing the shape of my

breasts. I�d closed my eyes when he started kissing my

neck, but they came open when I felt his fingertips on

the warm skin just above my collarbone. His hand

pushed down, under the edge of my leotard and its

built-in bra. My breathing quickened. God...he wasn�t

going to�

He was. I gasped, my eyes going wide as he palmed my

breast, a deep, hot throb of pleasure twisting down

through me. I writhed against him, which rubbed my

groin against the hard trunk of the tree and the pleasure

tightened and grew. I thought about telling him to stop:

God...we�re right out on the street!

But at that moment, his other hand brushed a stray lock

of hair from my cheek and stroked me there, calming

me, and then his thumb slid across my lips and it felt so

good�. I gave myself up to it, my eyes closing.

He started to lightly squeeze my breast and my breath

hissed from between my parted lips in time to his

rhythm. Then he began to rub his thumb across my

nipple and the pleasure spiraled in on itself, thrumming

through my body and pooling in my groin. My nipple

stiffened more and more with every touch until it was

achingly hard, each touch of his thumb making me catch

my breath. I realized I was pushing my ass back against

his groin and I could feel the hardness of his cock

outlined through his pants.

I knew that most of what he was doing to me was

hidden by our clothes and his body, but anyone looking

closely would have a pretty good idea what was going

on. It made my cheeks flare red...but it made the

pleasure strum through me faster, as well, everything

drawing inwards, becoming a heated ball of tension that

demanded release. God, if he keeps this up I�m going to

�

His voice in my ear again. �When I�m done kissing down

every inch of your body, I�m going to spread your legs

apart and hold them there. I want to see you. I want to

just kneel there and look at you and tell you how

beautiful you are while you get wetter and wetter. Then

I�m going to put my head between your thighs and I�m

not going to stop until you�re screaming, begging for me

to fuck you.�

His thumb rubbing against my nipple, each pass sending

pleasure arcing downward to swell my approaching

orgasm. His voice painted the lurid scene in my mind: I

could see those brown and amber eyes staring down at

me, feel his tongue on my folds� God, I can�t come,

not right here in public�

His voice, rough and perfect. �Come for me, Irina.�

His finger and thumb pinched lightly at my nipple and

suddenly I was slipping over the edge, writhing between

him and the tree as my climax exploded. His thumb

slipped between my teeth and I bit down on it as wave

after wave of pleasure broke over me. I could feel the

hardness of his cock against my ass, my orgasm turning

him on even more.

Then I was slumping, my legs trembling and weak, and

he had to grab my waist and pull me into his arms to

stop me falling. I can�t believe I just did that, I thought,

huffing ice-cold air into my lungs. But at the same time,

the dark excitement at having done it made me heady.

Angelo�s lips touched mine and I opened, drawing

strength from his kiss as I clung to his shoulders.

When he finally broke the kiss, he stared into my eyes,

looking almost angry: how dare I turn him on this

much? �How do you do this to me?� he rasped. Then he

kissed me again. �Tonight, I�m going to do everything I

just told you.�

I nodded weakly...then shook my head as a memory hit

me. �I can�t. I have to go out tonight.�

He cursed under his breath. His hands tightened on my

waist again, fiercely possessive. �Tomorrow, then,� he

growled. �I�ll call you.�

I nodded. �I have to go,� I said. And, with a last kiss, I

broke away and set off towards Fenbrook, feeling his

eyes following me. The cold wind was lashing my

cheeks but it didn�t do anything to cool me down. I

knew I was panting and red-faced, my lips tingling and

swollen from all the kissing, my hair slipping from its

bun thanks to the way he�d manhandled me. I had to

get to a restroom and get myself together before I went

to my next class...and, at the same time, I didn�t want

to. I liked being this way, liked being marked by him.

This isn�t like me. But I knew, deep down, that that was

a lie. I�d always known there was this part of me. I�d

hidden my lust away because the few guys I�d been

with made me feel I had to�Russian men think sex is

for them and expect their women to tolerate it, not

enjoy it. But for Angelo, my pleasure seemed to be the

whole aim.

And it was more than just sex. I�d only known him a few

days but I liked him. I dared to let myself dream. Maybe

I can somehow talk Vasiliy around. We wouldn�t meet

like this and feel like this if we were going to be

separated, would we? Fate wasn�t that cruel.

I was right. Fate was much, much crueller.

12

Angelo

�It�s not on straight,� said Rico from behind me.

I pulled on both ends of the bow tie, trying to get it into

shape, and the whole knot fell apart. �Fuck it!� I

snapped. �I hate these fucking things!�

Rico sighed and twirled his finger in the air. I turned

from the mirror and finally allowed him to help me.

�Why do I have to go to this party, again?� I growled.

�You ask that every year, boss,� said Rico. �I got the

same answer for you: we got to kiss up to Heinwell.� He

pulled the bow tie tight, perfectly straight and balanced:

how did he do that?

�I hate kissing up to Heinwell,� I muttered. What I

meant was, I hated kissing up to anyone. Even a big

property developer like Heinwell who we needed on our

side.

�Champagne and lobster and two hours of hanging out

with all those rich chicks. I�m digging real deep but I

ain�t finding much sympathy,� Rico told me.

I knew he was right. Going to Heinwell�s charity

fundraiser had been almost fun, the last few years. It

was full of rich, eager society girls who got all wide-

eyed at the prospect of meeting a real live criminal. I�d

wound up taking one back to my apartment, last year.

But now I couldn�t even remember her name and the

idea of hanging out with them again just left me cold.

The only woman I wanted to see was Irina. Good thing

she was busy tonight. I�d forgotten all about the party

until Rico had cornered me about it. He�d even picked

up my tux for me. I don�t know what I�d do without

him.

�Fine,� I grumbled. �I�ll give Heinwell the fucking check

and then I�m out of there.�

* * *

The party was at Heinwell�s place out in Long Island, a

big white-painted mansion complete with columns, as if

he thought he belonged in the White House. Maybe, if I

take care of Heinwell fast, I can call Irina and meet up

when she gets back from wherever she is. Just the

thought of it made my cock swell in my pants...and I

didn�t want to admit it, but my chest got a little tight,

too, like I was a fucking teenager all over again.

I threw my keys to the kid parking the cars and strode

inside, feeling the eyes of the other guests on me.

There must have been a hundred people there: minor

politicians, some business leaders, a couple of sports

stars who wanted to be seen to be doing their bit for

charity. I saw a few mouths tighten as I passed. One

guy dared to mutter, what�s he doing here?

I stopped and pinned him with a glare. I run half this

fucking city, my glare said. What do you do? I enjoyed

watching the cocky piece of shit turn pale and look at

his feet. It wasn�t just about making them afraid.

Sometimes, people need reminding that it�s guys like me

who keep the wheels turning.

I saw Heinwell across the room and headed towards

him. I wanted to intercept him and hand him my check,

then maybe I could make an excuse and leave before

the actual dinner. But I was aware of someone else

pushing through the crowd to my left, trying to get

there first. Oh no you don�t. I sped up, deliberately not

looking at my competition. They sped up, too. We

reached Heinwell at the exact same moment and I

slapped him on the shoulder. �Jerry!� I gave him a big,

bullshit grin. �It�s been too long. Got a big fat check for

you.�

Jerry Heinwell tried to smile, but it wouldn�t come

together. His eyes kept flicking to the side, towards

where my competitor for his attention was standing.

�Angelo. Yeah. Haven�t heard from you since last year.�

He swallowed, his Adam�s apple bobbing nervously. �A

lot�s changed, since then.�

�Perhaps you should stay in better touch with your

partners,� said a voice from my left, deep and rich and

heavily accented. A voice I recognized. I finally turned

towards it, my hand slipping from Heinwell�s shoulder.

�Hello, Mr. Baroni,� said Vasiliy Malakov coldly.

My brain froze up for a second. Vasiliy had been on my

mind a lot, especially since I found out I was seeing his

niece. But I couldn�t wrap my head around him being

here. This was my turf. Heinwell was my contact.

I watched in horror as Vasiliy put a friendly arm around

Heinwell�s shoulders while keeping his gaze on me. �A

wise man once said, �the only constant is change,�� he

told me. �I find this is true.�

My eyes flicked between the two of them. �Jerry?� I

asked. �What the fuck?�

Heinwell swallowed, but then lifted his chin. �Times

change, Angelo. Sorry.�

Times change?! I glared at Vasiliy. It wasn�t enough that

he was trying to take territory from me, now he was

trying to steal my contacts? Heinwell was worth tens of

millions: whoever he was cozied up to got all the prime

construction contracts, plus tip-offs about future projects

the city was planning so they could snap up the right

real estate and make a fortune. I�d had Heinwell in my

pocket for years and my dad had him before that. No

way was Vasiliy taking him�no way!

I took a step towards Vasiliy...and someone stepped

between us. Big, but not some hotheaded young thug:

an older guy with a scar across his cheek and a sober

manner. The sort of guy who could fit right in at a posh

party like this but probably knew thirty different ways to

kill you.

�This is Yuri,� said Vasiliy with a hint of pride. �My

protection.�

�I don�t want any trouble tonight,� said Heinwell quickly.

�The fucking press is here.�

Vasiliy tutted under his breath. �There will be no

trouble,� he said as if offended. �Mr. Baroni was just

leaving.�

Yuri clasped his hands behind his back and just stared at

me. He didn�t display any of the rage and bluster of the

bratva I was used to dealing with. He seemed as calm

and patient as one of those English butlers. His steady

gaze seemed to say: I�d hate to have to cause a scene

by snapping your neck.

But I wasn�t backing down. I looked around Yuri at

Vasiliy. �You piece of shit,� I muttered. I could feel my

hands bunching into fists, the rage surging and boiling

inside me. �You think you can do this, you Russian

bastard? There�s a line and you just stepped over it.�

Vasiliy casually waved Yuri out of the way so that he

could step right up to me. �Mr. Baroni. Since we are

face-to-face, let me deliver a message.� He turned and

called over his shoulder. �Mikhail!� Then he turned back

to me. �A message from both me and my business

partner.�

There was movement in the crowd behind Vasiliy. A big,

pink-faced Russian was approaching, his collar too tight

around his flobbery neck. And he was pulling someone

along next to him, someone smaller who I couldn�t see

yet through the crowd. I just got a glimpse of�

Platinum-blonde hair.

My entire body went cold, all my rage flash-frozen as

everything just...stopped. Oh no. Oh, Jesus, no. Not like

this!

For a split-second, I actually considered running. I�d

never run from anything in my life but even looking like

a coward in front of Vasiliy would be better than the

look on her face when she�

Too late.

Mikhail pushed through the crowd and stopped beside

Vasiliy, towing Irina into place beside him. The sight of

his soft, pink hand around her wrist made me want to

kill him.

Irina�s jaw dropped as she saw me. I saw her blink in

puzzlement and an iron band cinched tight around my

chest: I knew what was coming.

�Who�s this?� asked Irina. I could hear the strain in her

voice. She wanted to be wrong.

�This is Angelo Baroni,� Vasiliy told her. �Our rival.�

13

Irina

One second and my brain just failed to process. It can�t

be. Of course it isn�t.

Two seconds and I realized it was true.

Three seconds and I knew I�d been staring too long.

Vasiliy or Mikhail would notice, they�d guess and then

Angelo would be dead. But I couldn�t stop staring into

those brown and amber eyes, my face threatening to

crumple at any second. My tears would seal his fate.

Already, Yuri was frowning at me. He�d guarded our

family for years, knew me maybe even better than

Vasiliy. If he guessed�.

A life as a Malakov saved me. I�d had years to perfect

hiding my emotions. I shook my head and looked away.

�I want no part of your...business.�

Next to me, Vasiliy bristled. He hates it when I distance

myself from the family, especially in public, but he didn�t

comment. On my other side, Mikhail wasn�t so polite.

His hand tightened on my wrist, clammy and

unpleasant. �Behave,� he hissed, as if to a child.

It was exactly the wrong thing to say to me. �I�m going

to get a drink,� I told him coldly. I was desperate to get

out of there before I lost it. The anger and hurt were

blossoming inside me, silent explosions that made me

tremble. Already, I couldn�t look Angelo in the eye.

Mikhail leaned down to me. �You are supposed to be my

date tonight!� he hissed, outraged. �Act like it!� He

jerked my wrist, pulling me closer.

I pulled away. His fingers dug hard enough into my

wrist that I knew he�d leave bruises, but I gritted my

teeth and yanked. My wrist tore free of his grasp and

then I was stalking away across the room, my anger

hiding what was really going on inside my head. I heard

Mikhail take a single step to follow me but then he

stopped: I imagined Vasiliy putting an arm across his

chest to block him. Let her go.

I found a door that led to the garden. Despite the cold,

a few people were out there smoking. I pushed past

them and into the darkness, shoes crunching on the

snow-covered grass, trying to lose myself amongst the

bushes and trees. The air was freezing, that sharp sort

of cold that slashes right to your bones. But at least it

cooled my eyes. Don�t cry, don�t cry.

A banker. I�d thought he was a banker. Loans.

Insurance. The same sort of euphemisms Vasiliy

sometimes used. How could I not have seen it? Now I

knew why something about him had seemed familiar.

He was a gangster. He�s just like them!

And yet he�d seemed so utterly different. Even now, the

thought of him made my chest tighten. I hated him...but

I still liked him. That made the anger bubbling up inside

me burn like acid. Chyort, I cursed. You stupid, weak

fool!

This was all my fault. I�d known, back in Central Park,

that seeing an American was impossible. But I�d tried to

ignore who I was...and so fate had reminded me.

A hand on my shoulder, spinning me around. I cried

out, expecting Mikhail...but it was Angelo who suddenly

loomed over me.

The anger suddenly exploded. My arm was swinging

before I was even aware of it. My hand cracked across

his face with a noise like a gunshot. Then I instinctively

tensed, ready for his fist.

�Okay.� His voice was a low rumble. �I deserved that.�

I stood there panting, staring up into his eyes, my body

slowly relaxing as I realized he wasn�t going to hit me.

I�d been around Russian men for so long, I�d just

assumed he�d swing at me. But as I looked into those

dark, amber-flecked eyes, I didn�t see even a hint of

that casual, brutal violence that came so easily to

Mikhail. All I saw was pain. Pain that he�d hurt me.

�Why didn�t you tell me?� I blurted.

He just stared at me for a long time, rubbing his hand

across the cheek I�d hit. �Because I couldn�t stand losing

you,� he said at last.

He�d lied to me before and I told myself I shouldn�t trust

him again. But listening to him, there wasn�t even a

shred of doubt in my mind: he was telling the truth. I

remembered the look on his face outside Fenbrook: he

hadn�t wanted to lie. He�d had to.

I shook my head. �This can�t happen! You�re our

enemy!�

He was between me and the house. I pushed past him,

my arms hugging myself against the cold. But his big

hand took hold of my bare upper arm as I passed. It

wasn�t anything like Mikhail�s cruel grip. It was firm but

gentle�I could have pulled out of it if I�d wanted to. But

the warmth throbbing into me felt incredible. I stopped

walking and we stood there facing away from each

other. I had to fight the urge to turn back to him. If I

did that, I might do something stupid.

�I�m not your enemy,� he said softly.

My stomach knotted. �You know it doesn�t work like

that. I�m a Malakov.�

The hand on my arm pulled, a gentle pressure towing

me backward until I stood in front of him again. I

wanted to resist but my feet seemed to move by

themselves. Then I was looking up at him, his big,

muscled form blocking out the star-filled sky. When he

spoke, each word was a deep growl edged in fire,

burning down into my soul. �I don�t fucking care.�

I swallowed. I knew it was true. This man wasn�t afraid

of anyone: not even Vasiliy. He would move mountains

to possess me. He�d start a goddamn war.

But he�s a gangster. �I don�t want this life,� I told him,

my voice bitter. �I walked away from all this.� And I

took a step back, intending to get some space between

us and then walk around him, back to the mansion.

He followed me. Two quick strides and he�d pressed me

back against a tree, his body tight against mine.

Suddenly, I realized how cold I was...how much I

needed the warm hardness of his chest against my

breasts. But I can�t! This is crazy! Remember who he is!

I put my palms on his chest to push him back.

He captured my wrists and pulled them up above my

head, pinning them to the tree. He leaned in, his eyes

searching mine. �You say you don�t want this,� he said.

�Fine. You tell me straight, Irina. Tell me right now that

you never want to see me again and I�m gone. No one

ever has to know what happened.�

He was giving me an out. All I had to do was say the

words. I drew on everything Vasiliy had taught me,

dragging up layer after layer of impenetrable Malakov

ice to shield me. Just say the words.

But whenever I looked at him, the heat was like a

blowtorch. It seared through the ice like it wasn�t there.

I had to look away. I can say it if I look away�

He released my wrists with one hand and captured my

chin. He turned my head so that I had to look at him.

�But you know what I think, Irina?�

I stared at him, my heart thundering.

�I think you need this as much as I do.�

I didn�t answer. And that was all the answer he needed.

He leaned down, one big hand still holding my wrists

tight against the rough trunk of the tree. He moved

more gently than I would have thought possible, given

his size. His lips brushed mine�

Don�t! Don�t let him� I felt both of us teetering on the

brink of a bottomless ravine. We both knew it was

wrong. We both knew how much danger this would

bring and it wasn�t that we didn�t care. It was that we

were utterly helpless to resist.

My lips parted...and I was lost. Our tongues touched

and my own groan of need was matched by his. The

kiss took hold of me, my whole body moving in time

with the soft rhythm of his lips. Above my head, my

hands tightened into fists at how good it felt. The

pleasure rippled down my body, blossoming and

spreading, pushing back the cold. The kiss was slow and

romantic, but edged with molten heat.

I broke away, breathless. �I need to get back,� I told

him, my voice throaty.

He squeezed my wrists for a second, reluctant to

release me...then let me go. My skin glowed warm

where he�d held me and the cold air didn�t seem to

make it fade. �I�ll call you,� he told me.

I swallowed...and nodded.

As I went to step past him again, he caught my arm.

�Mikhail,� he growled. �Are you...with him?�

I shook my head. �Vasiliy wants me to marry him,� I

said. �I came with him to the party, to keep Vasiliy

happy. But I don�t feel anything for him.�

Angelo gave me a slow nod. �He ever grabs you like

that again, I�ll kill him.�

I nodded. And then I was away, walking quickly through

the night, praying the freezing air would cool my face. I

tried to slow my breathing, to make my face its usual

cold, indifferent mask. I needed to control my emotions

more than ever.

I was a Malakov. But I was kissing the enemy.

14

Angelo

The sand squished between my toes, the surf tugging at

my ankles as it rolled in and out. Irina hadn�t seen me

yet. She was looking out to sea, watching the sun sink

below the horizon.

I took two running steps towards her and scooped her

up into my arms. She yelped and then giggled, the

sound like music. I carried her out into the waves, the

water breaking over her smooth tan thighs and making

them gleam. Beneath her turquoise swimsuit, her

breasts were perfect, lush swells... I could feel my cock

hardening in my trunks. I didn�t give a shit who was

watching from the beach, as soon as we got out into

deeper water, that swimsuit was coming off.

My phone rang.

I waded for another step or so, frowning and looking

around for the source of the noise, and then the sunset

dissolved into dawn and I was lying in my bed, the

sheets tangled around me. There was a sudden cold

emptiness where Irina�s warm, wet body had been a

second before.

Fuck!

I never dreamed. Nightmares, now and again, about my

folks. But not idyllic, Technicolor visions like that. Jesus,

I could still smell the salt water and feel the wet strands

of her hair against my neck.

I groped and found my phone. �What?� I snarled.

�Sorry, boss,� said Rico meekly. �Got a call. The Saints

want you to come in.�

I cursed under my breath and closed my eyes. My day

had started badly and it was about to get worse.

* * *

The Saints. Six old school Cosa Nostra guys who run

New York, Boston, and a good amount of the

surrounding area. The streets answer to me but I

answer to them.

We�d never gotten on well. They�d never respected me,

only grudgingly accepting me when I�d taken over from

my dad. It didn�t help that I was one of the youngest

bosses around and none of The Saints were under sixty.

Sometimes, going to see them was okay. When things

were going well, they�d break out the good Scotch and

cigars and gently praise me. But I knew this wasn�t

going to be one of those times: they�d summoned me

too abruptly.

The meetings were always in the big, dark mansion

owned by �Saint� Nicholas Vici. Old Nicky wasn�t so

much the leader as the spokesperson�the six guys

seemed to always agree on everything, like they were a

fucking hive mind. When I walked into the room, they

were all sitting around one side of the big oak table, like

always, with a single chair facing them for me. Like I

was a kid facing off against the Principal and five

teachers.

�This thing with the Russian,� Nicky said before I�d even

sat down. �It�s a problem.�

Shit! I froze, my ass hovering above my chair. Then I

told myself not to be stupid. If they knew about Irina, I

would have been hauled in here at gunpoint. �I can

handle Vasiliy,� I told them. �And Mikhail.�

�Doesn�t seem like it. We hear he�s stolen Heinwell away

from you, now? And his people smashed up a

restaurant? That�s public, Angelo. That sorta shit brings

the press and the cops. Everyone starts thinking you

can�t defend your turf.�

My hands tightened into fists. �I�ve been holding that

turf for years. The Russians aren�t a problem.�

�Really?� Nicky reached behind him and plucked

something off the floor. �Then how the fuck do you

explain this?�

He hurled it at me and I only caught it a second before

it hit me in the face. When I lowered it, I saw Nicky

smirking at me. The bastard had never liked me. He�d

never liked my dad, for that matter. The only reason he

hadn�t replaced me was that I did too good of a job.

I turned the thing over in my hands. A handbag with

shining metal buckles and the designer logo picked out

in those little crystals women go nuts for.

�You do know about this?� asked Nicky. �I mean, you�re

on top of it?�

I had no fucking idea what the handbag was supposed

to mean. Rico was standing by the door and, when I

glanced over at him, he gave me a pained look. Shit!

There was something he hadn�t told me.

Vincenzo, a guy in his eighties with a face as brown and

wrinkled as a walnut, took pity on me. �Vasiliy and

Mikhail are flooding New York with these things,� he

told me. �Better quality than what our guys on the

street are selling. Almost as good as the real thing. And

not just handbags. Jeans. Jackets. Fancy shoes.�

Nicky glared at him�he�d obviously been enjoying

having me at a disadvantage. But I could see now why

they were pissed. Counterfeit goods brought in millions

in New York alone. �I�ll take care of it,� I told them.

Nicky leaned forward. �No fucking mercy, Angelo. Crush

these sons of bitches. Every last one of them.�

�Send �em back to Siberia in boxes,� grunted Taavetti.

He was one of the oldest and needed an oxygen

cylinder, these days. �Only good Russian�s a dead

Russian.�

�Except for the women,� said Nicky. �So many good-

lookin� blondes. And they all come over here eager to

open their legs and earn some US dollars. They breed

�em to be whores.� He laughed: a long, filthy laugh, his

head thrown back. Then he looked at me and scowled.

�What the fuck�s the matter with you?�

I was sitting there stony-faced, staring at him like a dog

that�s about to go for his master�s throat.

�You ain�t gone soft on the Russians have you, Angelo?�

Nicky asked, his smile disappearing. �Your old man was

never soft on them.�

I was already mad. Now the rage boiled over. I jumped

to my feet, slammed my palms down on the edge of the

table and glared at them. �I�ll deal with the fucking

Russians, okay? The fake goods and the territory! They

want a war, I�ll give them a war!� The Saints went quiet

and I strode from the room, Rico falling in behind me.

As I left, I heard Vincenzo mutter, �A war? Come on, no

one wants a war.� And then Nicky told him not to be a

pussy.

�You knew about that, the handbag thing?� I asked as I

got into the car. Rico�s guilty expression told me he had.

�Why the fuck didn�t you warn me? You got my back or

not?� I slammed my door.

Rico shook his head. �Sorry. It came up yesterday

morning, while you were out on your...errand.�

Shit. I missed it because I was outside Fenbrook

Academy with Irina�s breast in my hand. What�s the

matter with me? This isn�t a job you can do half-assed.

This is a job you give your life to. I sighed. �Don�t worry

about it,� I muttered.

Rico put his foot down and Nicky�s mansion quickly fell

away behind us. But the problems remained: I stared at

the handbag on my lap, turning it over and over in my

hands.

�I could get some guys together,� said Rico. �Go to

some markets where they�re selling that stuff and smash

them up.�

I shook my head. �That�d be like stamping on roaches.

We gotta hit them at source.� I examined the seams.

The thing really was well made, far better than the crap

our guys sold. �Vasiliy and Mikhail have to be getting

this stuff into the country somehow. Probably through

the docks. We�re going to find out when the next

shipment�s coming in.� I pulled out my phone and dialed

Peterson, the little prick I�d threatened to push through

a window.

�And then what?� asked Rico.

�And then we�re going to steal it.�

* * *

We were in luck: there was a container coming in at

nine that night. Peterson, his voice high and tight with

fear, was only too happy to give us all the details. At

eight-thirty, Rico and I pulled into the docks in a rental

car, followed by another car carrying five of my best

men. It was a moonless night and it was snowing again,

the big flakes only visible when they passed through the

beams of the security lights. We parked in the thick,

black shadows between two shipping containers. The

Russians wouldn�t even know we were there.

Rico took the men to prepare the ambush. That left me

sitting alone in the car with the heater on and the snow

falling all around me. It was completely silent, a warm

little cocoon.

I hadn�t stopped thinking about her all day. Now, I

couldn�t think of anything else. Fuck it. I had thirty

minutes to kill.

I called Irina.

15

Irina

I was lying on my bed, staring at a book but not seeing

the words. What am I doing? Why had I given in to

Angelo and kept this thing going when it was impossible

and horrifically dangerous? If Vasiliy found out�.

But I already knew the truth. I hadn�t given in to him.

I�d given in to it, this magnetic draw that was pulling us

together, that wouldn�t be blocked by family or loyalty,

that had no time for sense or reason. I remembered

how confused Angelo looked, sometimes, before he

kissed me, how he�d asked how do you do this to me?

He was as powerless as I was.

My phone rang. I had it to my ear before the end of the

first ring. �Hello?�

I heard his intake of breath, as if just the way I said

hello was an immense turn-on for him. �Irina,� he

breathed, savoring my name. �What are you doing?�

�Reading. What are you doing?�

�Business.� Wherever he was, it was very quiet. I could

hear every breath he took: it was as if he was lying on

the bed next to me. �Are you alone?�

�I�m in my room. Rachel�s around.�

�Is your door open?�

�A little.�

�Close it.�

Two innocent words, but they made a thrill of

excitement go through me and I wasn�t sure why. I

pushed my door closed and the muted sound of

Rachel�s dance music disappeared completely. The

silence wasn�t like any I�d experienced before. It was

thick and heavy, full of promise.

�Go to your bed and lie down,� said Angelo.

My breathing quickened as I started to guess what he

had in mind. I lay down on top of the comforter.

�What are you wearing?� he asked.

I looked down at myself and considered lying and

saying lingerie and heels. But Angelo�s voice was too

real, too intimate, stroking at my mind. It would feel

wrong to lie. �Jeans,� I said. �Blue ones. And a thick

brown sweater.� I said it apologetically: I knew they

weren�t sexy. I�d been in slobbing-around-the-house

mode. Plus, it was cold in my room�I needed that

sweater.

But Angelo didn�t sound disappointed at all. �Anything

under the sweater?�

�My bra.� My voice caught on the word bra. I had to lift

the shoulder of the sweater to check the color. �Red.�

�So the sweater�s against your skin,� said Angelo. �Is it

soft against your stomach?�

I realized he wanted the detail so that he could imagine

it. �Yes,� I told him. �Very soft. Angora.�

�Slide your hand under the bottom of your sweater,� he

said. �Run it over your stomach.�

My breathing tightened. This was definitely turning into

one of those phone calls. I�d never done something like

that before, but the idea sent a hot wave down my

body, making me press my thighs together. It�s nothing,

I told myself nonchalantly. Just my hand on my

stomach. I slid my hand up under the hem of my

sweater and swept it across my skin.

Except...it didn�t feel like my hand, anymore. It felt like

his. It felt like Angelo�s big, warm hand gliding across

the soft skin of my stomach, fingertips reaching towards

my bra.

�Arch your back up off the bed,� he said in my ear. My

eyes closed. Each word was a throaty rumble that

vibrated through my entire body: I thought of a slowly-

throbbing engine, finished in shining Italian chrome. I

arched.

�Unhook your bra,� he ordered, enunciating every

syllable.

I reached under me and it was his strong fingers that

found the clasp and unhooked it.

�Run your hand higher,� he said. �Over your stomach.

Over your left breast. But don�t touch the nipple yet.�

I felt almost hypnotized. It was as if his voice was

flowing into my ear and right into the very center of my

brain, bypassing all my defenses. It fed into the molten

core that I�d kept hidden behind layers of ice for so

many years, making it glow hotter and hotter. I slid my

hand over my stomach and gasped as my fingers

brushed the lower slope of my breast. I went up and

around, skirting the nipple as he�d instructed.

�When I next see you,� Angelo said, �I�m going to take

that nipple in my mouth. I�m going to lick and lick in

circles along its sides, feeling it getting harder and

harder against my tongue. I�m going to suck it and then

I�m going to just barely let you feel the edges of my

teeth.�

I didn�t answer. My fingers stroked around and around

my breast.

�Is your nipple getting hard, Irina?� he asked.

�Yes,� I whispered.

�How hard?�

I could feel it straining, aching. �Very hard.�

His voice tightened with lust. �Unfasten your jeans.�

I didn�t open my eyes but I turned my head on the

pillow towards where I knew the bedroom door was. I

don�t have a lock on my door and Rachel has a habit of

just barging in. Of course I can�t�.

I felt fingers popping open the button fly of my jeans.

My fingers, but they barely seemed to be under my

control.

�What sort of panties?� he asked.

�Gray ones.� My voice was a hoarse whisper. �Briefs.�

�Fingers under them. Now.�

My fingers slid under the waistband.

�I can�t wait to see you there,� Angelo told me. �I�ve

been imagining what you look like. What color the hair

is. What your lips look like. How they�ll part when I first

slip a finger into you.�

My breath caught.

�Rub yourself for me, Irina.� His voice had grown even

deeper, more gravelly, in his lust. It seemed to throb

through me. �Two fingers, up and down.�

I still had my eyes tight closed. The air was hissing

between my teeth as I breathed. His fingers�my fingers

�stroked down through soft hair and then traced the

line where my lips met. It felt so good...I started to

move my body to the rhythm, my ass grinding into the

bed. I sped up�

�Don�t speed up,� Angelo told me. �Slow.�

How did he know? I forced myself to slow down: long,

deliberate strokes that just touched my clit at the top. I

could feel my lips swelling, growing engorged and

moist, and I let out a groan.

I heard his smile. �You�re getting wet for me.� Not a

question.

�Yes,� I whispered. Behind my closed eyelids, I saw

him, stretched out on top of me on the bed, his knee

between my thighs, his hand down the front of my

jeans. I�d never done anything like this before. Russian

men�at least, the ones I�d known�were simple

creatures. Sex, to them, meant getting a woman naked

as fast as possible, pawing at her breasts and then

ramming it in. They�d never do this. They�d never wrap

me up in words and ideas until it felt as if my whole

body was being caressed.

�I want you to push two fingers into you, now,� he said.

He spoke slowly and I could hear the tension in his

voice. I imagined him sitting bolt upright in his seat,

eyes closed, phone clamped to his ear. Wherever he

was, he wasn�t there, any more than I was here. We

were together in the hot, dark place we�d formed from

words.

I did it, gasping as my knuckles spread my slickened

lips.

�They�re not as thick as my cock,� said Angelo. �Or as

long. But I want you to fuck yourself, now, as if it�s me

fucking you. That means hard, Irina. That�s how I�ll take

you.�

My fingers started to move, slow and then faster.

�Pull your knees up. Spread them wide. My hips are

between your thighs, holding you open.�

I rammed my jeans and panties down my hips, panting.

My fingers moved faster, thumb circling my clit. I

couldn�t believe how wet I was.

�I�m fucking you, Irina. Right now, I�m fucking you. My

ass is pumping between your legs. My cock is right up

inside you.

My hand moved frantically. It didn�t feel like fingers; it

felt like his cock. I could see him on top of me, those

brown and amber eyes burning down into mine, his

broad chest looming over me. My naked ass ground and

writhed against the comforter. My mouth was open and

panting, my lips aching for his kiss. God! The pleasure

was rolling through me in quick, hot waves, but the

waves didn�t dissipate: each one slapped up against the

tight core of heat that was building at my center and

added to it. It was growing hotter, tighter, making me

gasp and buck.

�Faster now, Irina. Harder. I�m pounding you. My cock�s

stretching you and it�s going fast and deep. I�m going to

keep fucking you until you come your brains out.�

�Oh!� I gasped. �Oh, Jesus��

�Tell me, Irina.�

�You�re f�fucking me,� I gasped, stumbling over the

filthy words. The pleasure was tightening, tightening,

turning white-hot. �H�Hard. I�m going to�� I bit my lip.

�Say it. Say it, Irina.�

His cock pumped at me, the base of it grinding against

my clit. �Ya sobirayus' do orgazma!� I screamed. Then,

as I tipped over the edge, I screamed it again in

English. �I�m going to come!�

And suddenly the pleasure exploded, every muscle

going taut. I arched my back, breasts mashing against

the hardness of his chest, my ass lifting off the bed as

he buried himself in me. My hands dug deep into the

comforter and twisted, knuckles white. I pressed my lips

tight together to keep from screaming again and my

climax came out as a series of long, throaty groans

broken by quick little huffs of air. Then I collapsed on

the bed under him, my whole body soaked with

sweat�.

...and realized it was just me, lying there with my jeans

and panties around my ankles and my knees spread

wide. I was panting and flushed and very, very wet.

My eyes opened. I realized the distant music from

Rachel�s room had stopped. Chyort! Had she heard me

screaming? I quickly pulled my jeans up. Then I looked

at my phone where, I realized, Angelo definitely had

heard every groan.

It was a weird feeling, to have climaxed in front of

someone before you�ve had sex with them. He�d shared

something I�d never shared with anyone before. It

should have been embarrassing. A little part of me was

embarrassed, but�.

But most of me was just deeply, deeply turned on. How

could he make me feel so relaxed about sex, when the

guys I�d known before had made me feel like a freak

just for enjoying it? I think it was because of the relish

he took in my pleasure, as if nothing made him happier

than seeing�or listening to�me come.

�Tonight,� Angelo told me, �when I�m finished here,

we�re going to do that for real.�

My mind spun. It had only been a day since I�d slapped

him at the party. He�d lied to me: was I ready to trust

him again, to take that step with him? But just the

thought of it made my ass start to grind against the bed

again. God, what�s he turned me into? �Where?� I

asked, shocked at how breathless I sounded.

�I�ll pick you up at your place,� he said. �And then we�ll

go somewhere, somewhere no one knows us.� His voice

grew low. �And I�ll find something to bend you over and

��

A hard rap of knuckles on glass, seemingly from inches

away. I actually looked around, startled, before I

realized it was at Angelo�s end. I heard him curse. �I

gotta go,� he said. �I�ll call you when I�m on my way.�

And then he was gone.

A knock at my bedroom door. I jumped up off the bed

and straightened the comforter. �Come in.�

Rachel pushed the door open. �What was that?� she

asked cautiously.

I pushed my hair off my sweat-damp forehead. �What

was what?�

�All that screaming.� Her eyes narrowed.

I did my best poker face. I was a Malakov, dammit.

Ice-cold. My expression would reveal nothing�

Rachel�s eyes widened. �It�s that guy from Central Park!�

Chyort! However hard I summoned the ice, it wouldn�t

come. Angelo had reduced me to a hot pile of mush. I

sighed and nodded.

Rachel threw her arms around me. �Tell me everything.

Only pausing to thank me for getting you together.�

I hugged her. �Okay, but it�ll have to be fast.� A ripple

of excitement shot down my body. �I�m going out.�

16

Angelo

I watched from the shadows as the huge container was

lowered towards the waiting truck. It was bitterly cold�

even the Russians were wrapped up in thick coats and

gloves, yelling to each other to hurry. They were more

concerned with keeping warm than keeping guard.

Good.

I glanced across at Rico, who was ready to give the

order to move in. He gave me a friendly nod, but I

could feel the tension between us. I�d chewed him out

when he�d rapped on the car window, but the truth was

it was me who was in the wrong. I�d been so busy

imagining Irina pumping her slender fingers into her

pussy, I hadn�t noticed the Russians arriving. What was

with me? It was like the woman had cast some Russian

witchcraft on me.

The container settled onto the truck and the Russians

started to secure it. Rico opened his mouth, but I held

up my hand: I wanted to wait as long as possible, get

them to do all the work for us�.

Now. I dropped my hand and Rico yelled the order. The

Russians looked up in dismay as flashlights went on all

around them. As they squinted against the blinding light,

they heard five guns being cocked. �Give it up!� I yelled.

�No one has to get hurt!�

The Russians looked at each other...and slowly raised

their hands, cursing. Good. No need to make this thing

bloody if we didn�t have to.

Less than five minutes later, we�d collected the Russians�

guns and tossed their cell phones in the water so they

couldn�t raise the alarm too soon. Two of my guys got

into the truck and we climbed back into our cars and

prepared to drive off in convoy.

�Mikhail and Vasiliy will fucking kill you for this,� snarled

one of the Russians through the car window.

I lowered the window and smiled sweetly at him. �Tell

Vasiliy,� I said victoriously, �A wise man once said��fuck

you.��

Our little convoy moved off and I raised the window,

cutting off the Russian�s stream of cursing. And just like

that, we stole a million dollars worth of counterfeit

goods.

�That is one pissed-off Russian,� said Rico, watching in

the mirror from the driver�s seat. �Hey, we should

celebrate. Let�s hit a bar. Let�s hit five bars.�

I grinned. He was right: we did need to celebrate. And

normally I�d have liked nothing more than to sprawl

around a table in one of New York�s fanciest bars. But�.

But I wanted to celebrate with her. �Nah. I got plans,� I

told him.

I saw the hurt in his eyes straightaway and felt lousy.

But he rallied quickly. �Well, sure,� he said. �That same

chick again? Hell, I can understand that. You should get

your dick wet.�

I nodded and grinned, but just a little uneasily. It didn�t

feel like that, like I was just fucking her to celebrate, as

I would have done in the past. It felt like much more

than that.

A half hour later, the truck and its stolen cargo were

safe in one of our warehouses and I�d given Rico a thick

wad of cash to take the guys out on the town. I felt

guilty...but the guilt evaporated as soon as I pulled up

outside Irina�s house and saw her hurrying down the

path towards me. Her coat covered her almost to her

knees, but I caught tantalizing glimpses of the firm,

stocking-covered thigh as she climbed in. She�d barely

closed her door when I put my hand on her cheek and

turned her to me, then drew her into a long kiss. I ran

my other hand down her body, feeling her through the

layers of clothing, eager to unwrap her.

�We could just go inside,� I growled as I broke the kiss.

Less than a minute and we could be on her bed, doing

for real what we�d played out on the phone.

She shook her head. �My roommate�s there.�

�So? Let her listen.�

For the first time, I saw her flush, a delicate rose blush

that made her look delectably innocent. �She already

listened!� she said with feeling. �Somewhere else!�

I grinned. �I know a place. But first�� And I slipped the

long, slim box out of my overcoat pocket and handed it

to her.

I�d bought it that afternoon, when Rico and I were

cooling our heels in the city waiting for Peterson to get

back to us with the information. I�d paid a visit to an

Italian jeweler I knew, a guy who�d been under my

protection for years. I knew he wouldn�t rip me off. And

when I�d seen the necklace, it had been so perfect for

Irina that I hadn�t even checked the price tag.

She opened the box...and gasped as she saw the

slender chain with its shining triangles of polished silver.

Each one was thicker at its center than at the edge,

angular and yet touchably smooth. When I helped her

slip it around her neck and fasten the clasp, the

triangles lay flat against her skin around the base of her

throat, twinkling in the streetlights as she turned her

head to examine herself in the rear view mirror. I

thought they looked like ice crystals�that�s why I�d

picked it.

�I love it,� she breathed.

I leaned close and growled in her ear. �I want to fuck

you when you�re wearing that necklace...and nothing

else.�

She stiffened...and nodded. I put the car into drive. I

knew where I was going to take her: a little street that

would be quiet, this time of night, while still being only a

stone�s throw from the Brooklyn bridge.

The Chrysler had easily enough room in the back for us

to fuck in comfort, but I had something else in mind. I

had a vision of Irina bent over the hood of the car, her

cheek pressed against the warm metal, while I raised

her skirt and drove into her from behind. I knew, from

when I�d pushed her up against the tree outside

Fenbrook, that public sex turned her on as much as it

did me. This time, we could go all the way and it would

be fucking mind-blowing.

I glanced down at her legs. Damn, but she had perfect

legs. She was wearing stockings or nylons�I�d find out

which soon enough�and heels. Knee boots. It just

popped into my head. She�d look fucking amazing in

knee boots. Maybe I�d buy her a pair.

�You seem different,� she said, breaking my train of

thought. �Happy.�

I grinned. �Because I�m with you,� I said truthfully.

She flushed again. �Not just that, though,� she said.

�Something else.�

I blinked. I�d never had anyone before who could read

me that easily. Other than Rico, no one ever got to

know me well enough to sense my moods. It was

unsettling...and nice. Is this what a relationship�s like?

I shrugged, but couldn�t stop myself smirking. �We

pulled off a big score tonight.�

Her voice was carefully neutral. �Oh?�

I ran it back through my mind: how shocked the

Russians had been, how royally pissed they were when

they realized we were taking the container. �Yeah. Big

haul.�

She crossed her arms. That should have been a

warning, but I was too dumb, too proud.

�It�s Mikhail,� I blurted. �He�s been bringing all this

counterfeit shi�stuff into the city and selling it. So

tonight, we stole a whole container load of it.� I grinned

and then glanced at her to see her reaction.

She was sitting there open-mouthed. �You kozyol!� she

said at last.

I took my eyes off the road for a second to gape at her.

I didn�t know what that meant, but it didn�t sound good.

�I thought you hated Mikhail.�

�I do!�

�So what do you care if I steal from him?�

�Because that�s Mikhail�s pet project! He�s always talking

about it. Have you any idea how pissed he�ll be?�

I shrugged, maybe a little defensively. �He and Vasiliy

started this when they moved into my territory.�

She groaned, closing her eyes and slumping back in her

seat. �They started it?! Have you listened to yourself?

You sound like a child!�

Now I started to get angry, casting quick little glances at

her as I drove. �Irina, you don�t understand how this

game is played.�

Her eyes opened and she glared at me. �It�s not a

game!� she snapped. �That�s what you don�t get.�

�It is a game. It�s been played in this city for a hundred

years. They push; I push back. It�s the same with the

Irish and the street gangs��

�But not with us Russians! You don�t understand what

Mikhail and Vasiliy are like! This isn�t going to just go

back and forth, it�s going to escalate! It�s already

escalating: a container full of handbags and shoes�

what�s that worth, a million dollars? They�ll hit back,

hard, and then you�ll hit back and�.�

I had to concentrate on the road, but I kept looking

across at her. I was halfway between worried and

angry, now: she was really getting worked up.

�It�ll be a war,� she told me. �A full-on, bloody war.

People will die.�

I shrugged. �I don�t want that,� I said. �No one wants

that. But what choice do I have?�

�Back down! Give some ground!�

I was so shocked I had to pull over so that I could look

at her properly. �What? No! Fuck that!� I forgot to

watch my language in front of her. �Vasiliy can fucking

back down!�

�He won�t! He�s just like you!�

I shook my head. �I�m nothing like Vasiliy!�

She shook her head in dismay. �Why can�t you just give

a little? Sit down and talk peace?�

I thought of my mom and dad. Shards of glass, swirling

in red water�.

�No,� I said, and I could hear the bitterness in my voice.

She must have heard it too, because her face softened

for a second. She leaned a little closer, her eyes begging

me to tell her why, but I shook my head. Not that. I

didn�t share that with anyone, not even her.

She shook her head softly, that silken hair tossing

across her shoulders. �This is what I ran away from,�

she told me slowly. �This is what I can�t stand.�

I missed the warning signs. My brain was still trying to

catch up. Just a few minutes ago, we�d been about to

fuck. �I�m not giving up my territory,� I snapped.

Too late, I saw the tears in her eyes. �Then you can

give up me.� And suddenly she was opening her door

and climbing out.

�Irina!� She didn�t stop. �Irina�shit!� I was just about to

climb out after her when something slapped against my

chest and slid down to land in my lap. The necklace. I

sat there staring at it like an idiot for a few seconds.

When I came to my senses and jumped out of the car,

she was already across the street and getting into a cab.

�Irina!� I ran over to the cab, dodging traffic, and got

there just in time to watch it pull away, Irina�s tearful

face looking back at me through the rear window.

17

Irina

I made the right decision.

I kept repeating it. I went over and over it in my head

and I knew that, logically, I�d done the only thing I

could. Since the party, I�d glossed over what Angelo

was: a gangster. In the car with him, I�d been forced to

confront it head on. Of course I couldn�t be with him. He

was everything I�d run away from and he was my

family�s mortal enemy.

So why did breaking up with him feel so wrong? Why

did I suddenly feel so cold: not cold and numb, but

painfully cold. Maybe being alone had always hurt.

Maybe I only noticed it now because I�d escaped it for a

while.

I wanted to just lie in bed, huddled under the comforter.

But it was Saturday and Saturday was the day Vasiliy

always dropped round for breakfast. He�d stop off at a

Russian bakery and bring a box of vatrushka�soft,

glossy brown buns filled with cottage cheese and raisins

�and brew tea the Russian way, with tea leaves and

strawberry jam. We�d play chess, the way we�d used to

back in Moscow. It was the one time I saw him without

Mikhail and the one time we managed to connect like

we used to, a reminder that he was the closest thing I

had to a father.

But this morning, it was different. He was pissed and I

knew why: Angelo. He tried not to let it show, but his

whole body was rigid when he hugged me.

And I had to act like I had no idea what the problem

was. I talked brightly about Fenbrook and helped him

brew the tea and it was only when we sat down at the

chess board that he suddenly thumped the table with

his fist, sending the pieces jumping across the board.

I let my eyes go big and asked what the matter was. He

told me about the docks and how that bastard Angelo

had stolen their merchandise. �Mikhail should have had

more security,� Vasiliy grumbled. �This was his project.

He�s getting sloppy.�

I started to put the chess pieces back into their proper

positions. �What will you do now?� I asked, careful to

keep my voice neutral.

�I�ll kill the bastard,� Vasiliy said viciously. �No one does

this to me!�

I forced my fingers to pick up a knight and gently put it

on its square. You see? said the logical part of my brain.

This is why you had to split up. This is why it could

never have worked. But it was overwhelmed by the

sudden, sick fear that rose up inside me.

I couldn�t stand the thought of something happening to

him. It didn�t matter that he was the enemy: we�d

already formed too much of a connection. �Isn�t there

another way?� I asked. �Can�t you make peace?�

Vasiliy almost spat. �Peace? The Italians don�t want

peace. They�re too old-fashioned, too hot-blooded. They

want a war!�

Had he always been like this? I was sure that I

remembered him being less brutal, less ruthless when it

came to expanding his empire. He�d grown colder and

more bitter around the time I started to distance myself

from the family, and I couldn�t understand why. �Maybe

they could change?� I asked in a small voice.

He sighed and shook his head. �Men like us can�t

change, Irina.�

I closed my eyes. If that was true, there was no hope at

all. �I just don�t want to see people hurt.�

His voice softened. �I�ll be careful, kotyonok.� That was

his pet name for me when I was a child�kitten. �And I�ll

keep Mikhail and Yuri and the rest of us safe, too.� He

smiled as he said it, to reassure me. �Baroni will be the

one who pays.�

I had to swallow hard�I thought I was going to throw

up. �Can�t you give a little ground? Work something

out?�

He sighed, exasperated, and waved a hand at the

apartment. �You�ve been wrapped up in your ballet for

too long. This is how it works, how it�s always worked.

We crush our enemies with strength. We can�t show

weakness. You used to know that.�

I felt as if I was being torn in two. I might try to push

them away, to deny I was a Malakov, but they were

family...and yet here I was trying to protect our enemy.

�Sorry,� I said at last, my voice tight.

He put a hand on my cheek. When I looked into his

eyes, they were full of sadness. �I�m sorry,� he said. �I

know this isn�t the life you would have chosen. But there

is no choice, here. You�re a Malakov, whether you want

to be or not, whether you choose to play a role or not.

That�s why you need someone like Mikhail to protect

you.�

My stomach twisted. This was my future: to watch this

fight escalate into war, see Angelo killed and then marry

Mikhail and be drawn right back into the gangster life

again.

I jumped up out of my chair and ran.

�Irina?� Vasiliy asked, sounding startled.

�I�m fine. Finish putting the pieces back, I�ll be there in a

minute.� I raced upstairs to my bedroom, blinking back

tears. I closed the door and then stood there in the

middle of the room, taking deep, shuddering breaths.

Don�t cry, don�t cry�. I had no way of explaining red

eyes to Vasiliy. I had to build up the layers of ice Angelo

had broken down. I had to be cold and strong and�

Something small and hard hit the glass doors that lead

onto my balcony. I walked over and threw them open,

then looked down.

�Hi,� said Angelo.

18

Irina

I couldn�t speak. Couldn�t think. As soon as I looked into

his eyes, all hopes of forgetting him, of moving on, of

being a good, loyal Malakov girl, were gone.

�I�m coming up,� said Angelo.

That spurred me to action. �What? No!� But he�d already

jumped and caught the iron bars that form the front of

the balcony. His muscles bunched under his suit jacket

and he hauled himself up. �Vasiliy is here!� I hissed.

He swung himself up over the rail and landed in front of

me, lithe and powerful as a panther. God, he�s

gorgeous. �Then you�d better keep quiet,� he told me,

�and listen to what I have to say.�

Wide-eyed, I grabbed the lapels of his coat and hauled

him inside before someone saw him, then closed the

doors to the balcony. And then we were standing

together in my bedroom. Alone. The hard, muscled bulk

of him, the presence of him...he seemed to fill the

room. The last time we�d been there, we�d very nearly

had sex. Then the night before, we�d both fantasized

about him fucking me, right there on the bed. I could

feel myself being drawn to him, the animal heat of him

melting through the layers of ice�.

No! I broke up with him for a reason. This can�t work!

But it felt so good just to see him alive.

He took a step towards me. I took a step back, trying to

stay out of range of the attraction. �You have to go!� I

told him in a harsh whisper. �Vasiliy is downstairs. He

wants to kill you for what you did!�

�I�m not scared of Vasiliy.�

I knew it was true. He didn�t seem to be scared of

anyone. �Why did you come here?�

�You know why!� His voice was a low growl that I had

to pray didn�t carry through the door. �I need you. I

want you.�

My whole body seemed to sing and throb, a tuning fork

responding to that bass voice. �You barely know me!�

�That�s bullshit and you know it.� He advanced another

step, closing the distance between us. �I never met

anyone like you before.� He put his hand under my chin,

lifting it so that I was looking up into those brown and

amber eyes. He looked almost angry�angry at me for

doing this to him. �You�ve worked some fucking spell on

me, Irina. I can�t let you go.�

I looked up at him helplessly. I felt the same thing he

did, but we couldn�t. I opened my mouth to try to

explain, but I couldn�t find the words�

And then suddenly his lips were coming down on mine,

his hand lifting my chin so that he could plunder my

mouth. I let out a startled mmf! And then I was panting

up into his mouth as his hands stroked through my hair.

The heat of him poured down into me, driving away the

cold. It was like being brought back to life�I hadn�t

realized how much I needed his touch. My hands came

up of their own accord, finding his neck and the hard

muscles of his back. I gave myself up to it for long

seconds, his tongue dancing with mine, ribbons of

pleasure lashing down through my body to make my

back arch and my toes dance�

I tore myself away and staggered backward. �No!� I told

him in a harsh whisper. �We can�t do this! You�re not

just a rival, you�re our enemy! You�re heading into a war

against my uncle!�

He put his hands on my shoulders and just that simple

touch felt so good I wanted to hurl myself against him

again. �You don�t have to get involved in it.�

�I am involved! It�s my family!� I stared desperately up

into his eyes, trying to find a way to get through to him.

I could feel the tension throbbing through his body, his

hands like iron on my shoulders. That intent, utterly

focused, like no one else I�d ever met. Having me was

the most important thing in the world to him, I realized,

and that made my head spin.

And maybe it was just enough to save him.

�I told you last night,� I whispered. �We can�t do this

unless you make peace. Stop the war before it starts.� I

swallowed. �Give my uncle what he wants. Give him

your territory. No one has to die!�

He shook his head. The pain on his face was as if I�d

just shoved a knife deep into his guts. �Jesus, Irina...no.

That�s the one thing I can�t give you.� He stepped back

from me and a floorboard creaked.

�Irina?� Vasiliy�s voice from downstairs. I winced and

glanced fearfully at the door. Chyort! �Why?� I

whispered. �It�s just...streets and businesses. Territory

on a map. I don�t understand!�

Angelo lowered his eyes and let out a long sigh. I

recognized the look on his face because I�d felt that way

many times myself. He was wishing he was someone

else, a normal person with a normal life. But then he

straightened and looked me in the eye again, his resolve

back. �Let me help you understand,� he said. He

reached up and ran his fingers through my hair, tucking

a strand behind my ear. �Come to Little Italy and let me

show you.�

�Irina?� Vasiliy again. And this time there was a creak:

he was coming up the stairs!

�I�ll just be a minute!� I yelled. But I knew that wouldn�t

hold him for long�he already sounded suspicious. �You

have to go!� I whispered to Angelo.

To my horror, he shook his head. �Not until you say

yes.�

I gaped at him...and then heard another creak from the

stairs. Vasiliy was nearly there. �I can�t!� What could he

possibly show me there that would change things?

�Irina?� God, Vasiliy was right outside my door! And

when I glanced back at Angelo, his jaw was set�he was

ready to fight. I think part of him almost wanted Vasiliy

to find him.

�Okay!� I whispered. �Okay, I�ll come. Tomorrow. Now

please, go!� And I pushed on his chest to get him

moving, even though that was like pushing on a brick

wall. Then I ran to my door�

...just as Vasiliy opened it. I caught the door when it

was a foot open and gave him my best smile. �Hi!

Sorry. I�m ready now.�

�What�s going on?� he asked. �I heard voices.�

�Voices? I was on the phone. Rachel called��

But he wasn�t fooled. He stepped forward, pushing open

the door and barging me out of the way. I staggered

backward and looked in horror at�

Angelo was gone. The doors to the balcony were open,

the drapes blowing in the breeze.

I forced my mouth to move. �I needed some air,� I said.

Vasiliy strode over to the balcony and stepped onto it,

looking around the small, snow-covered yard. I hurried

over and stood behind him, looking over his shoulder.

There was no one in sight...but Angelo couldn�t have

moved that fast. Where the hell was he?

Then I glanced down. The walls of my balcony are iron

bars but the floor is a solid sheet of black-painted metal.

Angelo, I realized, was standing right beneath Vasiliy�s

feet.

Vasiliy turned to face me, still suspicious. His eyes

searched my face for any hint of a lie. But it was one

Malakov against another�he�d taught me how to hide

my emotions too well.

After a long moment, his face softened. �I�m sorry,� he

said. �An old man�s paranoia.� He reached out and

lovingly stroked my cheek. �I just worry about you,

Irina.

The guilt. I hated lying to him...but if he found out

about Angelo, he�d kill him. I smiled and led him out of

my bedroom, pushing him through the door first and

then following behind.

Just as I left the room, I glanced back and looked out of

the window. Angelo had come out from under the

balcony and stepped back enough that I could see him.

Our eyes locked and I felt that deep, irresistible tug.

Tomorrow, he mouthed, watching my reaction.

I nodded. What else could I do? I�d go to Little Italy. I�d

see whatever it was he wanted to show me. And then

I�d have to break up with him all over again because

there was nothing he could show me that was going to

change my mind.

But I was wrong. The next day changed everything.

19

Irina

I�d texted Angelo to tell him where and when I�d arrive.

I stepped out of the cab and straight into his arms.

�Someone will recognize me,� I said, my voice muffled

by his chest.

His big hand smoothed down my back, calming me. �I

barely recognize you,� he murmured in my ear.

I�d tied my hair back in a bun so that there were no

loose strands. With the hood of my hooded top raised,

you couldn�t even see I was blonde. Dark glasses

covered my eyes�luckily, it was a bright day and with

the sun glinting off the snow, plenty of people had

opted for sunglasses so it didn�t look completely

ridiculous. As long as I didn�t open my mouth, no one

would have any idea I was Russian.

Even so, being there on Arthur Avenue�the real Little

Italy, Angelo claimed�felt wrong. The street didn�t look

scary: it was busy despite the cold and the people

looked happy, nodding to each other as they hurried

between cafes and delis. But to me, this was enemy

territory.

The cab pulled away but Angelo kept holding me. His

big hands roamed down my back and over my ass. The

embrace changed. He drew me harder against him,

arms iron-hard against my back, and I felt the outline of

his cock through his pants. Then he was kissing me, his

tongue slipping into my mouth, and I melted against

him, forgetting my fears. When he reluctantly released

me, he took hold of my hand and squeezed it tight.

�Come on,� he said. �Let�s walk.�

My stomach knotted tight. What was it he wanted to

show me? Whatever it was wouldn�t solve the problem:

we were still on opposite sides. But I fell into step

beside him.

First, we passed a cafe. The owner did a double-take as

we passed, then ran to the door. �Mr. Baroni!� he called.

�Wait!�

We stopped and waited�Angelo relaxed, me nervous. A

few seconds later, the cafe owner returned and pressed

espresso cups into our hands. �Please,� he said.

Angelo knocked his back and I hesitantly did the same.

It was rich and perfect with a kick that hit me a beat

later, warming me from the inside out, the perfect

counter to the icy air. Angelo patted the cafe owner on

the shoulder as he took the empty cups and the guy

almost bowed.

Seconds later, we passed through an indoor market.

Everyone wanted Angelo to try their fruit, or to give him

a free scarf to guard against the cold, or to just say

hello and tell him how they were doing.

It went on: store after store, street after street. Angelo

strode along with his coat billowing out behind him,

head high, regal and yet approachable...and everyone

approached him. Some had questions. Some had

concerns. Most just wanted to shake his hand.

These weren�t his friends, I slowly realized. These were

his subjects. And they worshipped their king. It was

awe-inspiring...and weirdly familiar, but I couldn�t think

where I�d seen something similar.

Then Angelo put his hand on my arm, stopping me. His

gaze was focused on the street corner up ahead. I

couldn�t figure out what he was staring at...then I saw

him, a thin guy leaning against a building, hands shoved

deep in his pockets. He was furtively scanning the

street...looking for customers, I realized.

Then he glanced in our direction, saw Angelo...and went

white. Angelo lifted his chin a millimeter, as if to say,

I�ve seen you.

The guy broke and ran. And that�s when I finally

understood. Angelo must have seen the look on my face

because he turned to me and leaned down so that he

could murmur in my ear. �Now do you get it?�

I�d been wrong. It wasn�t just about streets and

businesses, places on a map. It was about people. His

people. He helped them, lent them money, protected

them from street crime. They needed their king. And he

wasn�t prepared to abandon them and hand them over

to Vasiliy. Not even for me.

I stared up into Angelo�s eyes and nodded. I got it.

And that�s when I remembered where I�d seen this

before. When I was a child, Vasiliy had sometimes taken

me, along with his son, Luka, with him when he made

his rounds of Moscow. He�d had people running up to

shake his hand. He�d kept the community alive.

Angelo was Vasiliy a decade ago, before he became cold

and bitter. I stumbled on along the street, trying to

process it all.

A white-haired guy hurried out of a bar as we passed.

�Angelo!� he said, grabbing his hand in both of his. �You

gotta help me. The Russians are leaning on the liquor

merchants. They won�t sell to us. I�m running dry.�

Angelo glanced at me for a second, then nodded. �I�ll

look into it,� he promised.

The guy clapped him on the shoulder. �God bless you,

Angelo.� He disappeared back into his bar, but I just

stood there staring at the place where he�d stood.

Seeing it for myself made all the difference. Angelo had

protected these people for years. Vasiliy and Mikhail had

suddenly muscled in. Sure, Angelo had pushed back

hard, but it was we Russians who were the aggressors.

The war, when it happened, would be our fault. The

blood would be on our hands.

I�d known Angelo and I were on opposite sides; I�d

never considered, until now, that I might be on the

wrong one.

And now that I realized it, I felt sick at the implications.

Vasiliy and Mikhail wouldn�t back down and neither

would Angelo. That meant it was up to me.

If I wanted to be with Angelo, I had to stop the war.

20

Angelo

She got it. She knew now why I couldn�t back down and

let her uncle and his thug of a partner take over. The

really scary thing was that there�d been a split second,

standing in her bedroom, when I�d almost considered it.

I�d do almost anything for this woman. The power she

had over me was frightening.

�How do we stop this thing?� she asked, her voice

quavering.

I hugged her to me, pressing her small body against my

big one and wrapping my arms around her to keep her

warm. �I don�t know,� I said. �I don�t think Vasiliy and

Mikhail will stand for anything other than victory. They

want this turf.�

�I�ll talk to Vasiliy,� she said firmly. �I�ll try and make

him see sense.�

God, she was brave. I took off her sunglasses so I could

see her face. �You need to be careful. Really fucking

careful. If he suspects we�re together....� I slid my hand

across her cheek. She was cold, as always. I put my

other hand on her other cheek, desperate to warm her.

I wasn�t ready for the upswell of emotion in my chest. �I

don�t want anything to happen to you.�

She put her hands on my hands. �I�ve gotten good at

lying,� she said, a trace of bitterness in her voice. She

shook her head. �You know, Vasiliy didn�t used to be

like this. He was ambitious but not like this. He used to

be like you.�

Like me? I felt my chest tighten. Crazy. But I nodded.

�You need to help too,� she said. �Do what you can to

calm this thing down.�

I sighed. And right after I�d told The Saints that I�d

come down hard on the Russians. But...I looked deep

into those cornflower-blue eyes and dammit, I couldn�t

deny her, even if the thought of playing nice with the

Russians made me die inside. �Okay,� I said at last. �I�ll

do what I can.�

�And what about...us?� she asked quietly.

I pushed her back just far enough that I could kiss her.

God, those lips tasted sweet. There was something in

her soul that was clean and bright and untarnished�

everything I wasn�t. Kissing her was like diving into a

cool mountain lake and washing away my sins...and

then slipping beneath the surface into the heated,

tempting depths. Within seconds, I�d lost control,

pushing her back against the wall and pinning her there

with my body. My hands grabbed hers, our fingers

intertwining. The kiss turned open-mouthed and panting

and I started to calculate how many blocks we were

from my apartment.

My phone rang. Fuck!

I reluctantly released her and fished out my phone.

Rico. I put my finger to my lips and answered. �Yeah?�

�We got a problem.� He sounded worried. No, not just

worried: upset. And it took a lot to shake Rico.

�Hold on.� I covered the microphone. �I�m sorry,� I said.

�I gotta work. When can I see you?�

She had to think about it, which didn�t bode well. �The

day after tomorrow,� she said at last.

What?! I was sick of these delays. I needed her naked

in my bed, now! I�d never had to wait around like this

for a woman before. But�.

But for Irina, I�d wait. �Okay,� I said between gritted

teeth, and gave her one last kiss. Then I stepped out

into the street and waved for a cab for her. When the

cabbies saw who it was, they couldn�t drive over fast

enough.

I opened the door for her and slammed it when she was

inside. Then I took the necklace from my pocket, leaned

through the window and held it against her neck. Irina

looked down at it, looked up into my eyes...and nodded.

I fastened the clasp and smoothed the necklace against

her skin...God, her skin was so soft! I gave her one last

kiss and reluctantly pulled back through the window.

Then I watched the cab pull away, putting the phone

back to my ear only when it was halfway down the

street.

This whole thing is going to be impossible, I thought.

But she was worth it.

I finally uncovered the microphone and put the phone

back to my ear. �Sorry,� I said to Rico. �Why don�t you

come find me? I�m on the corner of King Street and

Arthur Avenue.�

�I know,� said Rico�s voice from behind me. �So am I.�

I spun around and there he was, close enough to touch,

the phone still held to his ear. He must have been

walking the streets when he called me, and he�d

happened across me while I was saying goodbye to

Irina.

One look at his face and I knew: he�d seen me kiss her.

21

Angelo

Rico�s a big guy and, when he�s riled, he barely knows

his own strength. He hauled me off the street and

slammed me up against the wall of an alley hard

enough to whump the air out of me. �Irina Malakov?�

he demanded. �Irina fucking Malakov?!� His hands were

twisted into the front of my shirt, pulling it tight around

my body as he lifted me. My feet were only barely

brushing the ground. �What the fuck is the matter with

you?�

I tried to pull loose. �Get the fuck off me!�

But he didn�t let go. �Tell me it�s a plan,� he growled.

�Please, Angelo, tell me it�s some fucking clever plan.

You�re banging her to get to Vasiliy, right? She�s gonna

tell you all his secrets!�

�No!� I tried again to break his grip, and failed. Then I

hit him with a good punch to the kidneys that would

have doubled up any other man. But this was Rico, and

he didn�t even seem to notice. �It�s not like that!�

He released me. It was so sudden that my legs buckled

under me as I hit the ground and I staggered, trying to

regain my balance. I glared at him, but his anger had

gone...to be replaced by fear. He�d seen something in

my expression, something that terrified him.

�Is it a sex thing?� he asked. �Is it about fucking over

Vasiliy by fucking his niece, like revenge?�

�No! Jesus! I haven�t even slept with her yet!�

Now Rico looked really scared. He ran a hand through

his hair. �You haven�t even�Oh, shit. You like her.

You�ve fucking fallen for her.�

I opened my mouth to snap at him, to tell him not to be

so fucking stupid, but the words wouldn�t come. I

looked away, unable to meet his eyes.

�Oh, shit. Oh, Angelo, what the fuck am I going to do

with you?�

I straightened my shirt. �You can�t tell anyone.�

�Tell anyone? Who the fuck am I going to tell? The

Saints? They�d crucify you for this. You�d be gone. The

guys? Who�s going to listen to you, if they find out

you�re secretly banging her?� He took a deep breath and

shook his head. �No, I�m not going to tell anyone. But

you gotta end this. Now!�

I thought about lying and saying I would, but I�d already

lied to him for too long. I shook my head.

�Angelo, what�s going to happen when Vasiliy finds out

you�re banging his pride and joy? Jesus Christ, you�re

going to bring the whole Russian mob down on us!

There�ll be war!�

�We�re heading for war anyway,� I muttered.

�Oh, so you thought you�d just help things along?�

�I didn�t mean for it happen!� My voice lashed out like a

whip. I stood there for a second glaring at him, but the

anger faded when I saw the hurt and confusion in his

eyes. I sighed and tried to soften my gaze a little.

�You should have told me,� he said.

�I didn�t know. Not at first.� I took a deep breath.

�But...yeah, I should have.� And then I had to struggle

with it, a word I hardly ever used. �Sorry.�

Rico gave a long sigh and nodded.

�You still got my back, right?�

He gave me a look. �You really gotta ask that?� He took

two quick steps over to me and pulled me into a hug. It

was like being crushed by a grizzly bear, but I felt

better.

�So what did you call me about, anyway?� I asked when

we stepped back.

Rico shook his head grimly. �It�s Cinderella's,� he said.

�It�s bad.�

* * *

Cinderella�s has been around for over a decade. A big

old house out in Westchester with electric gates and

high hedgerows for privacy, a parking lot around the

back and discreet security guards. It could be a spa or

perhaps an exclusive rehab clinic.

What it actually is, is a brothel. The kind where the

women work in rooms plusher than any hotel, the

clients are screened and the cops turn a blind eye�

mostly because the Chief of Police has his own favorite

girl there. The women are happy, they make a lot of

money and there�s very, very rarely any trouble.

Until today.

Normally, Grace, the madam, would greet me with a

smile on her face and my favorite drink in her hand.

This was anything but normal. She was waiting for us

on the porch when we pulled up, her arms hugging

herself against the cold. I�d never seen her look so

shaken. �She�s upstairs,� she told us. �In my room. I

don�t want the other girls or the guests to see her.�

Icy fear sluiced through my veins. I shoved open the

door and led the way to the stairs.

Inside, Cinderella�s is done out like a turn-of-the-century

merchant�s house, with lots of dark wood paneling,

velvet drapes and chandeliers. There�s always soft music

playing and wherever you go you can hear the soft

sound of female laughter. Every woman looks stunning

and they walk around not in lingerie, but in sexy,

tasteful gowns that cost a thousand dollars apiece. It�s

just about the most relaxing place a man can be. But

today I hurried past the grinning guys in suits and the

girls smiling and flirting with them. I needed to know,

now.

I burst into Grace�s room and saw Kirsty. And tried to

control my face.

Grace and Rico trooped in behind me and closed the

door. Rico cursed under his breath.

I said nothing for several seconds. Then I knelt down

beside Kirsty�s chair and gingerly hugged her, not

wanting to cause her any more pain. After a long

moment, I looked over my shoulder at Grace, my arms

still wrapped around Kirsty. �Who did this?� I asked. My

voice was quiet but my whole body shook with anger.

�Is he still here?�

Grace shook her head.

�Why did you let him leave?!� I am going to kill him. I

am going to beat him until he�s a hair�s breadth from

dying and then I�m going to lock the fucker in the trunk

of a car and drive it into the Hudson River and drown

him.

�It didn�t happen here,� said Grace. �Kirsty was on an

outcall. A hotel.�

We don�t let the girls do outcalls for precisely this

reason.

Kirsty shook her head. �I�m sorry,� she said. As if

somehow, this was her fault. �I know we�re not

supposed to.� Her voice was an agonized rasp that

made my hands tighten into fists behind her back. �But

he called me and said he�d give me two thousand for a

few hours. He sounded okay�.�

I gently released her and moved back a little. I had to

look at her face, now. I couldn�t avoid it any longer, not

without upsetting her.

Both her eyes were swollen shut and both cheeks were

bruised and bloody. There were sharp, square marks

that I couldn�t figure out, at first. Then my stomach

lurched�they were the indentations left by the guy�s

rings. There were red finger marks around her throat,

too�the guy must have had big hands because they

wrapped almost completely around. There was a darker

red mark there, too, a serpent, as if one of his rings had

it carved on the inside.

She swallowed with difficulty. �It�s worse lower down,�

she said, nodding to her robe. �He used his belt on me.

And before that, he...did stuff to me. Stuff I don�t do.�

She�d been under my protection and I�d failed her. I was

only barely managing to hold my anger in check. It was

boiling up inside me, filling me with the need to smash,

to punch, to kill. I glanced across at Rico and it was like

looking into a mirror. He gave me the nod, ready to do

whatever I needed him to. But this one I�d take care of

myself.

I had to take a deep breath and smooth down the lapels

of my suit�that calmed me enough to pull out my

phone and take a couple of photos of Kirsty�s face and

neck. When I found the bastard, I�d shove them in his

face just before I killed him, so that he knew why. �Who

was he?� I asked.

Kirsty tried to speak but started to cough instead. Blood

from her split lip dusted my shirt. �Big guy. Rich. Called

himself Simon but I don�t think that was real. He didn�t

say much.� Her voice quavered. �He started on me as

soon as I got in the room.�

I looked at Grace. �Get her the best,� I said. �The very

best: doctors, plastic surgeon if she needs it. I�ll pay. Be

firm with the girls�no more outcalls.�

Grace nodded. �Got it.�

�And get the girls to talk to their friends, the ones who

don�t work here. They have chat rooms and forums and

shit where they talk about clients. Get the word out. Let

them know this guy is dangerous. And let them know I

want him found. Twenty-five thousand dollars to the

first person who gives us a name.�

Grace nodded gratefully. �Thanks, Angelo.�

�I want to be the one to do him,� said Rico quietly. His

face was like thunder. I couldn�t remember ever seeing

him so upset. �When we get a name, I�ll take care of it.�

I put a hand on his shoulder. �When we get a name,� I

told him, �you and me will do the bastard together.�

22

Irina

I pounded up the stairs and burst out onto the roof of

Fenbrook Academy, my ballet slippers sliding

precariously in the snow. The freezing wind whipped

around me, but I welcomed it. The cold was calming,

the icy air letting me breathe properly for the first time

in hours.

I�d run up here the second my lesson ended, unable to

take the mirrored room anymore. Every time I saw my

reflection, I thought: traitor!

It had been two days since I�d seen Angelo. Two days

of going quietly nuts, trying to figure out if I was doing

the right thing. My decision to help him had changed

everything. Now, instead of shying away from Vasiliy

and trying to block out his conversations about crime, I

listened carefully. That made Vasiliy happy, because he

thought I was finally taking an interest in the family

business. And that in turn made me feel even worse

about betraying him.

It wasn�t the worst part, though. The worst part was

Mikhail. If I was to have a hope of stopping the war, I

needed to be close to him�both to learn his secrets so

that I could warn Angelo of danger and to try to

convince him to change course. But that meant I

couldn�t keep pushing him away.

To save the man I was really starting to care about, I

had to get friendly with the man I detested.

I�d started to smile at him, and to force myself not to

pull away quite so quickly when his hands wandered. It

seemed to be working but I wasn�t sure how long I

could keep it up. The thought of having lunch with him

today was what had tipped me over the edge into panic

and sent me running up to the roof. I knew that, as

soon as he saw me smiling at Mikhail, Vasiliy would grin

dotingly at us and comment on how well we were

getting along, while I tried not to throw up. To protect

Angelo, I was drifting dangerously close to the forced

marriage I�d been trying so hard to run from.

So far, I hadn�t learned much of value and all my

attempts to try to talk peace with either of them had

been ignored. The Italians will never talk peace, they

kept saying. We cannot show weakness. And throughout

it all, I had no clue whether I was doing the right thing.

What�s right when everyone�s a criminal? Is it okay to

betray your family for the right reasons or is blood

sacred, as Vasiliy had always taught me? I couldn�t

sleep, could barely eat. There was no one I could talk

to, no one who would understand�

Except�.

I pulled out my phone and stared at a name in my

contacts list. I stood there for almost a minute before I

finally dialed.

�Hello?� said Arianna.

Arianna is an American who used to work for the CIA.

She was sent by them to seduce Luka and learn his

secrets. Instead, she fell for him and turned on her

masters. She and Luka are inseparable, now, and she�s

even become close to Vasiliy. I figured that, if anyone

could understand what I was going through, it was her.

�Irina?� She could tell from my silence that something

was wrong. �Is everything okay?�

�I need to talk to you,� I said slowly. �But this is

something you can�t tell anyone about. Not even Luka.�

Now she went quiet. After all the lies she�d told Luka

when she was CIA, the two of them had had to learn to

trust each other. The last thing she needed was to start

keeping secrets again. I knew I was putting her in an

awful position and I felt shitty about it. But if I didn�t

talk to someone, I was going to lose it completely.

�Okay,� she said at last. �Go.�

I took a deep breath and told her everything. I told her

about meeting Angelo and then finding out who he was.

I told her about how the two sides were spinning

towards war and my efforts to stop it. I told her about

the lies I�d already told and the lies I�d have to tell.

When I�d finished, she let out a long breath. �Jesus,

Irina�.�

I was almost in tears. �Well?� I demanded. �What do I

do? What should I have done? Am I....evil?�

She was silent for a long time. Then she said, �You

haven�t told me everything.�

�I have! That�s everything!� I�d glossed over the details

of the filthy phone call, but otherwise�

�You haven�t told me how you feel about him.�

That stopped me cold. And suddenly, I was struggling to

get the words out. I�d had no problem admitting my sins

but as soon as it came to my feelings...as a Malakov, I�d

spent years keeping those trapped beneath the ice.

Sometimes, I didn�t even admit them to myself.

�He makes me feel�� I started. And suddenly, as I

gingerly opened a path through the ice, it all came

flooding out. �He makes me feel like no one else does,�

I said. �I know he�s not a good man, I know he�s a

gangster but...he tries to do right. He protects people.

He has honor. He touches me and I melt. I look at him

and I feel this pull�. It hurts when I�m not near him.

And when he looks at me, it�s like there�s no other

women in the world.�

�That�s how I felt about Luka,� Arianna whispered. �I

still do.�

�So you think I�m doing the right thing?�

When she didn�t answer straight away, I felt sick. I tried

to imagine what it must have been like for her:

thousands of miles from home, in a strange city,

surrounded by people who�d kill her if they found out

who she really was. She�d had every reason to change

sides. �I guess at least it wasn�t your family you were

betraying,� I said bitterly.

�It kind of was,� Arianna said. �The CIA was my family,

or as close as I had left.� She sighed. �Look...are you

doing the right thing? I honestly have no idea. I know

how Vasiliy feels about loyalty. Luka, too. If they find

out about this, it�ll destroy them.�

I closed my eyes, feeling them growing hot.

�But you�re trying to stop a gang war that�s going to get

people killed...and I think you�re right, Angelo probably

has more in common with Vasiliy than either of them

will admit. If I was in your shoes...I�d probably do the

same. That�s the best I can give you.�

It wasn�t much, but it helped. �Thanks, Arianna.�

�Doesn�t feel like I�ve helped much. What are you going

to do?�

I thought of Mikhail and my flesh crawled as I imagined

cozying up to him. But if it helped to protect Angelo�.

�What I have to,� I said firmly.

�Irina...even if you and he pull this off and there�s some

sort of peace between the Italians and the

Russians...Vasiliy isn�t going to let you run off with their

leader. If you want a future with Angelo, you might

have to abandon the family completely.�

Run away together. For a second, it almost sounded

tempting. But then I thought of never seeing Vasiliy or

Luka or my sister, Lizaveta, again. Plus, even if I was

prepared to do that, Angelo would never, ever agree to

leave. A king doesn�t run away from his kingdom. �One

problem at a time,� I said weakly.

�Agreed,� said Arianna. �Keep me posted. And Irina?�

�Yes?�

�Be careful.�

* * *

The restaurant was a big, airy place with crisp white

tablecloths and a view over Central Park. The prices

were eye-watering which was probably why Mikhail liked

it�it was all about showing off, to him. Yuri met me at

the door and showed me to our table, then returned to

his position against the wall, where he could keep the

entire restaurant under his watchful gaze.

Vasiliy and Mikhail were sitting on adjoining sides of the

square table. Just a week before, I�d have instinctively

sat down opposite Mikhail, so that he couldn�t possibly

touch me. We�d have faced each other like opponents,

with Vasiliy trying to keep the peace between us.

Now, I sat down opposite Vasiliy, which put me right

next to Mikhail. The table was small and my knee

bumped his as I sat. He smirked. And Vasiliy smiled to

see me so friendly.

I looked at the menu. Mikhail�s knee discreetly rubbed

mine beneath the tablecloth. I steeled myself and

ignored it. Meanwhile, Vasiliy and Mikhail continued the

conversation they�d been having.

�You need to take more care,� said Vasiliy. �Show your

face less. It doesn�t need to be you who does these

jobs.� He sighed and looked to me for support. �Mikhail

has been going along with his men to intimidate the

Italians. Persuading suppliers to stop selling to their

businesses. Threatening the bookkeepers into shutting

down.� He shook his head. �He should not be getting his

hands dirty like this. It attracts too much attention from

the police.�

I gave Mikhail my best smile. �Vasiliy�s right,� I said

obediently. �Those things are beneath you.� Inside, I

was thinking: nothing is beneath you. He wasn�t a true

leader, like Luka, Vasiliy or Angelo. He was just a thug

who�d risen to power.

Mikhail preened under my attention. �I just want to

make sure it�s done right.�

I knew the real reason: he enjoyed it. He enjoyed

terrifying people and hurting them, instead of

considering it a last resort. The thought of spending my

life with this man made me die inside, but I had to smile

sweetly and nod as if he was right and I was just a silly

girl who didn�t know any better.

Vasiliy�s phone rang. He checked the screen and then

cursed. �I have to take this,� he said. He looked around

at the other diners, then got up and headed towards the

restrooms. Yuri followed discreetly behind, never letting

his charge out of his sight.

As soon as they were gone, Mikhail pushed his chair

back from the table and patted his lap. �Come,� he told

me. �Sit.�

My eyes widened. Sit on his lap? Here, in the middle of

an upmarket restaurant? Mikhail was almost twice my

age. Not only did the idea repulse me, but people would

think I was an escort.

For Angelo. I smiled at him, got up and sat gingerly

down on his knee, balancing on the very edge.

�I�m glad I�m getting to know you better,� said Mikhail in

my ear. �When you�re with me, I can take you to nice

places like this all the time.� He suddenly fingered my

necklace�the one Angelo had given me. �You like nice

things, don�t you, Irina?�

I went cold inside. Did he somehow know? �Yes,� I said

with a calm I didn�t feel.

His other arm wrapped around my waist. I was

suddenly jerked back against his soft gut, and my legs

fell either side of his thick thighs. I was wearing jeans,

but that didn�t stop it from being an uncomfortably

sexual position. �Don�t worry,� he said, nodding to

Vasiliy�s empty chair. �He won�t be around to interfere

forever. Once we�ve got rid of these fucking Italians,

he�ll go back to Moscow and it�ll be just you and me.�

I felt his cock under my ass as he shifted position. My

stomach lurched, but I forced my voice to be neutral.

�That might take months, though. The Italians have lots

of friends here, lots of allies.�

Mikhail gave a nasty laugh. �We�re stealing them, one

by one. First the suits, like that property developer. Now

the gangs.� He was eager as a child to tell me his plans.

�The Italians have a monthly meet with a biker gang:

cash for guns. When they meet them tonight, they�re

going to find out that the friendship�s over.�

I froze in his lap. Tonight? I had to warn Angelo!

�And we�ll have guys there as well, to finish the job.�

My heart sank. If I didn�t warn Angelo, he or his men

would be killed. If I did warn them, Vasiliy�s men would

be killed. Chyort!

Then, to my horror, I felt his cock hardening under my

ass. I wasn�t sure if it was having me in his lap or the

thought of violence that was turning him on. I

instinctively tried to rise.

His arm tightened around my waist, holding me in place,

and he gave a chuckle, as if he liked it when I fought

him. For all his fat, he was still a strong man and he

could easily overpower me. I had a sudden, sickening

vision of what being married to him would be like.

Crushed beneath his weight as he�

�Having fun?� Vasiliy was standing next to us. The

expression on his face was uncertain: half get your

hands off my niece and half look at the young lovebirds.

Yuri, meanwhile, had come to high alert, his expression

carefully neutral, but his whole body primed and ready

to strike. He�s always been very protective of me.

Mikhail grinned and released his arm. I got up as if

nothing was wrong, but something must have shown in

my expression because Vasiliy gave me a quizzical look.

Say something, a voice inside me screamed. All I had to

do was tell him about the groping and he�d go nuts. Yuri

would snap Mikhail�s arms like twigs. Vasiliy would

forbid Mikhail from ever coming near me again�

marriage would be off the table.

And my best source of information would be gone.

I gave Vasiliy my best smile. �Let�s eat,� I said.

23

Angelo

I�d never been anywhere like it.

I�m not what you�d call the sensitive type. I sure as hell

never thought I�d stand somewhere and say it�s magical

like some dewy-eyed teenage girl. But standing there in

the lobby of Fenbrook Academy with the setting sun

pouring through the window and lighting up drifting

motes of dust, even I felt something.

They say places have a scent. If you go to the White

House, supposedly that smells like power. Fenbrook

Academy smelled like hope. Thousands of kids had

come here, getting off the bus from their little towns in

Nebraska or Minnesota, their entire lives up to that point

packed into a battered suitcase, their entire futures

resting on the guitar slung on their back or their

treasured pair of ballet shoes.

I could see why Irina had traveled all the way to

America to go here. It felt like a place where anything

could happen. It practically made me want to pick up a

guitar.

I shook my head and jogged up the stairs. I�m going

soft. Before I met Irina, I wouldn�t have even thought

about that shit.

I prowled the empty halls looking for her, moving faster

and faster. I was desperate to see her again. She was

the one thing in my life that wasn�t turning to shit.

The Russians were still eating away at my territory,

shaking down bars and restaurants for protection

money. I had Rico paying each place a visit, reassuring

the owners that they were under Baroni protection and

always would be, but people were scared. And the

illegal businesses were suffering too: three different

bookies had been smashed up by Russians with baseball

bats, often with Mikhail himself doing most of the

smashing.

Now they were going after my partners. This morning, it

had been a ring of car thieves we used to steal high-end

rides�they�d suddenly decided they�d be better off

taking Russian money instead of ours. I�d had to swing

by their garage and sweet talk them into coming back.

And I had a feeling worse was to come.

I wanted revenge. I wanted to unleash an army of

enforcers and goddamn hitmen and show the Russians

what happened when they messed with Angelo Baroni.

But once bodies started hitting the floor, the war would

start and there�d be no stopping it. I promised Irina�.

And now, on top of the Russian problem, some psycho

had hurt one of my escorts. I�d had no luck tracking

Kirsty�s attacker down, even with the twenty-five grand

reward. Either he was good at hiding or other girls had

had run-ins with him in the past and they were too

scared to talk. My hands tightened into fists. When I get

my hands on that son-of-a-bitch�.

The anger made me move faster. I wanted Irina and

the sweet relief she would bring. Soon, I was stalking

down the hallway, crashing through each set of double

doors as I came to them, glancing into each practice

room as I passed and grunting in disapproval as I found

them empty. Where the hell was she? I needed to feel

that silken hair against my fingers, needed to pick her

up and press that sweet body against mine�

I rounded the corner and slammed straight into

someone coming the other way. I got a brief glimpse of

a leather jacket and long, dark hair and then she was

rebounding off me. I was so much bigger than her and

traveling with so much more momentum that I pretty

much just came to a stop, while she went flying

backwards and skidded on her ass on the linoleum.

�Asshole!� spat Rachel. She lay there glaring up at me

for a second.

I started forward and offered her my hand, but she

waved it away. She rolled back on her shoulders, long

legs flexing under her jeans, and then sprang up onto

her feet like a bad-tempered ninja. �You�re the one from

the park. The one dating Irina. Angelo, right?�

I wasn�t sure how much Irina had told her. �Right.

Sorry.�

She narrowed her eyes and moved closer. �Irina said

you were a banker. You don�t look like a banker. You

dress like a banker, but you don�t look like one.�

�You meet a lot of bankers?� I leaned in a little, looming

over her. That usually scares people into shutting up.

But it didn�t work with her. Her eyes had gotten big: she

was afraid, but something stronger was winning out.

She reminded me of someone, but I couldn�t think who.

�You don�t sound like a banker, either,� she said.

She had me there. I still talked like a blue-collar kid

from Brooklyn. Couldn�t change it and wouldn�t want to

if I could.

She tilted her head to one side. �You know who you do

remind me of? Those guys that come around to our

house to see Irina. Her uncle and his friend.�

Why did people keep comparing me to them? �I�m not

Russian.�

�Yeah. Thanks. I figured that out. But what are you?�

She crossed her arms. �What do you really do, Angelo?�

I suddenly realized who she reminded me of: Rico. That

same iron-hard loyalty. I�d never seen it in women

before. Either I never met a woman�s friends because it

was a one night stand, or their �friends� were back-

biting bitches competing for my attention. With Irina

and Rachel, it was different. I straightened up and tried

not to loom so much. �I�m not going to hurt her,� I said

in a softer tone.

�You�re goddamn straight, you�re not,� said Rachel. A

lock of dark hair had fallen over her face and she blew it

out of the way. She stared at me for another few

seconds, arms still crossed, and then said, �She really

likes you. Irina doesn�t do happy. She�s too freakin�

Russian. But I can tell when she�s thinking about you

because she smiles. She deserves to smile more.�

I nodded.

Rachel leaned in close. �I heard the two of you on the

phone. Well, her end of it. Anyone who makes a girl

make those noises can�t be all bad.�

Our eyes locked. Damn, she was fiery and sexy as hell.

I only had eyes for Irina, but some guy was going to

need a reinforced bed.

�I don�t care who you are,� Rachel told me. �Break her

heart and I�ll kick your ass.�

Before I could answer, she was off down the hallway.

�She�s in the last room on your right,� she called over

her shoulder.

I didn�t need telling twice. I raced to the end of the

hallway, grabbed the door handle...and stopped.

Irina was alone in the huge, wood-floored dance studio,

balanced on one leg with her arms overhead. She was

facing the windows and the setting sun painted the front

of her body with reds and oranges: her platinum-blonde

hair gleamed like liquid copper, her white leotard turned

to polished brass. Her back was icy perfection, the Lycra

stretched tight over the sensuous arch of her spine and

the firm curves of her ass. My ice maiden, half

consumed by fire.

I was desperate to get in there. I needed to kiss her,

touch her, fuck her...but she was so perfect, standing

balanced there, that interrupting her would have been

like taking a sledgehammer to a priceless statue. If

someone had told me, a week before, that I�d stand

there and watch a woman instead of muscling straight

in there, I�d have called them crazy. But then I�d never

met anyone like Irina.

She slowly came out of the pose, her arms and legs

descending as gracefully as ribbons drifting on the

breeze. She turned and our eyes met.

Enough goddamn watching.

I threw open the door and strode across the room. I

had her face between my palms before she could speak,

my lips spreading her open so that I could plunge deep

and�Jesus! Kissing her felt so good, all my anger and

frustration evaporating in an instant. I didn�t care about

the Russians or territory or anything else. I just wanted

to keep feeling those silk-soft lips against mine. The

very tip of her quick, pink tongue brushed mine and I

felt it all the way down to my toes.

I needed this woman. I wanted to fall into this woman

and never surface. She bathed away my sins, freed me

of my troubles. And all the time, the lust that had been

building in me for days was burning hotter and hotter,

demanding that I melt away all that icy self-control and

make her scream my name.

I laid my hands on the back of her head, just under the

tight bun of hair, and drew them very slowly down her

neck. I broke the kiss because I wanted to hear the

noise she made. At first, it was a slow pant, her mouth

open and her eyes still closed. My hands reached the

backs of her shoulders, strong fingers pressing firmly

into her aching muscles, and it turned into a groan.

My hands carried on down, following the arch of her

spine, and reached the gorgeous, upthrust curve at the

top of her rump and she held her breath, biting her lip

in a way that made my cock surge. I held her like that

for a second...and then my hands were on her ass,

squeezing hard, working the firm flesh with my fingers,

and she moaned. That did it. I had to kiss her again so I

covered her lips with mine, absorbing her cries as I

pulled her groin tight against mine and let her feel how

hard she�d made me.

When we broke the kiss again, both of us were hazy-

eyed, almost drunk with it. I�d never wanted a woman

so goddamn much. And I�d never wanted it like this,

wanted her as well as her body.

This wasn�t just about sex anymore. And that was going

to make the sex even better.

�Where do we go?� I muttered. I had to keep my voice

low because my face was so close to hers and I couldn�t

bear to move back.

She writhed against me. She knew what I meant: not

my place or yours, but here in the building. Neither of

us could wait.

�There�s a store cupboard,� she gasped, her eyes heavy-

lidded. �Where they store all the old musical

instruments. But it�s full of spiders.� Then she blinked

and gave me one of those icy, imperious glares I loved

so much. �Which I�m not scared of.�

I felt myself grin. �Uh-huh.� I loved that she had a fear.

She was normally so tough. �How about here?� I looked

around the room: big and airy and not at all dark or

private. But the building was pretty much empty.

She glanced at the door. �Someone might come in.�

�Someone might come in,� I agreed.

I watched her carefully as she thought about it, loving

the battle between her fears and her lust. She kept

looking from the door to me, her eyes focused on my

chest. And then, suddenly, she said, �Kakogo chyorta.�

�What does that mean?�

�It means the hell with it,� she said. And pressed herself

hard against me, her head tilting up for my kiss.

24

Irina

I heard him growl deep in his throat and then his whole

body was pressed to mine from shoulder to thighs, the

heat of him throbbing into me. His lips were savage but

they teased as much as they demanded�they�d ravish

me hard and then pull back just a little, making me rise

up en pointe to keep contact. Every time he did it, I felt

him smile against my lips: he wanted me to be active,

wanted a partner, not a passive doll. He was so

different to the Russians Vasiliy had tried to pair me

with in the past. Oh, they�d say that they wanted a

woman to enjoy sex, but to them that meant she smiled

before sucking their cock. If you actually showed what

you wanted, they made you feel like a freak.

Not Angelo. Sex with him was like a dance and, as new

partners, we were feeling each other out. His hands slid

down my back, cupping my ass through the Lycra, and I

could feel his chest swell against me as he drew in a

breath, reveling in the feel of me. That sent a deep, hot

twist of pleasure straight down to my groin�no one had

ever touched me with such obvious bliss. I could feel

him noting my responses, using my moans to guide him

in exactly how I liked to be handled.

His hands explored my whole body through my leotard,

the material thin enough that the warmth of his hands

soaked straight through to my skin as he palmed my

breasts and made slow circles over them. I moved in

rhythm with him, feeling my nipples harden, pressing

my breasts wantonly to him and groaning to let him

know when he was going at just the right speed.

He moved his head beside mine, laying a string of tiny

kisses down my ear before he spoke. �I�m taking that

thing off you, now.�

I glanced at the door and tried to figure out how much

time we had before the janitor made his rounds. But

then he kissed down the length of my throat and every

touch of his lips sent a pulse of heat expanding out

across my skin, merging and multiplying like ripples on a

pond, until I was squirming and panting, eyes closed

and hands grabbing at his shoulders for support.

His hands followed behind his lips, smoothing down the

length of my bare neck and throat. There�s no feeling in

the world like being caressed by a really big, strong set

of hands that you trust to never, ever hurt you. His

thumbs traced my collarbones and then, without

hesitation, his fingers hooked under the shoulder straps

of my leotard...and hooked them down and off. I caught

my breath as my shoulders were bared. Even that tiny

bit of nudity felt scandalous in the huge, light room.

But before I could get too nervous, his lips came down

on my bare shoulder, kissing it gently and then working

inward to my throat. I didn�t protest�I forgot how to

protest. He started to peel the leotard lower, rolling it

down over itself. I could hear his breathing quicken as

the upper slopes of my breasts were revealed, the Lycra

stretching tighter and tighter as it neared their peaks.

He must have realized, by now, that I wasn�t wearing a

separate bra.

Something else was happening, too: as he rolled the

fabric down, the shoulder straps were trapping my arms

against my body. Already, my hands had had to slide

from Angelo�s shoulders to his hips. Soon, my arms

would be pinned and I�d be helpless. The idea only

added to the building heat.

I could feel him looking at me. I opened my eyes,

heavy-lidded and slow, and saw him staring with

wonder at my chest�I�d never seen a more intense look

of lust. His powerful hands rolled the fabric lower,

lower...and with a sudden rush, my breasts spilled free,

the skin throbbing in the chill air.

�Jesus,� he breathed. �You�re fucking perfect. I�ve been

trying to guess how you�d look but...you�re even better.�

My chest went tight. �Thank you,� I breathed.

He hooked the leotard an inch lower, so my breasts

were completely free, and leaned in close. I felt his hot

breath on me an instant before his tongue bathed my

nipple�God! I�d been dreaming of that mouth on me,

imagining what that hard upper lip and the soft,

sensuous lower would feel like on my body, but my

fantasies hadn�t come close.

I let out a high little cry of need and that seemed to set

him off. He grabbed me by the upper arms and tugged

me against him, opening his mouth wide so that he

could lick and suck as much of me as possible, not just

the stiffening nipple and areola but the soft skin around

it. He started gently and grew rougher, spurred on by

my moans. He covered his teeth with his lips and gave

me soft little bites that made me shudder and gasp. He

twisted his tongue around the base of each nipple and

spiraled upward to the tip. When his mouth wasn�t

enough, he used one hand to work my shining breast

and moved his lips to the other.

I wanted to grab at him, to undress him, but by now the

shoulder straps of the leotard were down around my

elbows, trapping my arms to my sides. I clutched at his

ass instead, delighting at the hardness of him. Then he

was rolling the leotard lower and lower, eager to reveal

all of me, lips working their way down my stomach and

over the dark hollow of my navel, down towards my

pelvis�

I was wearing thong panties under the leotard. Both of

us looked down as he reached the waistband�would he

leave them on or�

No. He rolled them down my body along with the

leotard. I felt the kiss of cool air against the sensitive

skin of my pubis, then through my curls of soft hair.

Then my leotard and panties fell to the floor and I stood

there naked and panting in the very center of the room.

For a second, he just looked at me, his eyes raking from

my face to my toes in long, slow sweeps. Then his

hands started to smooth over my body and I saw him

look off to the side. When I followed his gaze, I gasped.

We were reflected in the mirrored wall. A dancer, naked

save for her ballet shoes, her body utterly exposed,

even her hair pinned up out of the way to leave her

throat bare. Before her, her lover, his muscled body

obvious even through his suit, his strong chest rising

and falling as his hands swept over her.

I couldn�t take it anymore. I had to see the body I�d

been imagining.

My hands grabbed for the soft silk of his tie, suddenly

frantic. He gazed down at me, brown eyes tiger-bright,

as I loosened the knot and pulled it free. I leaned

forward to push his suit jacket back over his shoulders

and my naked breasts grazed his chest, making both of

us gasp.

The jacket slid down his arms, hitting the polished floor

with a soft kiss of expensive fabric. His arms...I couldn�t

stop looking at his arms. Men try to show off their

muscles in t-shirts and tank tops but Angelo�s sculpted

form was perfectly, effortlessly displayed by soft,

touchable cotton that flowed over every hard line. I

couldn�t stop myself: my hands went to his neck and

then traced their way down. His shoulders were so

wide, like he�d batter a hundred men out of the way to

get to you. His biceps stretched out the thin white

fabric, solid and warm under my fingers. His forearms,

as my fingertips trailed down them, were thickly hard

and ridged with veins�

I looked up into his eyes. We were breathing in sync,

both of us staring at the other as if they blamed them

for being so out of control. Then his hands were on my

ass, pulling me hard to him, and he kissed me long and

deep as my fingers started to work at the buttons of his

shirt. I had my eyes closed as I pushed each tiny, hard

disc through its hole. I had to imagine what I was

revealing as his shirt opened up, visions of dark ink and

tan skin exploding in my mind as his tongue danced

with mine.

I undid the last button and tugged the tails of his shirt

out of his pants. I had to see! I broke the kiss and

stepped back�

And gasped.

I�d stroked my fingers over his stomach enough times

that I knew the hardness there, knew each defined rise

and fall of his six pack. But I wasn�t ready for how the

sun lit up his tan skin like gold, or the raw power that

his abs suggested, the way they made me think of him

lunging and thrusting and pounding�.

I�d slid my palms across his chest, felt those big, smooth

slabs of muscle that made him so solid...but I wasn�t

ready for the size of him, for how his chest filled my

vision, dwarfing me, or how those dark pink nipples

made me want to lick him there and make him groan.

What I really wasn�t ready for, though, was the tattoo.

I�d thought it was more than one, since the shadows

beneath his shirt seemed to cover him so completely. I�d

imagined a confusion of women�s names and symbols.

What I got instead was just one thing, simple and

beautiful and brutal.

A pair of angel wings, joined by a cross, had been

meticulously picked out across his chest, filling both of

those broadly curving pecs. Every feather was a work of

art: the wings seemed to live and move as he breathed,

the cross staying still and unshakeable between them.

Standing there in the sunlight, the rays streaming

through his outstretched shirt, he looked almost

otherworldly, an angel sent from heaven or hell: I

wasn�t sure which. He seemed to glow with a heat and

power that could melt me utterly. I looked up into his

eyes, awestruck�.

And something in my expression tipped him over the

edge. He grabbed me around the waist and towed me

over to the mirror, almost lifting me off my feet. My ass

touched the smooth wood of the barre that ran

horizontally just in front of the mirror. �Open your legs,�

he told me.

I blinked. �What?�

He moved closer. �Open those gorgeous fucking legs,�

he said. �I�m going to do to you what I promised I

would, the first night we met.�

I slowly parted my thighs, my heart pounding in my

chest, and gripped the barre with both hands.

I�d never seen anyone kneel the way Angelo did. Other

men kneel and it�s an act of submission. He knelt the

way a king would kneel, back ramrod straight.

Somehow, he managed to not look any smaller. In fact,

the muscled bulk of him, those wide shoulders and

broad chest all moving slowly, deliberately between my

spread thighs...it made it feel like I was the one

submitting. His eyes didn�t say okay, I�ll do this for you.

They said, are you ready? Because I�m coming to get

you.

With the tip of his tongue, he licked slowly along my

inner thigh and I felt the pleasure surge and sing,

working its way upward towards my groin. He licked

along my other leg and I began to tremble, fingers tight

around the smooth wood of the barre. He looked up at

me and I stared back at him, his naked chest hypnotic

as it rose and fell beneath the open shirt. He moved

directly below my groin, his brown-amber eyes blazing

at me, his shining hair so richly black against my

skin...and he spoke.

His lips were maybe an inch from my lips so each

syllable buzzed and throbbed through them, his low

growl like the biggest bass speaker I�d ever felt. And

even as the sound of what he was saying hit from

below, the sense of it penetrated my brain and spiked

down to my groin in a black lightning bolt, the two

elements colliding to make me pant and writhe.

�You�re like something out of a dream,� he said. �And

guys like me don�t have dreams.� He took a long, slow

breath and I gasped as I felt the soft suction pull at me.

�When I first saw you, up on stage, I thought you were

magical. Queen of the fucking elves. Not meant to be

touched by mortal man. Well, I�m going to touch you.

You better believe I�m going to touch you. I�m going to

stroke and lick every inch of you until you�re begging,

screaming for me to let you come.�

I could feel myself getting wetter and wetter. I was

going to be soaked before his lips ever touched me.

�See, that�s what I love about you, Irina. You�re so cold.

You�re this ice princess, so strong and noble. But

underneath�.�

He raised his mouth until it was only a half-inch from

my folds.

�...underneath, where it matters��

He closed the distance again. A quarter inch away, no

more.

�...underneath all that ice��

I was heaving for breath, now, eyes tight shut. I�d never

felt anything like the overwhelming pleasure from the

vibrations of his voice...it was everything I could do to

stop myself pressing down against his face and locking

my legs around his head.

He moved his head so agonizingly close that his lips

must have only just been missing me�the thickness of

a butterfly�s wing, a soap bubble�.

�....under the ice you�re just burning. You�re molten. You

don�t let anyone see it but you�re aching for someone to

take you and strip you and give you a good. Long.

Fucking.�

I felt the tip of his tongue part my folds. I just had time

to open my eyes wide before his whole tongue speared

up into me, hot and determined, spreading my slickened

walls wide. He didn�t stop until his lips were pressed

hard against me, the strength of him such that he could

actually rise on his knees a little and lift me, forcing me

to go up en pointe for a second. The pleasure was

rippling out in hot, fierce waves, rebounding and

concentrating, building towards a climax.

His hands went to my ass. At first, his fingers were

gentle, rubbing in slow circles as his tongue began to

thrust. But as he started to speed up, his hands grew

firmer, squeezing my cheeks, kneading my flesh with

just the right roughness. I began to suck in air through

my clenched teeth. I let go of the barre and my palms

slapped against the cool surface of the mirror.

Then his mouth moved to my clit, sucking it gently into

his mouth and lashing it with his tongue. The waves of

pleasure rolled in faster and faster, building quicker than

I could keep up with. My head rocked back, my pinned-

up hair brushing the mirror behind me as I arched my

back. I�m going to�going to�

He slid one hand up my body to capture my breast, his

thumb stroking back and forth across my nipple, and I

began to silently shake my head, my hair swishing

across the mirror. When he began to lightly pinch the

raised bud, I moaned out loud, the sound echoing

around the huge room. He took two fingers of his other

hand and buried them in me, sliding them deep, and my

moan rose towards the ceiling as my control slipping

away. I could feel my orgasm swollen and ready inside

me, sucking in all rational thought and destroying it.

But instead of going fast, he moved those hard, thick

fingers slowww. His tongue stopped flicking over my

clit. My eyes flew open in horror.

I looked down into brown and amber eyes that

reminded me of smoldering coals. Oh God. He wants

me to�

Three quick breaths. Three slow pumps of his fingers

before the lust overcame my shyness. �Do it!� I groaned

low in my throat. �Please!�

Those gorgeous lips twisted into a filthy smirk...and he

sped back up, his fingers stroking deep, his tongue

circling faster and faster. He kept his eyes open, looking

up the length of my body to my face, and I stared back

down at him. The orgasm expanded again, growing

bigger and tighter, every muscle in my body tensing in

readiness, the pleasure turning from pink to scarlet to

darkest black. I�d never felt so gloriously out of control.

And then it exploded, the pleasure rushing through me,

my hips grinding and circling, pushing my groin towards

his face. He met every movement, his tongue quick and

expert, his fingers carrying me through wave after

wave, until my legs weakened and started to give.

Instantly his hands were under my ass, supporting me,

and as he stood he lifted me into his arms. My whole

body was gleaming, my breath coming in long, shaky

gasps. It was almost a minute before I was able to

draw back and look at him.

He was looking at me with raw lust and...pride. He

knew, somehow, that he was the first man to ever

make me really let go like that, to be so lost in sex that

I�d beg for release. And even though I could feel my

cheeks flushing a little at what we�d just done, I felt

proud, too.

�Now,� he growled. �Let�s find somewhere to lie you

down because I need to��

Whistling, from the corridor. Chyort! I could hear the

squeaky wheels of the janitor�s cart, too. I ran naked

across the room, legs still shaky and weak, grabbed my

leotard and starting scrambling into it. I was hooking

the second shoulder strap into place and Angelo was

tucking in his shirt when the janitor came through the

door. He said nothing, but gave us a knowing look. I

grabbed my bag and pulled a smirking Angelo from the

room.

In the hallway, he pushed me up against the wall,

planted his hands either side of me and kissed me slow

and deep, his body grinding against mine. The feel of

his cock, hot and hard under his pants, made me groan.

�My car�s outside,� he growled. �We can be at my

apartment in ten.�

I nodded. I wanted it as much as him. But something

was hammering on the outside of my post-orgasmic

bliss, something I wanted to ignore but knew I couldn�t.

�Wait,� I said. �I need to tell you something.�

He moved back a little and frowned, listening.

�I�ve been trying to talk to Vasiliy about peace. Mikhail,

too. Neither of them will listen.�

He nodded, as if unsurprised.

My chest tightened: the thing I hated most was the

inevitability of it all, both sides too set in their ways to

even consider change. �But I�ve been listening, too,� I

blurted. �And�� I bit my lip. Is this right? I couldn�t

figure it out. Whatever I did, I was betraying someone.

Angelo gripped my arms. �What?�

�If I tell you, you�ve got to promise me something.

You�ve got to promise you only use this to protect

yourself, not to attack.�

He gazed into my eyes for a long time and then nodded.

�Okay. I promise.�

I took a deep breath. �Vasiliy and Mikhail have paid off

the bikers your guys are meeting tonight.�

His eyes widened. �They�ve what? No! No way!�

�The bikers will turn on you and try to take you out.

With bratva to back them up.�

He shook his head slowly. I could see the hurt in his

eyes, the sick sense of betrayal. That�s what Vasiliy will

look like, if he ever finds out what I�ve done, I thought,

and the nausea rose inside me.

Angelo slammed his fist into the wall. �Damnit!� he

yelled, his voice echoing down the empty hallway. He

took three quick breaths and then slid his fingers and

thumbs down the lapels of his jacket, straightening

them. When he spoke again, his voice was level, but he

was frowning. �How did you find this out? Was it

Vasiliy?�

I�d hoped he wouldn�t ask that. I couldn�t meet his eyes.

�Was it Mikhail?� His voice was tight with rage.

I tried to be emotionless and cold but I couldn�t, not

with him. I looked at the floor.

He slowly put his palms against the wall either side of

my head and leaned into me, forming a protective cage

around me. I could hear the pain in every single

syllable. He�d figured it out. �Did you...do something? To

get him to talk?�

I put a hand on his chest. �I did it to save you,� I

whispered.

I could feel the possessive rage building like a typhoon,

his muscles growing hard under my fingers. With any

other man, I would have been scared he was going to

hit me. Not with Angelo. All of his anger was directed at

the man who�d dared to touch me. His hand covered

mine. �Don�t ever do that again,� he told me.

I nodded. He leaned forward and kissed my forehead,

then gave me a long, tender kiss on the lips. His

forehead touched mine and we stayed like that for long

seconds, until there could be absolutely no doubt that I

was his.

Then he straightened up and his jaw set in that

expression of absolute determination I knew so well. �I

need to handle this,� he told me. �I have to go.� And

then he was striding down the hallway.

Chyort! What have I done? �Remember what you

promised,� I called after him.

I saw his shoulders rise. He heard me...but he didn�t

look back.

25

Angelo

I got Rico to meet me at Underground and we holed up

in my office while I told him the bad news. His reaction

was similar to mine, except, when he punched the wall,

he took a chunk of plaster out of it. �Those guys have

been buying guns from us for twenty years!� he

snapped. �The whole fucking charter buys from us.�

�Not anymore. Question is, what do we do about it?�

Rico considered. �The Russians don�t know we know?�

I shook my head.

�Then we kill the sons of bitches. We get the bikers

back on our team and we take out the bratva fucks they

sent to kill us. We ambush them like they were going to

ambush us.�

I leaned back in my chair and thought about it. �Or...we

could just call off the meet. We get the bikers buying

from us again, sure. But we don�t ambush the

Russians.�

�Why the hell would we do that? This is the perfect

opportunity!� Rico stalked over to my desk. �What�s with

you? This is exactly what we need to show the Saints

we can handle the Russians.� He put his hands flat on

my desk and leaned over me. �C�mon, boss. Now�s not

the time to go soft.�

�I�m not going soft!� I snarled. I jumped to my feet so

fast my chair hit the wall behind me. �We ambush them,

maybe hurt them, maybe kill them. Then what? Vasiliy

will be after blood! It�ll be all-out war!�

�Maybe we need a war!�

We glowered at each other, our faces only a few feet

apart. But the real fight wasn�t between Rico and me.

The real fight was going on inside, between the old me

and the new me. A week ago, I would have taken the

opportunity like a shot, killed as many Russians as I

could and the hell with the consequences. Meeting Irina

had changed everything but I couldn�t figure out if she

was helping me see clearly or leading me astray. I stood

there for long seconds, every muscle rigid, trying to

decide between betraying Irina and betraying my side.

I promised her�.

But I�d made a promise to my dad, too, as he lay dying

in my arms. I�d promised I�d never let his turf go to the

Russians.

�Fuck it,� I said, straightening up. �Get the guys. We�ll

go see the bikers. Then we�re going to give those

Russian bastards a surprise.�

26

Irina

It was just after eight when I heard a pounding at the

door. I checked the door viewer and�

Oh God. No!

I threw the door wide. Vasiliy and Mikhail rushed inside,

carrying a man between them. I didn�t recognize the

guy, but he had bratva tattoos on his neck and the

heavy build of one of Mikhail�s thugs.

And he was dying. His white shirt was soaked through

with blood from a chest wound, his hands slickly red.

�Clear the table!� snapped Vasiliy. �Leave the door

open. Yuri is on his way with the doctor.�

I ran ahead of them and swept everything off the dining

table. He didn�t have to tell me to bring clean towels. I

was a Malakov: this wasn�t the first time I�d done this.

They laid the guy on the table and I stepped in close.

He was guarding his wound with both hands and

wouldn�t let Vasiliy or Mikhail see. �Shh,� I told him. �Let

me look.�

Teeth gritted, he moved his hands. Fresh blood welled

up�I found the place and pressed hard with my

wadded-up towel. He arched off the table and howled,

cursing, while Vasiliy and Mikhail helped to hold him

down. Thank God Rachel is out! �What happened?� I

asked Vasiliy.

�The Italians ambushed us!� he spat. �We barely got

out.�

Oh Jesus. The guy started to thrash in pain, whacking

his head against the table. I grabbed the first soft thing

I could see and stuffed it under his head as a pillow.

�Was anyone else hurt?�

Vasiliy shook his head and then squeezed the dying

man�s hand. �Just Josef here.�

I relaxed for a split second...and then realized that he

was only talking about our side. �What about the

Italians?� I asked.

Vasiliy looked at me as if I�d gone crazy. �Who gives a

fuck about them?!�

I dropped my gaze and concentrated on Josef. Blood

was soaking through the towel. Please God, don�t let

him die!

�There was a lot of shooting,� said Mikhail with

satisfaction. �I think we got some of them.�

I have to call Angelo! But then Yuri, Vasiliy�s bodyguard,

burst in with the doctor, an overweight guy pushing

sixty with a duffel bag full of gear. �I could use a hand,�

he said as soon as he saw Josef.

�Irina can help you,� said Vasiliy. �She�s done it before.�

I had. I�d helped patch up Luka and a few others�even

Vasiliy himself, once. But I�d never before done it

knowing I was the one responsible for the shooting.

At first, Vasiliy and Mikhail had to hold the guy down.

Once the doctor had given him something to knock him

out, they were able to step back...and their voices soon

rose in anger.

�Somebody talked,� growled Vasiliy. �We had those

bikers too scared to run to the Italians. The Italians

must have gone to them.� He grabbed the front of

Mikhail�s shirt. �That means one of your men warned

them.�

�It was one of mine who got shot!� Mikhail wrestled out

of Vasiliy�s grip. �Could have been one of yours who

warned them.� He pointed at Yuri. �Could have been

him.�

Vasiliy and Yuri just stared at him, stony-faced, until

Mikhail dropped his gaze. Yuri was Vasiliy�s bodyguard

for years before he started guarding Luka. When Vasiliy

came to New York and needed a man he could really

trust, Yuri came with him. They�re almost like brothers

and Yuri is almost part of our family. He�s one of the

few Russian men I actually like and to question his

loyalty was unthinkable.

�We will find out who talked,� muttered Vasiliy. �And

execute them.�

My fingers slipped and I let go of the clamp I was

holding. Blood spurted and ran. �Goddamnit!� snapped

the doctor. �Be careful!�

�Sorry,� I said quickly. I kept my eyes firmly on the

wound. I wouldn�t let myself look away from the horror,

from the sight of his skin growing pale as the life

pumped out of him. Look at it, Irina. Look at what

you�ve done.

The doctor replaced the clamp and I took hold of it

again, this time with a death grip. I didn�t falter even

when Vasiliy moved close behind me and placed his

hand on my back. �I�m sorry I yelled at you,� he

muttered. �It�s not your fault. Thank you for helping.�

I nodded and said of course. And felt like a Moscow

sewer rat.

After two long hours, the doctor said that Josef should

make it. He patched him up enough to risk moving him,

and Yuri and Mikhail carried him to Yuri�s car. I stared at

the bloodstained towels and bits of gauze that littered

the floor, then got a trash bag and started to clear up. I

realized that the thing I�d stuffed under Josef�s head

was Rachel�s favorite sweater. Chyort! I hid it under a

cushion�I�d have to hope I could get the blood out.

I was going out of my mind. I was desperate to call

Angelo but I didn�t dare, not with Vasiliy still in the

house. If he was hurt�or worse, if someone else

answered his phone and told me he was dead�I�d have

no hope of holding it together.

At last, Yuri and Mikhail returned and said they were

ready to go. Vasiliy nodded and hugged me, telling me

again that he appreciated my help. Mikhail, though,

looked suspicious. Nothing I can do about that now. I�ll

just have to be careful.

The second the door closed behind them, I grabbed my

phone and dialed Angelo. I started to panic breathe.

One ring. Two rings. What if he�s dead? Three rings.

He�s lying dead. Four rings. He�s lying dead because I

made the wrong choice. If I hadn�t�

�Irina?�

I closed my eyes and took a long, shuddering breath.

�Are you okay?�

�Yeah.�

I let the breath hiss out. �Meet me at Battery Park,� I

told him. �We need to talk.�

27

Irina

He was waiting for me, staring out over the water at the

Statue of Liberty. It wasn�t snowing, but a bitter wind

was whipping across the inky-black Hudson River.

�Is everyone on your side okay?� I asked as I walked

up.

He turned to me. �Two hurt. Bullets winged them�

they�ll be okay.�

The relief sluiced through me. And then I slapped his

face as hard as I could.

He reeled from the blow, twisting to the side and

fingering his reddened cheek. �Svoloch!� I yelled. I�d

brought him to Battery Park specifically because I knew

I could scream at him and no one would care. �You

svoloch! You promised!�

The guilt was all over his face. �How bad was it? I know

we hit one guy�.�

�Josef! His name is Josef! He almost died!�

�I�m sorry. I just couldn�t�Look, they were going to do

the same thing to us!�

�That�s why I warned you! But why couldn�t you just

walk away? Why did you have to get revenge?� I

whacked him in the chest with my fist. Tears were filling

my eyes. �Why can�t you just�You�You stupid��

�Irina��

I began to pound on his chest with my fists. �Stupid,

svoloch, asshole!� I bawled.

He caught my wrists. �Irina��

�I thought you were dead!� I spat at him. �Don�t you

understand that? I thought you were dead and I

couldn�t even check because you�re the enemy!� I was

screaming by the end of it.

He stared into my tear-filled eyes for a long moment

and then wrapped me into his arms and wouldn�t let go.

After a few minutes, I finally stopped struggling and

nestled against his chest, my tears soaking his shirt.

�I�m sorry,� he said at last. �I just...I had to.�

I�d cried all the anger out of me and all I felt was tired.

The freezing wind was whipping against one wet cheek,

but the other was warmed by the heated slab of his

chest. I didn�t ever want to move away from that

warmth...but I didn�t see how I could stay, either. We�re

just too different. Too different for me ever to convince

him. �Why?� I asked. �That�s what I don�t understand.

Why can�t you back down? Why can�t you make peace?

Why?�

I said it just to vent the hot, jagged pain inside. I didn�t

expect anything as simple and clear as what I heard

next.

�Because Russians killed my parents,� he said, his chin

pressed to the top of my head.

What?!

I pushed back from his chest...and looked up into brown

and amber eyes that were bitter and furious...and

suddenly moist. I wrapped my arms around him and

pulled myself in tight.

And he told me. He told me about being an up-and-

coming captain in his dad�s organization, about his mom

disapproving but understanding�she�d stood by his dad

every step of the way. Something about that resonated

with me: it was important, but I couldn�t figure out why.

He told me about the Russian gangsters eager to

expand their territory, a less powerful group than

Mikhail�s, but determined and vicious. He told me about

being in the SUV with his parents, on the way to a

restaurant, and how he�d jumped out a street early to

stop at an ATM, saying he�d catch them up.

He slowed down. He had to take a breath to calm

himself between each sentence, the rage palpable: it

was in the taut muscles of his back, in the hard bulges

of his biceps. He described getting the cash and jogging

down the street: his parents� SUV had stopped at a red

light and he figured he could jump in there, if he was

fast.

He told me how he saw the car pull up alongside his

parents� car. How he�d known. And then the gunfire, a

deafening roar, and every bit of glass in the SUV

shattering. His dad had tried to drive away but had

slammed into a fire hydrant after just a few seconds,

unleashing a torrent of water. When Angelo reached the

car, the gunmen had gone and his parents were dying,

their car in a red-tinged lake of water and broken glass.

His mom died first. His dad lived just long enough to

make him promise, to swear on his life, that he�d never

let Russians take his turf.

�I hunted them,� Angelo told me. �Rico helped. I wiped

out every last one of their gang and then took over from

my dad.� He gently pushed me back and stared down at

me. �Now do you get it?�

I nodded. �I do,� I said, my voice catching. �And I need

to tell you something. So you�ll understand me.�

And I told him about rounding the corner into our street

in Moscow and seeing first the blue lights of the fire

service and then the cherry red of the flames. About

running down the street and realizing that it wasn�t a

mistake, that it was our townhouse that was burning,

tongues of flames leaping up from every window. About

searching the crowd of onlookers for my parents and

not finding them.

The firefighters had already brought them out, their

blackened bodies covered in sheets.

At the inquiry, the police said that my parents had

passed out on a combination of booze and drugs and

that�s why they hadn�t fled when the fire started. They

showed the press photos of drug paraphernalia and

empty bottles�all mysteriously unscathed by the fire�

that they claimed had been found alongside my parents.

My teetotal mom, who�d sworn off the booze a decade

ago and my dad who was so anti-drug he�d grounded

me for a solid month just because I tried weed at a

party.

But no one cared about the facts. My dad was a well-

known gangster. Who cared if him and his �girlfriend�

(the press couldn�t understand the concept of a married

gangster) killed themselves with drugs?

I hugged my sister Lizaveta tight and thanked God that

she�d been at a sleepover that night. And I swore I�d get

as far away from the gangster life as possible. Then

Vasiliy took us in and that promise became

impossible...even when I ran to America.

�Jesus,� muttered Angelo. His arms locked around my

back, iron hard and unbreakable. His palms pumped

warmth into my freezing body and his broad chest

shielded me against the worst of the wind. Maybe we

were different. But maybe we were different in just the

right way. His parents� death had pushed him one way,

mine had pushed me the other. But our pain had the

same source.

I had to try. �That guy who got shot tonight? His name�s

Josef. He has a three year-old kid. A little girl. We nearly

orphaned her tonight: she would have grown up

wanting revenge. It�ll go on forever, generation after

generation, until someone�s brave enough to say

enough!�

�You want me to just walk away, like you did?� he

asked.

I opened and closed my mouth a few times. Yes, I

wanted to say. After all, that�s what I�d done: distance

myself as much from Vasiliy as possible and refuse to

be involved, even though it meant isolating myself. But

now I thought about it, something about it felt wrong.

I�d never questioned my decision before, but now�. �I

want you to help me figure out how to end this without

people getting killed,� I said instead.

He pulled away from me and paced, shoes crunching in

the snow, then flung his arm out and pointed to the

Statue of Liberty. �This is how it is in New York! Since

the first of our guys came over on boats! It�s been going

on for a hundred years! You think we can stop it? Just

because I�m in��

He stared at me. Drew in a shuddering breath.

�Because I�ve got fucking feelings for you?� he said at

last.

I couldn�t think about the implications of what he�d

nearly said. Not now. Not with everything that was on

the line. I walked over to him and took his big, warm

hands in my cold ones. �We need to do it because if we

don�t, no one will,� I told him.

We stared at each other, eyes locked and neither willing

to give ground. Then I remembered how he�d convinced

me. �You took me to Little Italy,� I said. �Now let me

show you something.� I gave him a wan smile. �Please?

It�ll be like a date.� God, remember when this was just

dating? When neither of us knew who the other one

was? So much had changed...and so little. Despite

everything, the sight of him standing there, black hair

ruffled by the wind, white shirt stretched tight over that

magnificent chest, still reduced me to mush.

His eyes flicked over me and on each pass his gaze

grew hotter until I was almost squirming. I wasn�t even

wearing anything special, just what I�d thrown on before

running out of the house: a black dress and knee boots.

�Okay,� said Angelo. �Show me.�

28

Angelo

We climbed into my car and she guided me through the

streets until we reached one that was little more than an

alley. I frowned because I couldn�t see a sign or a

doorway.

�Underground,� Irina told me, grinning. She pointed at

the stone steps that led down. �Best place to be, when

it�s cold. We have a lot of underground places in

Russia.�

I stepped out into ankle-deep snow�the street was too

small to have been swept yet. I walked around and

opened Irina�s door for her...and the sight of her took

my breath away. She twisted in her seat to climb out,

her knees pressed demurely together. My eyes locked

on the enticing slice of soft tan thigh visible between the

hem of her tight black dress and the tops of her shining

black knee boots. I was still getting over the knee boots.

How had she known?

The wind was like a huge monster trying to squeeze its

way down the narrow alley, shrieking as it was forced

through metal fire escapes and rattling at dumpsters. It

flattened our clothes against our bodies and whistled

down our necks. I grimaced. I still hated winter. Irina,

looking perfectly comfortable, smiled sympathetically.

�Come on,� she said. �Inside.�

I hesitated when I saw the graffiti in Cyrillic beside the

door. But I followed her down the stairs.

We emerged into a huge cellar. She was right: it was

the best place to be. The thick stone walls stopped the

cold dead: we couldn�t even hear the wind. And in the

center of the room there was a huge open fireplace

where thick logs of wood crackled and spat, yellow

flames reaching up to a big metal hood that sucked

away the smoke. Near the walls, there were small

wooden tables lit by candles, mostly occupied by

couples. Closer to the fire, people sprawled on beanbags

and cushions.

All of them were Russian. I could hear the language all

around me, heavy and brutal, those long �s�s that

reminded me of rusty chains dragging someone down

into dark water, the hard �k�s that were like a gun being

cocked as it�s put to your temple. I had to stop myself

reaching for my gun. My whole being was screaming at

me to get out of there, telling me I was surrounded by

the enemy.

There was shouting behind us. The three guys were

talking in Russian but one...two...three! has the same

feel whatever the language. I spun, expecting an

ambush�

And watched as the three of them chugged their beers

and then drunkenly cheered.

Irina pulled me over to the bar and got us a shot of

vodka each, along with a beer. She clinked shot glasses

with me and I knocked back the vodka: smooth and icy,

with a scalding kick. Then she was leading me through

the sea of bean bags and cushions, right into the center

of a group of people. She sat us down on the one

unoccupied beanbag, me sitting on my ass with her

sitting between my legs. I glanced around, skittish and

pissed. Out of my comfort zone didn�t begin to describe

it. These were the people who�d invaded my country,

stolen my territory, killed my parents�.

And for the next four hours, I got to know them.

I met a few guys who worked down at the docks and

another who was in med school. I met a violinist who

went to Fenbrook and a stripper who was sinking all her

earnings into property. I met a couple who were

opening a cafe together and a single mom on a very

rare night out.

I tried to hate them. I tried to remember every bit of

shit that the Saints had said about them. I reminded

myself that they were cold-hearted and disloyal, that

Russians would turn on each other in a heartbeat. That�s

why they bred gangsters who were so power-crazed

and brutal.

But...none of that tallied with what I was hearing and

seeing. The dock workers would have fit right in with

the American guys I knew down there, bitching about

the new safety laws and playing dumb pranks on each

other. The stripper was smart as hell and was going to

have a property empire in a few years if she kept it up,

but she wasn�t callous or mean: she was leasing one of

her places to a homeless shelter at a crazy low rate so

that they could get people in out of the cold. And the

couple who were opening a cafe were just as wide-eyed

and naively-optimistic as any of the hundreds of

American couples who try the same thing.

All of which made the nausea build in my stomach.

They�re just like us.

And all of them were scared. The dock workers had

nearly got into a fight with their Italian co-workers,

because Mikhail�s thugs had shut down their favorite

bookie. The stripper said she didn�t feel safe walking to

her car anymore, because a couple of guys in the crowd

�Italian guys�had called out some vicious shit when

they realized she was Russian. The couple had been

warned away from their first choice of cafe. They�d been

told: that�s too close to Italian territory. Don�t you know

they hate us?

The war was only just starting and already it was

affecting civilians. What next? I could see it unfolding in

my head: some riled-up Italian dock worker smashing a

crowbar into one of the Russian�s heads, then

staggering back in shock as the guy�s body went limp;

the stripper trying to scream as she was pushed up

against a wall by drunken Italians who�d had their

businesses smashed up by Mikhail�s thugs; the couple

clutching at each other in fear as their brand new cafe

was torched in front of them.

I suddenly stood up, shaking my head, and made for

the exit. Irina scrambled after me, but I was almost

outside before she caught me.

�No,� I said before she could speak. �No way.� I turned

my back on the cellar bar, pulling my overcoat tight

around me. Jesus, it was cold. �I can�t have been

wrong. My dad can�t have been wrong.�

�Maybe he wasn�t wrong,� said Irina quietly. She nestled

against my side, her arm around my waist. �Did he hate

Russians, or just the gangsters he was fighting?�

I said nothing, just started walking along the sidewalk,

feeling her there beside me, but not able to meet her

eyes. I�d started to shiver despite my suit and thick coat.

Suddenly, I wasn�t sure of anything, anymore.

I went back to the days growing up in our tiny house.

My dad bitching about the gangsters he was fighting:

the Irish and the Triads and the Russians...but not the

people. Now that I forced myself to face the memories,

I couldn�t think of a single time where he�d looked down

on someone because of where they were from.

The Saints, though...they�d been full of hate. Especially

Nicky and Taavetti, even in those days. I�d gone to visit

them with my dad a few times and I remembered the

shit they talked about anyone who wasn�t "one of us.�

When my parents were killed, I�d been driven by rage.

I�d slain the Russians who�d murdered them, but that

wasn�t enough. I needed to keep satisfying the anger or

it might burn down and go out, and then I wouldn�t be

able to keep going. So it became about all Russian

gangsters. And then, as The Saints whispered more and

more in my ear, it became all Russians.

I stopped in my tracks, the snow scrunching under my

feet. My dad hadn�t hated...but I had.

I turned and looked at Irina. She looked up at me and

the hope I saw in her eyes tore me up inside. �I�ve been

an asshole,� I muttered.

�You were angry. You�ve been manipulated. And you are

all assholes, all of you gangsters. But you, I think, can

change. Find a way to work with Vasiliy. Talk peace with

him.�

The whole street seemed to spin around me. Talk peace

with Vasiliy?! What the fuck would I tell The Saints?

Rico? The rest of my guys? Giving ground was

unthinkable.

But letting this escalate into a full-blown war, with both

the Italian and Russian communities paying the

price...that was unthinkable, too. Shit. What the fuck am

I going to do?

Then the wind blew Irina�s hair towards me, the tips of

those platinum-blonde strands just brushing my face.

They were so soft, it was difficult to tell where the wind

ended and the hair began. My ice queen. The one who�d

started all this. Even if I made peace, being with her

was going to be almost impossible. But without peace,

there was no way we could be together at all.

I let out a long sigh and rubbed a hand over my face.

�I�ll try,� I said. �I�ll set up a meet.�

Irina pressed her body against mine, her warmth

comforting against my chest. Her arms slid under my

overcoat to wrap around my back. �Thank you,� she

whispered.

I pulled her even closer, until her breasts were pillowed

against my lower chest and the scent of her hair filled

my nose. �He can�t know,� I murmured. �Vasiliy can�t

know we�re together or it�ll blow everything. Even

afterwards. Even if we can be���I had to struggle with

the word��allies. He�s still not going to like it.�

She nodded quickly. �I can live with keeping this a

secret. But not with one of you dying.�

My arms tightened around her. God, she was so brave. I

was worried about betraying my dad�s memory, or

pissing off Rico or The Saints. She was going against

her entire family.

29

Irina

I hadn�t planned on being there for the phone call. But

Vasiliy knocked at my door first thing in the morning,

Mikhail by his side, to talk to me about me moving into

his New York townhouse until �these problems with the

Italians are dealt with.� I tried to figure out how to

convince Vasiliy that Angelo wasn�t a threat to me

without letting on why.

Then Vasiliy�s phone rang and I saw him stiffen when he

heard the voice at the other end. Shit! Angelo! I turned

away quickly, terrified my expression would reveal

something. I wound up looking at Mikhail, who was

looking worried himself.

Vasiliy ended the call and then stood staring at the

phone for a few seconds. �That was Angelo Baroni,� he

said, his tone neutral. �He wants to talk peace.�

�It�s a trick,� said Mikhail immediately. �Baroni would

never make peace with us.�

Vasiliy looked across at him. �I thought so, too. But

perhaps we misjudged him. He wants to meet, just him

and us.�

Mikhail slapped Vasiliy�s arm with his fat, ham-like hand.

�We can crush this fucker, Vasiliy. He�s showing that

he�s weak. Let�s finish him and take his territory.� He

was grinning but I could see how pale he�d turned under

the bravado.

�We don�t need his territory,� said Vasiliy.

Mikhail�s eyes bugged out. �I need his fucking territory!

This isn�t just about your guns, Vasiliy! You backed me

so that I could take over his turf!�

�I backed you so that my family could have a firm

foothold in New York,� Vasiliy countered. �If we can do

that another way...� He shook his head. �It may be a

trick. But we should hear what Baroni has to say.�

Hope soared in my chest�it felt as if it was going to lift

me right off my feet. That sounded like the old Vasiliy,

the one I remembered. The elder statesman, the

diplomat, the businessman. It was everything I could do

to keep from grinning. Maybe, just maybe, this could all

work out.

But when I composed myself and dared to look up

again, I found myself looking right into Mikhail�s eyes.

He was glaring at me...but then he nodded to himself,

as if deciding something. �Fine,� he told Vasiliy. �Let�s

go.

Even Vasiliy seemed surprised by the sudden about-

face. But he took out his phone again to call Angelo

back, already leading the way to the door.

It was when Mikhail was closing the door behind them

that it happened. He glanced up at me...and smiled.

Not the lecherous smile he normally gave me, the one

that told me he was imagining running his flabby hands

up the insides of my thighs. A smile I�d never seen

before. A smile of victory.

It was so unexpected that I didn�t have time to react.

The door closed and I stood there stupidly, watching

them climb into Vasiliy�s Mercedes. I watched them talk

to Yuri, no doubt explaining the plan, then Yuri climbed

out and just Vasiliy and Mikhail drove off to meet

Angelo.

What did that smile mean?

Moments later, another car filled with Vasiliy�s men

pulled up, picked up Yuri and drove off after the

Mercedes. Whatever he�d told Angelo, Vasiliy wasn�t

risking showing up without backup. I wasn�t

disappointed. That was just the way these things were

done: one hand stretched out in greeting, the other

ready behind your back with a knife.

What did that smile mean?

I knew that these sort of meets could turn bad in half a

second, just as the one with the bikers had. If Angelo

had any sense, he�d secretly take backup too. But it

seemed like Vasiliy was at least willing to talk. It was

Mikhail who was the problem. Mikhail wanted all-out

war. He wanted every last scrap of Angelo�s territory�

that�s why he�d formed the alliance with Vasiliy in the

first place. He stood to lose everything he�d been

fighting for...so why had he smiled?

Unless�.

Unless he knew the meet was going to turn bad.

Unless he knew something that would turn Vasiliy

against Angelo.

Unless he knew about us!

I stood staring out at the snow-covered street, my eyes

widening. No. No way.

I started to panic breathe. My chest was heaving but I

couldn�t fill my lungs. I frantically tried to rationalize it

away. It makes no sense. If he knew, why wouldn�t he

have told Vasiliy already? Why bother to even go to the

meeting? I turned slowly away from the window, willing

my heart to slow. Yes. That�s right. Of course he doesn�t

know. I walked through to the kitchen and started

making myself a coffee. I thought the problem was that

all the lying had made me paranoid.

I was wrong. The problem was that I�d been away from

my family too long.

I�d forgotten how to think like a gangster. I didn�t see it:

not when I fetched a mug, not the whole time I stood

there waiting for the coffee machine to whirr and hiss,

not even when I was adding extra milk. It didn�t hit me

until I turned back towards the living room, the coffee�s

creamy froth just touching my lips. My eyes fell upon

the chessboard. Half of the pieces were still out of

position from when Vasiliy had knocked them, days ago.

The black king stood exposed.

It�s so that Vasiliy�s alone with Angelo. That�s why he

waited.

The mug slipped from my fingers.

It was all so perfect: Angelo in a remote location;

Vasiliy�s guards just itching to pull the trigger on their

hated enemy. Mikhail would reveal our relationship. A

moment of rage from Vasiliy and he�d give the order, or

pull a gun himself�

And Angelo would die.

The mug exploded on the tiles, coffee spraying across

my jeans. I didn�t even feel it. I ran into the living room,

grabbed my phone and called Angelo, then paced as I

waited for him to answer. One ring. Come on. Two

rings. Come on!

It went to answerphone. Chyort! Chyort, Chyort, Chyort!

�Don�t go to the meet!� I screamed. �Mikhail knows

about us! Vasiliy will kill you! Call me back when you get

this!�

I ended the call and then stood there staring at the

phone, willing it to ring. How long since Vasiliy and

Mikhail had left? I didn�t know when the meet was set

for�it could be happening right now. What if Angelo

didn�t check his messages in time?

There was only one thing to do. I had to call Vasiliy and

break the news myself: defuse Mikhail�s weapon before

he could use it. But what if I was wrong? What if Mikhail

didn�t know? I could tear our family apart and put

Angelo�s life in danger for no reason. I stared at the

chessboard, going rapidly insane. Tactics. Strategy.

Which was the right move? I was a Malakov, I was

supposed to be good at this!

I gave a long, despairing cry of rage and kicked the

table that held the chessboard, scattering pieces across

the room.

Then I took a deep breath...and called Vasiliy.

30

Irina

Vasiliy�s phone rang once. Twice. What the hell am I

going to say? Three times.

�Irina?� Vasiliy sounded annoyed. �What is it? I�m

driving.� Chyort. I�d forgotten that. And he always got

stressed when he drove himself anywhere.

�Okay,� I said. I dug my nails into my palms. �Listen�.�

A muffled voice in the background. �Let me speak to

her.�

�Tell Mikhail,� said Vasiliy.

�No, WAIT�� I yelled.

That disorienting, falling-through-space feeling as the

microphone suddenly moved. And then I heard the fake

warmth of Mikhail�s voice. �Hello, Irina.�

I think I knew, as soon as he spoke, that I�d been right.

But I clung on to any forlorn hope. �Hi Mikhail,� I said,

forcing my voice level. �Could I speak to Vasiliy, please?

It�s private.�

�What is it?� Vasiliy�s voice in the background. He

sounded horribly distant. Then he cursed. �Fucking

potholes.�

�It�s okay,� called Mikhail. �I�m dealing with it.� I heard

him settle his bulk back in his seat. When he spoke

again, his voice was low, for my ears only. �Do you

know when I first knew, Irina?�

Fuck. I closed my eyes. �No.�

�The necklace. You wore it when you came to lunch

with Vasiliy and me. That�s not the sort of necklace a

girl buys herself. That�s the sort of necklace a man buys

a girl because he wants to see her neck adorned. I

could have bought you a necklace like that. But you

would have thrown it back at me and laughed, wouldn�t

you?�

My insides flipped over. This wasn�t just about him

wanting all-out war with the Italians so that he could

grab more territory. This was personal.

�And you kept touching it,� he said. �You sat in my lap,

with my cock right up against that precious, holy cunt of

yours and you smiled at me, but you were touching

your necklace because you were thinking of him. That�s

when I knew you were seeing someone else. So I had

you followed...and discovered it was Angelo.�

His voice was quiet, but so savage that I took a

stumbling step backwards. I�d been ready for him to be

evil, but I hadn�t been expecting this, this hatred.

He hated me.

Someone else, he�d said. You were seeing someone

else. He hated me, knew that I detested him...and yet

he thought of me as his. In his mind, I�d cheated on

him.

�It�s fucking perfect, Irina. Thank you. Thank you for

spreading your legs for our enemy, because now

Vasiliy�s going to kill your boyfriend and I�ll get exactly

what I want.�

I didn�t know when the tears had started, but I could

feel them running down my cheeks. Why can�t Vasiliy

hear this? But then I heard Vasiliy�s voice: �What are

you gossiping about, back there?� And I realized Mikhail

was lounging in the back seat, and that there was no

hope at all.

�Please,� I begged. I don�t think I expected him to

suddenly show mercy. I was more begging the universe

for this not to be happening.

�We�re here,� I heard Vasiliy say from the front seat.

�Proshchay, Irina,� said Mikhail. Goodbye.

And the phone went dead.

31

Angelo

�This is a bad idea,� said Rico. He was drumming his

fingers on the steering wheel, but the sound was

drowned out by the rain outside. After days of snow, it

had warmed up just enough for the skies to unleash

torrential rain. It wasn�t yet noon, but it was as dark as

twilight outside. He turned to me. �Just to be clear, I

mean you going alone and this entire fucking peace

plan. Both of them.�

Usually, Rico will argue with me but know when to shut

up and follow orders. The fact he was fighting me so

hard on this spoke volumes.

�We�ve got to stop this thing,� I told him. �Or it�s going

to get worse and worse. People are going to die. A lot

of people.�

�We�re not beat!� snapped Rico. �Mikhail�s got all the

money from Vasiliy, sure, but we�ve got plenty of people

loyal to us.�

�It�s not about being beat,� I told him tiredly. �It�s about

being smart.�

Rico glared at me, arms crossed. I noticed he�d stopped

calling me boss. It wasn�t that he�d lost any of his

loyalty: his loyalty was the problem. He was trying to

protect me from myself. He was smart enough not to

say it, but we both knew he was thinking it: this is all

because of Irina.

And he was right. It was. But how did I explain to him

that she�d changed me for the better? How could I say

that she�d made me realize I�d become twisted, over the

years, and that being around her made me want to be

more like her. Not good, because I�d never be that. But

maybe I could go back to being honorable instead of

being driven by hate. I couldn�t figure out how to put

any of that into words. When Irina had called on the

way over, I�d let it go to voicemail: I knew if Rico heard

me talking to her, we�d get into a full-on shouting

match.

�At least let me come with you,� Rico said. �You don�t

seriously think Vasiliy and Mikhail will have come

alone?� he nodded through the windshield. �Those

buildings will be full of Russians. Full.�

The place we�d chosen for the meet was a construction

site, one of mafia boss Erico Fiorentini�s projects. When

he�d gone to jail, the whole thing had gotten bound up

in red tape and now it was just an empty block of dirt

and half-built buildings. With the dark sky and the

pounding rain, it looked like a city that had been built

and then bombed, girders reaching towards the slate

gray sky like dead men�s fingers and the streets nothing

more than thick, glutinous mud.

�We have to show them we�re serious,� I told Rico. The

real reason I wanted to go alone was, I didn�t want to

put anyone else at risk. This was my stupid gamble, not

his. And if it went wrong, I wanted to take all the heat

from The Saints.

I saw the headlights of a car approaching, picking its

way carefully along the single gravel road that led

through the site. �Now get out of here. I�ll call you when

they�ve gone.�

Rico let out a long sigh and nodded. I opened my door

and stepped out into hell. Freezing rain slammed into

my shoulders and scalp, like being under a fucking

power shower. I was soaked instantly and the rain

poured down my face�I had to keep blinking it out of

my eyes just to see. It was even worse than the day

when I first saw Irina. The day my whole life started

going wrong...and right.

I slammed my door. Rico turned the car around and

headed off along the road, his tail lights quickly fading

into the gloom. By now, the other car was closer, its

headlights lighting me up. There was a flash of lightning

overhead and then a boom of thunder so loud it

sounded like the sky was splitting apart.

The car came to a stop right in front of me, but no one

got out. I could see Vasiliy in the driver�s seat and that

prick Mikhail sprawled out in the back. He was on the

phone to someone and I saw him finish the call and

drop the phone into his pocket as he looked at me, a

smug grin on his face.

I pantomimed looking to my left and right and held my

arms up, indicating I was alone. Rico was right, of

course. The buildings around me would be full of

Russians. I�d just have to hope this went well.

Vasiliy nodded me towards the passenger door. Oh, of

course, they didn�t want to get wet, so the meeting

would happen in their car. That gave them about a

million advantages: I couldn�t see what weapons they

were carrying and they had the option of putting a gun

to my head and driving me off somewhere.

But I didn�t have a choice. Opening the door was almost

surreal: standing in the pounding rain, looking in at the

calm, clean, dry interior with the bong bong bong of the

door chime sounding and my two enemies staring back

at me. What the fuck am I doing?

For Irina. I climbed in, sat down in the passenger seat

and slammed the door. Immediately, I could feel

Mikhail�s presence in the rear seat behind me. I couldn�t

watch both him and Vasiliy at the same time and the fat

fuck could just lean forward and throttle me at any time.

The hairs on the back of my neck started to rise.

�Mr. Baroni,� said Vasiliy. �I was...surprised to receive

your call. Surprised but intrigued. Let us keep this short.

What are you offering?�

�How much of your territory will you give up?� Mikhail,

from the rear seat. I looked in the rear view mirror, but

the angle was wrong and I couldn�t see him. Shit.

�I�m not offering territory,� I said cautiously. �But��

�You�re wasting our time,� snapped Mikhail. I heard his

bulk shift on the rear seat, maybe getting ready to

pounce.

Vasiliy held up his hand. �Let me hear what he has to

say.�

Mikhail cursed, but stopped moving. It was dark inside

the car, especially in the back, and I didn�t want to show

weakness by turning around to look. But I imagined he

was sitting there with his arms half extended, ready to

wrap those big hands around my throat. Thank God

Vasiliy was there to hold him back.

�A partnership,� I began. I couldn�t figure out if dad

would be spinning in his grave or telling me I was doing

the right thing.

�He already has partnership!� snapped Mikhail, his

English fracturing in his anger.

�The way I see it,� I said, keeping my eyes on Vasiliy,

�you don�t need more territory. You just want safe

passage for your guns. You want security. I can give

you that. We share the contacts: property development,

politicians, the cops. Everything can run smoothly. No

more fighting. No more territory grabs.�

Vasiliy stared at me for a long time. I could only

properly make out his face when a flash of lightning lit it

up and even then it was an unreadable mask. �Why

should I not just carry on and crush you, take your

territory street by street?� he said at last.

I looked him right in the eye. �Because I�ll give you a

war you�ll never forget. You�ve got the money, sure. I

hear you�ve got billions in the bank. But how much of it

do you want to spend to take each bar, each restaurant,

each tattoo parlor? How much is it really worth to you?

Because make no mistake, Vasiliy, I will turn this into

your personal Vietnam. Your Iraq. You�re the invading

force here and we�re the locals. We will fight you for

every fucking inch and you�ll bleed money and men. Do

you really want that, when you could just do a deal

instead?�

This time there was an even longer pause while he

considered. The son of a bitch had the best poker face

I�d ever seen. Eventually, he said, �A partnership is not

out of the question.� I heard Mikhail hiss air through his

teeth behind me. �But I must be sure I can trust you.

We must proceed very carefully. The first step��

�You can�t trust him,� said Mikhail from behind me.

Vasiliy looked around at him, frowning angrily at being

interrupted. I noticed the car had lit up with a soft pink

glow, coming from the rear seat.

�Here,� said Mikhail. And passed something to Vasiliy. A

smartphone. Now Vasiliy and I were both frowning.

Vasiliy brought the phone into the front seat with him

and stared at the screen and I stared with him. It was a

porn picture. A naked guy entwined with a naked

blonde, up against a mirror�

Oh Jesus.

I realized a split-second before Vasiliy. I guess my mind

had been full of nothing else but Irina naked, ever since

I first saw her. And you don�t look at a picture like that

and even consider, at first, that it might be your beloved

niece.

In slow motion, I saw Vasiliy�s jaw start to fall. I could

actually see his face flushing, all the tiny blood vessels

swelling as the scarlet spread.

�He seduced her,� said Mikhail from the rear seat.

�Fucked her. Used her. To get to you.�

Vasiliy�s head slowly turned to look at me. The look in

his eyes wasn�t the Vasiliy everyone fears, the cold,

calculating businessman who�ll murder to get what he

wants. This was hot and human and very, very

personal. This was betrayal and outrage and fury. There

would be no reasoning with him. Not on this.

I was going to die.

I felt for the door release. Found it and pulled...but even

as the door opened, Mikhail�s sweat-damp hands

slapped onto either side of my neck, heaved me back

against the headrest and squeezed. He was a fat fuck

but he was strong�I was pinned in place and his fingers

were digging deeper and deeper, crushing as much as

strangling. I clawed at them, making choking sounds in

my throat, but I couldn�t pry them loose. My windpipe

narrowed, narrowed...and then I couldn�t breathe at all.

Vasiliy pulled a gun from a shoulder holster. A second

later I felt the cold kiss of the metal against my temple.

I met his eyes and saw an anger I�d never seen in all

my years. He practically raised me, I remembered Irina

saying.

Shit.

There was a metallic click as Vasiliy cocked the gun.

32

Angelo

There was a boom, but no pain. Maybe you don�t feel

the one that kills you. My head didn�t hurt and even the

crushing of my windpipe had stopped. Is this heaven?

For a second, I just sat there, dazed. Then I started to

become aware of things. Mikhail was no longer gripping

my neck and I could hear him screaming in the rear seat

behind me. Vasiliy was trying to hunker down low in his

seat, his gun still drawn but not pointed at me. And his

pristine suit was sprinkled with glittering diamonds. I

looked down. My suit was the same.

Then I saw the hole in the windshield. Not diamonds:

glass.

I twisted and looked behind me. Mikhail was clutching

his left ear, blood dripping from between his fingers.

Behind him, there was a ragged hole through the

leather seat at roughly head height.

I looked out of the windshield just as a flash of lightning

lit up the construction site. Up on the second floor of

one of the half-finished buildings was a dark shape: a

man, lying full-length. Rico, with his favorite sniper rifle.

He must have seen me staring at him through his scope

because he lifted an arm and pointed frantically to the

side. Go! Go!

I looked across at Vasiliy. He was still trying to hunker

down beneath the level of the windshield, but he was

swinging his gun around to point at me again.

I dived out of the car and staggered across the gravel

road. Immediately, gunshots cracked the air around me,

some close enough that I could hear the hiss of the

bullet. Not Vasiliy and Mikhail, the Russians who they�d

brought with them. They were all around me. Shit!

The road was brightly lit by the Mercedes�s headlights:

staying there was suicide. I ran into the darkness,

panting with adrenaline, rain slicking my face. Almost

immediately, I slipped and went full-length in the mud.

That saved my life: a bullet aimed at my chest zipped

over my head.

I started to crawl, but each time I put my hand down, it

sank into the thick, black mud to the elbow. I gritted my

teeth and forced my way onward, wincing as more

bullets whistled overhead.

The ground was churned up by construction machinery,

with countless ditches and potholes, some of them a

few feet deep and many of them filled with rainwater.

The storm had darkened the sky so much, I couldn�t tell

what was mud, what was shadow and what was water.

Every few steps, I�d suddenly find there was no ground

and I�d lurch down into a hole with a bone-jarring

thump. Only the softness of the mud saved me from

breaking something. Other times, I�d suddenly find

myself chest-deep in freezing water, desperately trying

to free my legs from the mud so I could lift my face

clear.

And the bullets never stopped coming. The only blessing

was that my overcoat was black and, as long as I

stayed low, I blended in with the darkness and the mud.

With the rain still hammering down, the Russians must

have been guessing where I was. But that didn�t mean

they wouldn�t get lucky. Some of the bullets hit the mud

horribly close to me. And over the hammering rain, I

could hear running footsteps: the Russians were

spreading out, searching for me....

I tried to crawl faster, but powering through the thick,

sucking mud was exhausting. Already, my limbs felt like

lead. The mud coated every part of me and it had oozed

through my cashmere overcoat and thousand dollar suit

to squish against my skin. The rain was flowing down

my face and into my ears. I had no idea where I was or

where the Russians were. I just had to keep crawling,

crawling�

A foot caught me under the chin and sent me sprawling

backwards in the mud. I tasted blood. When I looked

up, I saw Yuri, Vasiliy�s personal bodyguard. A flash of

lightning lit up the scars on his cheek�someone had

really done a number on the guy.

He was gazing down at me with cold fury. Shit. I could

tell immediately that he knew about Irina. How?

As if in answer, he tapped his ear and I saw the radio

earpiece he wore. �I listen,� he grunted. His English

wasn�t as good as Vasiliy�s. �Car is bugged. I want to

know what is going on. I want to be ready if you cross

Vasiliy. But instead, I hear you use Irina. Irina!�

Shit. This got worse and worse. There are bodyguards

and bodyguards. There are the hired guns who don�t

give a shit who they protect as long as they get paid

and then there are the loyal ones, the guys who stay

with one family so long they become part of it. Yuri was

the second kind�I could hear in his voice that Irina was

like a little sister to him. �No!� I shouted over the rain.

�It�s not like that!�

He growled and grabbed my foot, then spun and

heaved me through the air like he was throwing the

hammer. I crashed down on my back on the concrete

floor of a part-finished building. Pain shot through my

spine and I wondered if I�d broken something. Certainly,

I wasn�t getting up anytime soon.

Yuri came over to stand at my feet. The rain was

pounding down on my upturned face and I was panting

and exhausted by my desperate scramble through the

mud. Another time, I could have taken him, but not

now. I was done. �I swear,� I croaked. �I love her.�

It just came out. I didn�t know I was going to say it until

I had.

Yuri stared down at me for a moment, his hulking body

outlined by the rain crashing against his shoulders and

back. For a moment, his expression seemed to soften

and he looked almost sad. �Then you are very stupid,�

he said. �And very unlucky.�

He dropped to one knee and pulled a knife from his

belt, then lifted it high to drive it down into my heart.

There was a crack and a cloud of dust exploded from

the half-finished wall behind Yuri. He dived to the floor

�he was ex-military, judging by how fast he reacted. A

second shot rang out, this one hitting the wall right

where he�d been standing. Yuri scrambled behind a

waist-high pile of breeze blocks.

Rico emerged out of the darkness, rifle in his arms,

covered in mud up to his knees. �How many times,� he

panted, �do I have to save your ass?� He swapped his

rifle for a handgun and pointed it at the breeze blocks.

�Get up!�

I clambered to my feet, which took a while. I was

exhausted, frozen and my back and ribs were badly

bruised�maybe worse. I staggered over to Rico and

threw an arm around his shoulders. He supported me

and we backed away into the mud, all the time keeping

a watchful eye on where Yuri was hiding. Then, when

darkness surrounded us, we ran.

Ten long, exhausting minutes later, we finally reached

the edge of the construction site. I wanted to weep at

how good the sidewalk felt under my feet. Rico helped

me stumble to where he�d parked the car. A streetlight

lit us up as we passed under it and I got a look at his

face. There was so much anger in his eyes...and so

much hurt, too. Hurt that I�d ignored his warnings. Hurt

that I�d turned my back on everything he understood.

Even, for some reason, hurt that I was with Irina.

But he didn�t say any of it. He said, �Where to, boss?�

I tightened the arm I had around his shoulders, pulling

him into a half-hug. �Home,� I said. �Take me home.�

* * *

A half hour later, I stood in the shower stall in my

apartment, scalding water beating down on my head

and shoulders. The water turned first brown as the mud

rinsed off me, then red as the scrapes and cuts on my

back opened up. There was a sharp pain in one side

whenever I took a deep breath. When I emerged, Rico

felt around and declared that I�d bust a rib, and taped it

up as best he could.

I took a look at my reflection in the mirror. It looked as

if I�d been through a war. My face was covered in tiny

scratches where the windshield glass had hit me, my

torso was bound with medical tape, my back was a

mess of purple and black bruises and my normal upright

posture was gone�I was slumped, dog-tired and

aching.

None of which bothered me. Even the thought of what

Vasiliy and Mikhail would unleash against me didn�t

bother me. The only thing on my mind was Irina.

I�d finally listened to her voicemail on the way to my

apartment. I�d been calling her ever since. But she

wasn�t picking up.

33

Irina

Lockdown

I�d been on lockdown before. Everyone in a bratva

family has. Whenever the danger from a rival gang gets

too high, whenever there�s word of a hit: lockdown.

Everyone is moved to the most secure house, armed

guards patrol and no one�s allowed to leave.

When I was a kid, it was almost fun. I�d get to stay

home from school and Lizaveta and I would make dens

under Vasiliy�s kitchen table. Now, though, it felt very

different. This time, I felt like a prisoner.

A mud-stained Yuri had driven me to Vasiliy�s

townhouse. I hadn�t seen Vasiliy, yet. I�d asked to, but

Yuri had simply shaken his head sadly. That truly

terrified me. How much damage had I done?

How could I have been so stupid? How could I have

thought that Vasiliy wouldn�t find out, especially when I

had enemies like Mikhail?

Worst of all, I had no idea whether Angelo was alive or

dead. Yuri had confiscated my phone.

I sat alone on one of the huge leather couches in the

living room, hugging my legs and tipped over to the side

so that I could press my cheek against the arm. I

wanted to be as small as possible. I wanted to sink into

the couch�s depths. I�d caused this. I�d gone against my

destiny and tried to start something with an American.

I�d pursued it even when I found out he was the enemy,

betraying my family. I�d persuaded Angelo to try to

make peace and led him straight into a trap that might

have cost him his life.

The door opened and Mikhail shambled in. One side of

his head was bandaged and there were drips of blood

on his shirt. What the hell had happened at the meet?!

He eyed me silently for a long time, his gaze raking over

my body. The familiar sick feeling started, but this time

it was worse, bitter and cold. Having someone leer at

you when they like you is one thing. Having someone

do it when they hate you, when they�ll do anything in

their power to hurt you�that�s unbearable.

The last thing I wanted to do was speak to him, but I

needed to know. �Please,� I said, looking up at him.

�Please�what happened to Angelo?�

He just stared at me for another minute, making me

sweat. Then he sank down onto the couch next to me,

his hip brushing mine. He leaned in close and put his

lips to my ear in a hideous parody of a kiss. I forced

myself not to pull away because I needed to know�.

He whispered, �You�re a disloyal whore. And you�ll get

what�s coming to you.�

I jerked away from him as if he�d slapped me. I was still

staring at him in horror when the door was flung open.

Vasiliy stood there, his face thunderous. He jerked his

head in the direction of his study.

Feeling numb, I got up and followed him out of the

room. Behind me, I could feel Mikhail smirking.

In his study, Vasiliy wouldn�t look at me. He sat down

slowly behind his desk. Too slowly. And he picked up a

pen and moved it too carefully, too deliberately. I�d

been around him enough years that I could tell when he

was trying to contain his rage and this was the worst I�d

ever seen him. He placed his hands flat on the desktop,

flexing his fingers as if he wanted to tear great handfuls

out of the wood. �Why?� he asked at last.

A huge lump rose up in my throat. �Is he alive?� I

whispered. �Just tell me that. Is he alive?�

Vasiliy finally looked up at me and the look he gave me

made me wish I hadn�t asked. He looked at me as if he

didn�t know me. As if I was an enemy.

�You lie to me,� he said, his voice a tight little whisper.

�You betray me. After all these years. After everything

I�ve done for you. You side with my enemy and you plot

against me. Why?�

I�d been trying to get away from Vasiliy for years.

Suddenly, I was. I was no longer a Malakov, not to him.

I was free...and it was agony. I�d never wanted this,

never wanted to see the man who�d raised me torn

apart. People said Vasiliy Malakov was emotionless but

right then he was almost trembling, he was so wounded

and angry. And it was all thanks to me.

�I didn�t mean for it to happen,� I croaked. �I fell in love

with him.� And there it was. I�d said it.

He stared at me in silence. �Did you do it to hurt me?�

he said at last.

�No! It...it wasn�t about who he was. I didn�t even

know, at first! It was about him. Us.�

�You told him about our plan with the bikers,� he said.

He looked off into the corner, as if he couldn�t bear to

look at me anymore.

I was trying not to cry, now. �I was worried he was

going to get killed.�

�So you turned on your family?�

�No! I told him to call off the meet!�

�But he didn�t. And Josef was shot. And you stood there

and let me accuse Mikhail�s men. You let him accuse

Yuri!�

�I�m sorry!�

�Get out.�

I took a half step forward. �Vasiliy, please��

�Get. Out.� And this time, I saw his knuckles whiten as

his hands clawed at the desk. He wanted me to go

before he lost control.

I fled. I ran to one of the guest rooms up on the top

floor and buried my face in the bed. I�d lost my family.

I�d lost Angelo. I cried it out with big, wracking sobs:

Malakovs don�t cry, but I wasn�t a Malakov anymore.

It was hours later when I finally stumbled out onto the

balcony. I wanted to be numb again. I wanted to not

feel the deep, jagged pain where my family had been

torn out of me. But as soon as the freezing air engulfed

me, I wanted his hands on me, warming me. Angelo! I

was going crazy, not knowing if he was alive or dead.

Voices below me. Mikhail and Vasiliy, standing on the

patio downstairs. It was a still night and their voices

carried. ��with her?� Mikhail was saying.

Vasiliy shook his head and I was glad the shadows hid

his expression. �She�s dead to me,� he said.

I felt as if I�d been punched in the chest.

�Don�t be too hard on her,� said Mikhail. �Women do

stupid things. That bastard seduced her. Told her what

she wanted to hear.�

Vasiliy looked at the ground and shook his head, but

this time with sadness. �She must go back to Moscow,�

he said, his voice thick with emotion. �With someone

who can protect her.� Then he nodded towards the

house. �Come on. We have a lot to do. That bastard�s

turf is going to burn, tonight.�

They disappeared inside. I retreated into the guest room

and quietly closed the doors, then leaned against them.

I�m dead to him.

For a long time, I just stood there, my heart breaking.

One thing finally got me moving again. I�d destroyed

everything else: had I killed Angelo, too? I had to know.

Yuri had taken my cell phone and I didn�t dare use the

house phone. But I knew Yuri kept a stash of �burner�

phones for when he or Vasiliy needed to make an

untraceable call.

I didn�t want to run into Vasiliy. I wanted to run into

Mikhail even less. But I forced myself to creep out of

the guest room and down the stairs to the first floor.

The door to Vasiliy�s office was open and I could hear

him and Mikhail talking inside. I could hear Mikhail�s

finger sliding across a map as he outlined where he was

going to attack: the restaurants and nightclubs he�d

burn, the bars he�d smash�. I�d tried to stop a war and

I�d started one instead. And it was worse, much worse,

than if things had escalated on their own. I could hear

the rage in Vasiliy�s voice as they talked. This was about

revenge and it would be bloody and brutal.

�Don�t do it yourself,� I heard him grunt. �Keep your

hands clean.�

�I will, I will,� said Mikhail airily. He sounded almost

happy. Of course he was: he�d gotten exactly what he

wanted.

I took a deep breath and stole past the door and on

down the hallway, then down the spiral staircase that

led to the old servant quarters in the basement, where

Yuri and the other live-in bodyguards had their rooms. I

knew which room was Yuri�s because I�d sat on his bed

with him a few times while he taught me things: how to

shoot a gun, for one, and how to get out of plastic zip

ties. Last-resort skills, for if I was ever kidnapped. If

Vasiliy was like my father, Yuri had been like an older

brother to me. Another person I�ve lost.

Yuri�s room was empty and, as always, immaculate. It

reminded me of an army barracks, the blanket so tight

on the bed you could bounce a coin off it. There were

some very old books, a tiny closet and a gun rack. Is

this really all he has in his life? It seemed so cold, so

lonely.

I knelt, pulled the box of burner phones from under

Yuri�s bed and grabbed one. I should take it upstairs.

But what if someone saw me with it on the way up?

They�d take it off me and then I might never know�.

No. I wasn�t risking it. I had to know now. I dialed

Angelo�s number.

He picked up on the second ring. �Irina?�

�Angelo!� My eyes closed and I slumped against Yuri�s

bed in relief. At the same time, I felt a sudden, deep

ache right down the front of my body: the need to press

myself against him and the pain of not being able to. He

sounded so far away. �Are you okay?�

�Fine. Where are you?�

I told him about being on lockdown in Vasiliy�s house.

How he wanted to send me back to Moscow. How he

was gearing up for all-out war. �How do we turn this

off?!� I asked, my voice quavering. �This is our fault!�

I heard him rub his face with his hands. �I know. Look,

stay safe. Let me figure things out. I��

My breath caught in my chest. I knew which two words

he�d bitten back. Because he wasn�t sure? Or because it

was crazy to say them, with everything that was going

on?

�I�ll see you soon,� he said at last. �I�ll find a way.�

I ended the call. I knew I should get out of there, but all

the energy had just drained out of me. I�ll see you soon.

How?! We were at war. And I was going to be on a

plane back to Moscow within a few days at most.

I was never going to see him again.

That was when I heard footsteps in the hallway. Chyort!

I shoved the phone into my jeans, pushed the box back

where it was, then looked around for an escape route.

There wasn�t one. The room was about eight feet

square and the footsteps were too close: whoever was

approaching would see me coming out�.

I stood up just as Yuri walked in. I tried to come up

with an explanation as to why I was there, but the way

he looked at me made the excuses die in my throat.

Yuri had been a constant throughout my life. He�d been

around when my parents were alive, then I�d gotten to

know him even better when I went to live with Vasiliy.

He�d driven me to ballet lessons, he�d kicked the ass of

a boyfriend who tried to get too touchy in the back seat,

he�d once stopped the car and held my hair while I

leaned out of the door and threw up after drinking too

much...and he hadn�t told Vasiliy. He was the best.

And the way he stared at me just killed me. Vasiliy had

been mad but Yuri just looked...wounded.

I threw myself at him and wrapped my arms around

him, burying my face in his chest. He let out a long sigh

and stroked my hair.

�I�m s�sorry,� I sobbed.

He made shh-ing noises, like the ones he used to make

when Lizaveta had a nightmare and couldn�t sleep. He�d

always been surprisingly good at it.

�Don�t hate me,� I managed between sobs. �I need

someone to not hate me.�

His arms tightened around me and he let out a long-

suffering sigh. �I could never hate you.�

I squeezed him tight. When I finally got control of my

voice again, I asked, �Do you think Vasiliy can ever love

me again?�

�I don�t think he could ever stop loving you,� said Yuri.

�But there will be changes. You will have to go back to

Moscow. You must never see this man again.�

Fresh tears forced their way up from the depths,

scalding hot and bitter. �I love him!�

�Then you too are stupid and unlucky.�

I frowned. You too?

Yuri shook his head. �But that does not make this right.�

�I know,� I said in a tiny voice. He still hadn�t asked

what I was doing in his room. He thinks I came to see

him, I realized. And that made me feel even worse,

because that�s what I should have done.

He hugged me like that for a few moments, rocking me

gently from side to side. �You are not like other

Malakovs. Too much fire. Your mother had too much

fire, too.�

�Then...why did she stay?� I blurted. I pushed myself

back from his chest so that I could look up at him and

sniffed. �She used to tell me that she didn�t want this for

me. She didn�t want me to be with a gangster. If she

didn�t like it, why did she stay?�

Yuri thought for a moment. �Because she was stubborn

like you are, too. She saw she was good for your

father.�

�She stayed because she loved him?�

�Yes. And because he needed her.�

I looked blankly at him.

He sighed and looked at the ceiling. �I am not right

person to explain fucking women,� he muttered to

himself. �Your father...he was cold. Very cold. He could

be cruel to his enemies.�

I frowned. My dad had been tough, sure, but I hadn�t

thought of him as cold or cruel.

Yuri read my look. �I knew him in his early days, before

he met your mother. She balanced him. Is same way

with all Malakov men.�

I thought of Luka and Arianna. Of Angelo�s mother,

supporting his father. Suddenly, it all started to make

sense. I thought of Vasiliy: I knew he�d used to be

warmer and kinder, when I was growing up.

�Vasiliy...when his wife died, is that when he started to

turn cruel?�

Yuri shook his head sadly. �No. It would have been. But

he had someone else who kept him balanced. Until she

pulled away.�

�A lover?� I asked in wonder. �A mistress?�

Yuri gently put his hands on my shoulders and stared

into my eyes.

�Me?!� I croaked.

He nodded.

I blinked at him and stepped back, my head spinning.

He gazed at me sadly as I stumbled off down the

hallway.

Me? I�d been responsible for keeping Vasiliy moderated

all those years?

But it made sense. When he first took Lizaveta and me

under his protection, his wife had been dead a few

years and he�d seemed cold and distant. But the shock

of our parents� deaths and suddenly having two girls

under his roof had jolted him off the path he�d been on.

And as I became involved in the business he�d gradually

warmed. Yuri was right: I�d been his conscience, his

light in the darkness, just as his wife had been.

I�d thought that I hated our family because I�d been

constantly arguing with him. Now I realized that that

was my purpose: I was his counterbalance. How many

times had he stepped back from some vicious course of

action because I�d told him it was too cruel? How many

times had I unwittingly defused a situation, just by

being there for him to vent to over a game of chess?

I�d pulled away from my family. I�d dreamed of freedom

and New York and isolated myself from Vasiliy more and

more. And then I�d wondered why he became colder

and colder.

My whole view of the last few years twisted around,

reversing itself. All those things Vasiliy had done that

drove me crazy: following me to New York, visiting all

the time...God, even my arranged marriage with Mikhail.

They were all ways of staying close to me.

Subconsciously, he knew he needed me, even if he�d

never admit it. And the harder he�d tried to keep me

close, the more I�d pulled away.

The realization hit me in the chest like a sledgehammer:

this whole aggressive expansion into New York, the

partnership with Mikhail, the gang war we were now in:

none of this would have happened if I�d been there to

calm him, to be his warmth and his conscience. I�d

always said I didn�t want to be a Malakov: I hadn�t

understood that I was a vital part of the mixture that

made the Malakovs work.

I stopped walking and had to hold onto the wall to

steady myself. This is all my fault!

I climbed the stairs to the first floor just in time to see

Mikhail leaving, a wide grin on his face and a small army

of men in tow. Some were carrying guns, some baseball

bats, some cans of gasoline.

It was all my fault...and it was too late to fix it. The war

had begun.

34

Angelo

The fires were the worst. Fighting and smashed-up

storefronts...I could kid myself that that was random.

But when I saw the owners standing in tears in the

street, watching the flames roaring through the place

they�d spent twenty years building...then, I knew I�d

fucked up. These were my people, this was my turf, and

I�d failed utterly to protect them.

I told them all the same thing. I hugged them and said,

�I�ll make this right.� And they took my hand and shook

it and told me they trusted me. But I could hear it in

their voices: they�d never fully trust me again.

The Fire Department did their best but there were too

many fires and they burned too aggressively: Mikhail�s

thugs had smashed their way in and then poured

gasoline over everything. The firefighters kept looking at

me: they knew this was connected to me and they

wanted to know how I could let it happen. They were

probably wondering if the same thing would be

happening to Russian businesses in a few hours.

I did what I could. I even joined the bucket chains at

some of the fires until the overstretched Fire

Department could get to them, but we saved maybe

one place out of ten. Meanwhile, I was getting phone

calls about cars, boats and real estate being smashed

up�the Russians were destroying anything that was

under our protection. It was like nothing the community

had ever seen: brutal, all-out destruction. It was Mikhail

and his men who lit the fires and raised the baseball

bats, but I could feel Vasiliy�s raw hatred behind it all.

This was personal.

And it had a horrifying knock-on effect. Fights were

breaking out in the streets, not just between my guys

and Mikhail�s men but between civilians. Russian guys

who�d never dared set foot in our neighborhood

suddenly got bold and came looking for trouble, in

gangs or on their own. Meanwhile, the local guys were

on the streets looking for payback and they took their

anger out on anyone who looked or sounded like they

might be Russian. I met with community leaders and

reached out to the gangs, trying to calm them down,

but how do you convince a hot-headed sixteen year-old

to stay home when his parents� coffee shop just got

torched?

I told women to stay off the streets and made sure

Grace had shut down Cinderella�s and sent the girls

home. That�s about all I could do.

By the early hours of the morning, Little Italy looked like

a war zone. The police were sweeping both Russians

and Italians off the streets as fast as they could, but

their holding cells were full and they didn�t have enough

evidence to hold them. The local captain, who was on

my payroll, pulled me aside and demanded to know

what the fuck I was going to do. That�s when you know

it�s bad, when the police come to the criminals for help.

I didn�t have an answer for him. I was pissed...but the

anger didn�t have anywhere to go except inward. What

could I do? Burn Russian businesses in revenge? It

would be the civilians who�d suffer.

As I gazed around the place I loved, now lit by orange

fire and blue and red lights, I kept thinking back to that

day I�d first seen Irina at the ballet. We did this. This is

our fault.

I was worried sick about her. She was still stuck in

Vasiliy�s townhouse, with that bastard Mikhail way too

close to her. And in a few days she�d be going back to

Moscow and I might never see her again.

I hadn�t told her that I loved her. I hadn�t been able to

say the words. I�ve never regretted anything more in my

life.

Rico found me at about eight in the morning. The sky

was lightening but the smoke blotted out the sun. The

streets were running with a gray, slushy mixture of

soot-stained melted snow and runoff water from the

hoses. Rico had been up all night too and he looked like

I probably looked: soot-smeared face, filthy white shirt

with a few bloodstains from the injured. Both of us had

discarded our ties at some point when the heat from the

fires had gotten too much.

�Let�s get you out of here,� he said.

I shook my head and turned away from him. �I�m

staying.�

He grabbed my shoulder and gently but firmly turned

me back. �This isn�t something you can win from here,

Angelo,� he told me. �Besides, The Saints want to talk.�

I closed my eyes and sighed, then let him lead me to

the car. I�d always liked the cool, luxurious interior of

the big Chrysler. It had been a safe haven where I could

escape my troubles and think. Now, though, the luxury

felt wrong. I shouldn�t be in here while they�re out

there�.

Goddamn Mikhail and Vasiliy for doing this. And

goddamn me for making them. If I�d had a niece and

found Mikhail had been fucking her, would I have

reacted any differently?

Rico dialed The Saints. I had him put them on

speakerphone. Rico deserved to know what was going

on.

�What the fuck is going on?� yelled Nicky. �It�s fucking

Iraq down there. It�s all over the fucking news! What

the fuck?!� He screamed it so loud, his voice rasped.

Rico and I looked at each other. It was clear the Saints

didn�t know about me and Irina. If they had, they�d

have summoned me so they could put a bullet in my

head.

�It�s spilling over,� said Vincenzo. �The Russians are

getting ideas, right across the city. You don�t fix this

now, we�re going to have a big fucking problem.�

�You gotta kill Vasiliy. And that fat fuck Mikhail,� said

Taavetti. �Only way to stop them.�

Immediately, he was shouted down. �You don�t kill the

leaders, you dumb fuck,� snapped Nicky. �Someone�s

gotta be there to turn it off! Why do you think they

haven�t taken out a hit on Angelo, yet?�

He was right. That was the only reason I was still alive.

The only thing worse than war was chaos, which was

what we�d have without leadership.

�What you gotta do,� snapped Nicky, �is show them

how much this�ll hurt, if they keep it up. Each step they

take into our territory has gotta be like walking on razor

blades, understand? Starting tonight, we burn their

businesses�every one of them. We take out everything

they own. Every backroom poker game gets smashed

up. Every car dealership, those cars get totaled.

Everything.�

I spoke for the first time. �It�s out of control. People are

getting drawn in. Not just our people: anyone with

Italian blood.�

�Good,� said Nicky savagely. �Let �em. They should fight

for their turf, goddammit.�

Fight for their turf. It all suddenly seemed so stupid.

�They�re kids,� I said. �Some of them are sixteen.�

�That�s plenty old enough to fight,� said Taavetti. �Put

baseball bats in their hands and send them into Little

Odessa.�

�We�re outnumbered!� I snapped, finally losing it. �They

have more men, more guns. Vasiliy has billions in the

bank: he can hire mercenaries, if he has to. Even with

the civilians fighting with us, we�ll lose! It�ll be a

bloodbath!�

�So?� Yelled Taavetti. I heard him huff for air from his

oxygen cylinder. �We go out fighting. Your dad spilled

blood to take those streets; you can fucking spill blood

to defend them!�

I shook my head silently. My dad would never have sent

men to their deaths when he knew the fight was

useless. The Saints were just scared of losing what

they�d built up and they were willing to sacrifice ever

Italian life on the street in a futile bid to cling onto it.

�Fix it, Angelo,� said Nicky, his voice vicious. �This is

your last fucking chance. Fix it, or we�ll find someone

who can.�

The line went dead. I could feel Rico�s eyes on me from

the driver�s seat. It took me a long time to turn and

meet his gaze.

�Angelo?� he asked. �What�s going on?�

I couldn�t explain. Rico had been with me for so long,

since even before I took over from my dad. He�d helped

me build this empire. Now he couldn�t understand why I

was standing by and watching while it was torn down. I

tried, even though I knew it was useless. I owed him

that. �They lied to us, Rico. The Saints got us fighting a

war but the Russians aren�t any different to us.� Rico

balked. �They�re not,� I insisted. �The Saints got us

thinking it has to be this way, but it doesn�t.�

Rico slowly shook his head at me. �This is Irina,� he

said. �She�s done a number on you.�

�No! She just opened my eyes!�

Rico put his hands on my shoulders and slammed me

back into my seat. �Okay, listen! I�ve stood by you every

fucking step of the way. I�ve done exactly what you told

me, every time. So for once, shut up and listen to me.

You are about to lose everything. Okay? Everything. If

the Russians ever were interested in peace, they sure as

fuck aren�t now, not now Vasiliy knows you�ve been

banging his niece. This is war and you can either fight

or surrender but there ain�t no third option. So snap out

of it because I need Angelo back!�

I knew he was right. But how could I explain to him that

my empire didn�t matter anymore, if I couldn�t have her?

�Drop me home,� I told Rico. �Then go to Underground

and see what needs doing there. I need to think.�

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him shaking his

head, his face taut with worry. I owed him so much. I

wished I could tell him not to worry, that I�d fix

everything...but it wasn�t true.

* * *

I stumbled through the door of my apartment, woozy

with fatigue. I hadn�t slept in over twenty-four hours

and my muscles, worn out from crawling through the

mud and then throwing buckets of water all night, had

solidified into concrete.

I needed sleep, but I didn�t have time. Instead, I got

under the shower in the hope the hot water beating

down on me would help me think. But there wasn�t any

solution I could see.

My instinct was to fight. That�s what I always did. That�s

what my dad had always done. But Vasiliy was too fired

up with anger: he didn�t just want victory, he wanted to

destroy me. To even slow his progress, I�d have to

sacrifice every man I had, plus a lot of civilians. Maybe

The Saints were okay with that, but I wasn�t.

Peace? There�d be no peace now, not between Vasiliy

and me. We were way past that. I�d foregone any hope

of peace that morning when I�d first called Irina, already

knowing who she was. If I could go back in time�.

Who was I kidding? If I could go back in time, I�d do

exactly the same thing again. I loved her.

That only left surrender. It would save some lives, but

I�d be letting down all the people who�d trusted me to

protect them. Vasiliy was cold, but at least he seemed

professional�it wasn�t him I was worried about. It was

that bastard Mikhail and his thugs: they�d be the ones

who�d shake down local businesses for protection

money if I surrendered. No way was I unleashing them

on the people I cared about.

And however hard I tried to focus on the crisis, my mind

kept swerving back to Irina. I�d told her I�d find a way,

but I couldn�t see one. I�m never going to see her again!

I finally stepped from the shower and started to towel

off. I had to restick some of the dressings and tape Rico

had put on my back and ribs. God, I was a mess.

Bruises everywhere and livid red finger marks around

my neck where Mikhail had�

I frowned in the mirror and looked closer. There was a

symbol in amongst the finger marks, a symbol I

recognized. A serpent. I grabbed my phone and checked

the photos I�d taken of Kirsty to be sure. It was

reversed because I�d been choked from behind instead

of in front, but it was the same mark from the same

ring. It was the same person.

Mikhail. He�d been the one who�d raped Kirsty and beat

her to within an inch of her life. It had never even

occurred to me that it might be a Russian. He barely

spoke, Kirsty had said. No wonder she hadn�t recognized

the accent. And with his bland looks, Mikhail could be

any fat businessman.

At first, it made no sense�that�s why I hadn�t even

considered it. The last place a Russian mafia boss would

go was to a Cosa Nostra hooker: far too much potential

for dangerous pillow talk and blackmail. They�d use one

of their own places, where the girls were loyal to their

side.

My stomach tightened. Unless, of course, you�re a

perverted bastard who likes to beat women up. Then it

made perfect sense. Mikhail could keep his nasty little

hobby from his comrades and he got to take his

frustration with me out on poor Kirsty. No doubt he�d

known she worked at Cinderella�s and that therefore she

was one of mine. The bastard. He�s dead, the next time

I see him�.

And then my blood turned to ice water. Mikhail was

right there in Vasiliy�s house, with Irina.

It got worse. Mikhail was the guy Vasiliy wanted Irina to

marry. Sure, Irina had said she�d never let it happen,

but then she hadn�t been expecting to be sent back to

Moscow, either.

Fear like I�d never known twisted together with white-

hot anger. I have to get her out of there! My head

started to fill with crazy fantasies of eloping with her,

just blasting out of there in my car and never looking

back, of leaving it all behind....

I shook my head, walked over to my closet and took out

a fresh, crisp shirt. That was batshit crazy. I couldn�t run

off with Irina. My empire was burning. I had to stay

here and�

I stared down at the shirt as the idea broke over me like

cool, fresh water. What if I didn�t?

What if getting out was the right thing to do?

It would solve all my problems. Irina and I could be

together, in some country where Vasiliy couldn�t touch

us. Irina would be safe from Mikhail. And I�d take

Vasiliy�s anger with me. Sure, he�d still be mad as hell

with me, but that rage wouldn�t be directed towards

Cosa Nostra and the people we protected anymore.

Whoever took over from me could negotiate peace�

Vasiliy had already shown he was willing to deal, just

not with me, anymore. It could all work out.

All I had to do was give up everything I�d ever worked

for.

I fingered the shirt, then stared at the neat rows of

identical shirts and suits hanging in my closet. It was

unthinkable. Completely fucking unthinkable. My dad�s

legacy: gone. All my men. Rico. I�d never see them

again. I�d never be able to come back to Little Italy�

hell, I�d never be able to come back to America.

But I�d get to be with her.

I slowly replaced the shirt in the closet. Then I dug

around and found the clothes I wore on the rare days I

wasn�t working: t-shirt and jeans, a sweater and a

leather jacket. Then I took the framed Yankees jersey

down off the wall to reveal the wall safe, opened it up

and swept all the cash into a sports bag. I grabbed my

passport and tucked my gun into the back of my jeans,

looked around the place for maybe the last time�.

And then I called Irina.

35

Irina

Four minutes to noon.

When Angelo had called on the burner phone, I�d had to

sit down fast on my bed to avoid collapsing in relief. I�d

barely slept the night before, staying up all night

watching rolling news coverage of the fires in Little Italy

and the fighting in the streets. I was so relieved to hear

his voice, I wanted to weep. And when he told me his

plan: to flee the country and start fresh somewhere

else, I actually did start to cry. He was giving up his

whole life for me.

The plan was simple: I�d go to my house on the

pretense of collecting some clothes. It would be easier

for me to sneak out of there than to escape Vasiliy�s

house. Angelo would be waiting in a cab on the next

street over at exactly noon. I�d run to him, we�d drive

straight to the airport and we�d have disappeared before

anyone could stop us.

Yuri had been assigned to drive me to my house and

Mikhail had insisted on coming along too. He didn�t dare

touch me or degrade me in front of Yuri, but I�d had to

suffer his thigh pressed against mine for the whole

journey. And what Angelo had told me made it worse.

I�d had to sit there knowing the evil that lay inside him,

that the man touching me was the sort of monster

who�d rape a woman and beat her half to death.

Thinking of Angelo was the only thing that kept me from

screaming. Just a little longer, I�d promised myself, and

then we can be together.

It had worked. Yuri and Mikhail were now downstairs

and I was in my bedroom. My bag was packed, my

passport was in my hand. I was ready.

So why was I still sitting there, at three minutes to

noon? I had to go, now, to meet Angelo.

This is everything you ever wanted, I told myself.

Angelo was going to give up being a gangster. I would

finally be free of my family. We could live out our lives

somewhere where the sun could warm my skin. It could

be paradise�.

Two minutes to noon.

I kept thinking about what Yuri had said. As his

surrogate daughter, I�d moderated Vasiliy, kept him

warm�kept him human. When I�d pushed him away,

Mikhail had stepped in to fill the void. He was gradually

turning Vasiliy into a monster, no better than him. When

Vasiliy had discovered my betrayal, it had pushed him

even closer to Mikhail. If I walked away, soon there�d be

nothing left of the man who�d raised me.

One minute to noon.

I opened the doors to the balcony and picked up my

bag. I took a long look at myself in the mirror�.

And then I slowly put the bag down in the middle of the

floor and climbed down off the balcony without it.

* * *

Angelo let out a long sigh of relief when I ran up. He

pushed the cab�s door open for me, then slammed it as

soon as I was inside. �Go!� he told the cabbie. �Airport!�

Before I could speak, he gathered me into his arms and

his lips found mine. Those big, warm hands slid up to

tangle in my hair and he kissed me as if to make up for

every second we�d been apart. I melted against his

chest, his pecs like slabs of rock. God, he felt so good!

�But where�s your bag?� he asked when he finally broke

the kiss. Then he shook his head. �Doesn�t matter. We

can buy you new stuff.�

He looked so different. It was the first time I�d seen him

in anything other than a suit. He looked younger, as if a

massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders. How

could I possibly suggest that he take it back?

The cab sped on towards the airport. It was bliss, sitting

there beside him, soaking up the warmth from his body,

our whole lives before us...but inside, my soul was

screaming at me. Every minute that ticked by was

making it worse. Tell him, tell him, tell him!

�We can�t leave,� I said at last, my face buried in his

chest.

I felt him look down at me. �The hell we can�t.�

I swallowed. �I don�t have my passport.�

He pushed me back from him. �What?!�

I bit my lip. �I knew if I brought it, you�d talk me round.

We can�t leave.� I glanced out of the window. We were

on the highway, now, and the airport was close enough

that we could hear the jets in the distance. �We have to

talk.� I looked meaningfully at the cabbie�what I had to

say, I didn�t want to say in front of him.

Angelo was still staring at me, aghast. �Pull over,� he

told the cabbie at last.

The cabbie craned around. �Here?�

�Do it.�

The cabbie cursed and pulled over by the side of the

highway. Angelo tossed him some bills and we got out.

It wasn�t snowing, but a thick layer coated everything,

giving even the crash barriers beside the highway a soft

edge. The traffic was too loud for us to talk so I started

walking up the grassy rise that lay alongside the

highway. Angelo followed. �What is this bullshit?� he

asked.

I shook my head. �We can�t leave.�

He grabbed my arm and pulled me around to face him.

�Yes we can. We can go anywhere we want. Paris.

Rome. Fucking Kuala Lumpur!�

I couldn�t meet his eyes. Every cell in my body was

screaming at me to just go with him and, if I looked into

those brown and amber eyes one more time, I�d give in.

�You always told me how important this was. How

people need you in Little Italy. How it was your dad�s

legacy.� I pulled free and started walking up the rise

again.

�Fuck all that!� he snapped. �Maybe I was wrong.

Maybe it�s all just bullshit. You were right. Russians

aren�t any different to Italians. We shouldn�t be killing

each other.�

My heart was breaking. He�d changed so much, he�d

come around to everything I�d tried to convince him of,

and now I had to undo it all. Because the truth was, we

were both right. I reached the top of the rise: ahead, it

sloped steeply down to an empty field covered in crisp,

unbroken snow.

I took Angelo�s hand and led him down the slope with

me, the traffic noise dying away behind us. It felt

ridiculous, leading him along: he was so big and his

whole body was tense and straining with anger. He

could have so easily pulled away or towed me along

with him, but he followed. When I looked across at him,

the need I saw in his expression almost made me

crumble before I got a word out. All he wanted in the

entire world was for me to run away with him. Why

can�t I just go?

Because I�d finally figured out what my destiny was.

Vasiliy had been trying to tell me all along and I�d

refused to listen: I was a Malakov and I had a role to

play.

�We have to stay,� I said, �because we�re the only ones

who can stop this thing. I�m the only one who can come

between Mikhail and Vasiliy and get Vasiliy to talk

peace. You�re the only one who can control your guys

and stop this getting worse and worse.�

�Vasiliy hates me,� Angelo said. �He�ll never talk peace

with me. If I leave and someone new comes in, maybe

they�ll do better.�

We reached the bottom of the slope and stood looking

out across the field. It was surprisingly quiet here, the

hill doing a good job of blocking the traffic noise. �Who�ll

pick your replacement, if you leave?� I asked gently.

�My bosses. The Saints.�

�And will they pick someone who�ll talk peace? Or will

they pick someone who�ll keep the war going?�

I could see him struggling with it. He wanted to deny it,

but he knew I was right. �They hate the Russians. Shit.

They�ll keep it going until we�re all dead.�

I nodded. �And hundreds of Russians will die, too.�

Angelo stood and turned from me, his massive

shoulders hunched in rage. He suddenly turned and

kicked the snow, a huge fantail of it flying through the

air. �I don�t want this fucking job!� he bellowed. �Not

anymore! I just want you!�

�I never wanted to be a Malakov,� I said, lifting my chin.

�But I�ve finally realized that the only thing worse than

being involved in this stuff is running from it. We can�t

run because we�re part of it, Angelo. We�re holding up

the freakin� building. If we run, like I tried to when I

came to New York, it all comes down.�

He took a long breath in. �What about us?� he said at

last.

�We wait. We go home and we do what we have to do.

I talk Vasiliy into stopping the attacks. If you can hold

your guys back from retaliating, maybe we can get a

ceasefire. Then maybe, maybe, I can get Vasiliy to talk

peace. And when it�s all done...maybe we can be

together. But this is more important than us.�

He took my face between his hands. �Nothing is more

important! Nothing is more important than you!� He

looked away. Looked back at me. �I love you.�

I wasn�t ready for how hard that hit me. It struck me

square in the chest and lit me up, the warmth radiating

out to every cell of my body. And instead of dissipating

and fading, it glowed, a deep, fiery heat that made me

ache and pulse every time I looked at him. Despite

everything, I couldn�t stop myself grinning. �I love you,

too,� I managed, my voice breaking. And I saw his

whole face soften, those brown and amber eyes

suddenly vulnerable for a second.

I swallowed. �There are lives at stake. A lot of lives. We

started this; we have to finish it.� I lifted my chin and

looked at him defiantly. �Because what�s the alternative?

Are you really going to get on a plane knowing that

everything you said you�d protect is burning? Because

that�s not the Angelo I know. That�s not the guy I fell

for.�

He ducked his head and pressed his cheek to mine, the

heat of him warming me as the freezing wind whipped

my hair against the other cheek. �Irina,� he said simply.

But my name contained all the anger, all the pain, all

the lust that I�d brought to him.

�Do you wish you�d never met me?� I asked. My eyes

were suddenly wet, burning saltiness threatening to

overspill.

His big hands squeezed my shoulders hard and he

crushed me against his chest. �You�re the best thing that

ever happened to me.� He kissed the soft skin below my

ear, then followed the line of my jaw to my lips and

kissed me, long and deep. �Alright, we�ll wait. We�ll sort

this mess out. But you�ve got to promise me: when all

this is done, we�re going to be together.�

I pressed my face to his chest and snuggled my cheek

into the deep, hard line between his pecs. �I promise.�

He pushed me back from him and his lips met mine,

hard against my softness. The raw heat of him made

me melt, my body wilting against his and my mouth

flowering open. He took possession of me, hands

stroking across my cheeks and into my hair, fingers

sinking deep into it as if it was the best thing he�d ever

felt. His tongue sought out mine and I came alive,

flexing and writhing against him as we twisted and

danced, my breasts soft against his chest. The kiss

changed. The mood changed. I could feel the outline of

his cock against his thigh, already hot and hard and still

swelling.

It felt like weeks since we�d seen each other. We didn�t

know when we�d see each other again.

Suddenly, his hands were on the buttons of my coat,

popping them one by one with quick efficiency. By the

time I broke the kiss, it was already open to my waist.

�We can�t,� I panted, looking around. We were two

black-clad figures at the edge of a vast white space. We

must have been visible for miles. �Not here!�

�Fuck �em,� panted Angelo. �If anyone�s watching, let�s

give them a good show.� And he unbuttoned my coat

the rest of the way, flinging the sides open. Underneath,

I was in a rust-colored sweater and black skirt with

black leggings. He shoved the coat down my arms and

then tossed it down on the snow.

He started kissing me again, this time open-mouthed

and hungry, and I groaned as I felt his hands slide

down over my ass and squeeze. Then they were rising,

slipping beneath the hem of my sweater to stroke the

bare skin beneath. God, his warmth felt so good, his

palms sliding over my back as if sculpting it, then his

thumbs circling on my stomach. �We can�t,� I gasped

again, having to twist my head to the side to escape his

furious kissing. �It�s freezing!� I left a cloud of white in

the air when I said it, proving my point.

�I thought you didn�t mind the cold?� he growled.

�Besides, I�ll warm you up.� And his hands rose higher,

up over my back, stroking over the elastic of my bra,

then around to my front, cupping my breasts, squeezing

them lightly, thumbs finding the nipples through the bra

and rubbing, Oh God�.

His hands slid behind me again. Suddenly the clasp was

free and my bra went loose across my breasts. His

hands were on me in an instant, palming my breasts,

the nipples stiffening automatically at his touch. My

breath quickened, hitching faster and faster with each

brush of his hands�God, I was aching for him. He

never stopped kissing me, first sucking my top lip into

his mouth and nibbling gently on it, then drawing my

lower lip oh-so-slowly down, leaving me quivering. My

nipples were between his thumbs and forefingers now,

the nubs tight and hard as he rolled and stroked, the

heat pumping straight down between my legs�.

Angelo growled as if he couldn�t wait any longer. He

grabbed the hem of my sweater and drew it slowly

upwards, taking my bra with it. I lifted my arms over

my head to help him but he didn�t speed up: he drew

the fabric up over me as slowly as if he was unveiling a

statue. I could feel his eyes on each inch of my bare

skin as it was revealed: my stomach, my chest...when

the sweater�s hem reached my breasts, he slowed down

almost to a stop, the fabric rising millimeter by slow

millimeter.

The top of it was already over my head, trapping me in

a cocoon of warmth, thin enough that it was translucent

but thick enough that it mostly blindfolded me. I could

see the brightness of the snow around us and the huge,

dark shape of him in front of me, but not details. I

didn�t need to see him to know where he was looking,

though. I could feel his eyes eating me up, devouring

my breasts as they gradually appeared. The icy air blew

across my naked back and over my breasts, my nipples

throbbing and ultra-sensitive, every little gust of wind

magnified a thousand fold.

The dark shape in front of me leaned forward and I

squealed as a hot mouth enveloped one breast. The

heat of his tongue after the freezing air was shocking,

oven-hot and slickly wet. I had to press my thighs hard

together, my ass describing an �S� in the air as I

swayed and ground, the heat rising and building inside

me.

Then the sweater was tugged up and off me, falling to

the ground with my bra tangled within it. My hair fell

around my shoulders, strands tickling against my bare

skin. I let out a long breath, forming a soft cloud of

vapor in the air between us.

He put his hands on my waist and ran them up and

down my sides, the heels of his hands just brushing the

sides of my breasts�it was as if he was teasing himself,

drawing out the moment before he�d take them in his

hands again. Those brown and amber eyes were

burning, now, his gaze a scalding trail across my skin.

He let a long, shuddering gasp of lust, the white cloud it

left mixing with mine. Finally, when he couldn�t bear it

any longer, he filled his hands with my breasts and

pulled me close, squeezing rhythmically, his thumbs

brushing across my nipples as he kissed me hard and

deep.

The wind picked up, freezing one side of my body. I

pressed myself hard against him, letting the warmth of

him soak into me through his clothes. My hands wound

around his back and slid up under his jacket and

sweater, tracing the hard lines of his muscles. I started

to ease his jacket down his arms and off even as he

unzipped my skirt. Both of us were frantic, now,

needing to feel each other�s bodies. His jacket hit the

snow and then, a second later, my skirt fell around my

feet.

I lifted his sweater and t-shirt up and over his head,

kissing my way up his exposed chest an inch behind the

rising hem. The hardness of his abs against the softness

of my lips made me crazy, the heat inside me twisting,

becoming tight and frantic. I kissed up his centerline,

over smooth tan skin and then up to the dark ink of the

angel wings tattoo, lips tracing first one broad, curved

pec and then the other, my hands sliding around his

shoulders.

The heat of him blazed across the space that separated

us, searing away the cold. I crushed my body to his, me

soft and cold and him iron hard and throbbing with

warmth, and it was the best thing I�d felt in my life. He

wrapped his arms around my naked back and I knew I�d

never want to be cold or numb again.

His hands slid under the waistband of my leggings and

panties and palmed my ass, then started rolling the

fabric down my thighs. I caught my breath as the wind

whipped across my exposed sex, but the cold only made

the heat inside pulse faster and hotter. My hands found

the belt of his jeans and I tugged the buckle open. His

cock strained against the heavy fabric and then tented

his jockey shorts as his jeans fell. I ran the tips of my

fingers over it and saw it twitch, thick and hard and

fiercely hot. I was panting, now. I needed that heat

inside me.

I kicked off my shoes, stepping back onto my coat and

then stripping my leggings the rest of the way off. I was

naked, except for the necklace he�d given me.

�I said I�d fuck you, with you wearing just that,� he

murmured, brushing it with his fingers. He pushed down

his jockey shorts and his cock sprang free, gorgeous

and brutal, the silken head pointing at the sky. He drew

it down so that it pointed right at the soft curls of

blonde hair between my thighs. �Now I�m going to.�

I didn�t so much lie down as sink, my knees buckling at

the thought of what we were going to do. He stood

there naked, legs braced a little way apart, the cold

wind whipping across his tattooed chest, his tan skin

beautiful against the snow. I lay on my back, the

outspread coat my only protection against the snow.

And yet despite the freezing ground and the cold wind, I

wasn�t shivering. The heat inside me was now furnace-

bright and expanding fast. I lifted my knees and

stepped my feet apart, welcoming him in, and saw his

cock twitch in response.

He knelt between my thighs, retrieved a condom from

his pants and rolled it on, and then his hips were

spreading my legs. The thick head of him brushed the

sensitive skin of my inner thighs once, twice...and then

it kissed up against the lips of my sex. God, I hadn�t

realized how wet I was. My breath started to come in

quick little pants, the clouds of mist breaking against his

chest as he lowered himself atop me, his hard body

burning hot against mine.

He kissed me on the lips once, then started to kiss down

my neck and across my shoulder, his tongue quick and

expert on my collarbone. He kissed me with that perfect

blend of care and roughness. I was a princess to be

worshipped...but a princess he was going to damn well

ravish and make his. I moved beneath him, flexing and

twisting, rubbing my body against his like a cat. The

hard ridges of his abs stroked along my stomach, the

deep diagonal lines of his Adonis belt stroking at the

tops of my thighs. With every breath I took, my chest

touched his: soft, sinful breast and nipple grazing

sculpted pec and heavenly angel feathers. And then I

felt the head of his cock stroking, pushing, spreading

me wide�.

My eyes fluttered open and I stared up into a white sky

as he slid into me, my arms coming up to clasp around

his shoulders. My ass come up off the coat, my back

arching as he stretched me just right...and then my

head tilted back, chin pointed at the sky, as he filled me

in a hot rush. The heat of him met my own twisting,

aching need and we combined and blazed even hotter. I

heard him groan in satisfaction. �Jesus,� he whispered,

his lips at my ear. �Jesus, Irina, you feel so good.�

He began to move, stroking slowly out of me, and the

feel of him against my satiny walls made me dig my

toes hard into the smooth lining of my coat, the snow

scrunching beneath it. I missed the heat and hardness

of him inside me but I wanted that sweet friction, knew

that in a second it would�

God! He slammed back into me, even deeper than

before, and my head came up, eyes locking with his.

We kissed, hard and hot, as my hands explored his

back. He began to thrust, breaking the kiss and dipping

his head to lick at my breasts, shoulders hunched like a

beast, and I went wild, thrashing and gasping under him

as his tongue lashed over my nipples.

The heat inside me was taking control of me, spreading

out to my fingers and toes. I wrapped my legs around

him, loving the feeling of his solid, muscled thighs

against my heels. I grabbed his ass and immediately

went weak as my fingers found the hot, solid power of

him there, the tight muscles that would let him pound

me for hours. The heat was folding in on itself,

tightening, beginning to thrash and seek escape. And

with Angelo, I didn�t have to keep it under control: I

could let it out.

He raised himself up on his arms, biceps bulging, and I

couldn�t stop myself running my hands all the way up

his naked back and down his arms, melting inside as I

swept my fingertips over the hard swells. The size of

him made me feel small; the strength of him made me

feel weak. For someone like me who�d been trying to be

strong her whole life, there was no better feeling in the

world.

He began to move faster and the heat inside grew too

much to bear. I lifted my ass and began to shamelessly

grind my hips in circles, both of us groaning as the liquid

friction grew and changed. I felt Angelo�s body tense, a

wicked smile teasing the corners of his lips: he loved to

see me like this, loved to see me lose control for him.

My head began to toss from side to side, strands of hair

falling across my face as I sucked in air through my

nose, jaw set and teeth gritted. I was notching higher

and higher, my toes dancing against my coat, my whole

world narrowing down to the hard, hot thrust of him

inside me. �A�Angelo,� I gasped, his name floating

upward in a desperate little puff of mist.

He lowered his head and kissed my chin. �Irina,� he

growled. My hands clawed at his back, my heels digging

into his ass�.

I felt it on my breasts first: an angel�s kiss, so soft I

wasn�t sure if I�d imagined it. An instant of cold that only

made the heat more real. I opened my eyes and saw

my breast shining wetly, a drop of water running down

my side.

Another soft kiss, this time on my other breast, and this

time I was in time to see the snowflake melt against my

heated skin. I looked around: snow was falling all

around us, flakes hitting Angelo�s muscled back and

turning instantly to jewels of water. Even when the wind

whipped across our bodies and flakes dusted our sides,

it didn�t stop us. The cold only made the heat inside

more intense. The orgasm was building and tightening

inside me. I was bucking and twisting under him, the

sweat standing out on my forehead. We were both so

close�

He suddenly leaned back and stared right into my eyes

and the look I saw there sent me over the edge. His

eyes were heavy-lidded with lust, drinking in the sight of

me. I was his ice princess and he�d reduced me from

imperious and frozen to a melted, gasping wreck. He

was my hot-headed, black-hearted gangster, driven by

blood and fire, and yet I�d put him under my spell.

He owned me. And I owned him.

He thrust into me, deep and I saw his ass clench as I

felt the first hot explosion inside me. My own climax

tightened into a blazing, white-hot ball...and detonated,

making me bury my face against his shoulder and shout

in Russian, my lips moving against his skin. I was

clenching and spasming around him, shouting and

shouting�

He bit at my earlobe, nuzzling there. �Don�t stop,� I

repeated in English, all shyness gone. �Don�t stop, don�t

stop��

He didn�t, burying himself in me again and again as he

shot and shot, and my orgasm stretched out and out,

waves of it crashing through me, until I finally wrapped

him in my arms and legs and lay still, chest heaving. We

lay there for long minutes, the snow covering his

muscled back first with a sheen of water and then, as

he cooled, with a dusting of white.

We dressed, stopping every few garments to kiss. When

I lifted my coat, the snow beneath it was gone�our

heat had melted it, right down to the grass below. Even

now, I didn�t feel cold. We were both warmed from the

inside out, by what we�d done and by the possibilities

ahead. It didn�t matter that the odds were against us.

The odds had been against us right from the start. What

mattered was that we were going to face them together

and head on.

Angelo called Rico, who said he�d come and pick us up.

The plan was for him and Angelo to drop me back in the

city, a good distance from my house, and then I�d get a

cab home. I�d find Mikhail and Yuri and explain that I�d

attempted to run away, but had decided my place was

with my family. I wouldn�t mention Angelo. Then I�d

start trying to talk Vasiliy into agreeing a ceasefire.

Meanwhile, Angelo would try to calm things with the

Cosa Nostra.

Angelo pushed my hair back from my face and kissed

me again as we waited. �I don�t want to do this,� he

muttered. �I just got you again. I don�t want to give you

up.�

�We�ll be together soon,� I promised him.

Moments later, Rico came over the top of the rise. He

stood there for a second staring down at us...at me.

Does he hate me? In his eyes, I�d taken his best friend

from him�.

He started down the slope towards us, shaking his head

softly. �What the hell are you wearing?� he asked

Angelo as he drew close. Then he nodded to me, polite

but cautious.

I grabbed his hand. �Thank you,� I said. I didn�t just

mean for picking us up. Angelo was going to need his

help if we were going to pull this off.

Rico shrugged. �Yeah,� he muttered, �Well��

There was a metallic click and we all turned to look.

Yuri was marching down the slope, his gun leveled right

at us.

36

Irina

I figured it out pretty fast. Yuri was a master at tracking

people down and he�d do anything to protect me. When

I hadn�t come down for my room, he would have come

upstairs and found me gone. And with no way to follow

me, he�d done the next best thing. Realizing that I�d be

meeting Angelo, he�d hunted him...and when he too

couldn�t be found, he�d hunted down his right-hand

man, Rico, then followed him here.

Yuri was almost at the bottom of the slope, now, maybe

twenty feet from us. �Irina,� he said sadly, �move away

from him.�

Instead, I moved around in front of Angelo. I wasn�t

sure what orders Yuri had been given�was he just here

to get me back, or would he kill Angelo as soon as he

had a clear shot? I wasn�t taking the chance. �No!�

At that moment, Rico yelled and threw himself at Yuri.

The two of them crashed down into the snow, Yuri�s

gun flying out of his hand. They tumbled over and over,

battling for dominance. I could see Rico had the youth

and strength, but Yuri had decades of training, some of

it with Russia�s Spetsnaz special forces. He slammed his

fist into Rico�s kidneys, then headbutted him and threw

him off. Before Rico could get to his feet, Yuri was

standing over him drawing a vicious-looking knife.

That launched Angelo into action. He charged Yuri from

the side and knocked him to the ground again, the two

of them sending up showers of snow as they landed. My

chest went tight: I didn�t want anything to happen to

Angelo but Yuri was like a brother to me. �Stop!� I

yelled.

But they didn�t. Yuri got to his feet, crouched over in a

fighting pose. Angelo ran at him again and Yuri was

forced back, slashing with the knife to keep Angelo at

bay, the blade flashing in the painfully-bright sunlight.

By now, Rico was back on his feet and the two of them

moved in together, inching Yuri back towards the slope.

�Stop!� I yelled again. Angelo glanced quickly back at

me and Yuri used the distraction to spring at him.

Angelo barely jumped back in time and then, with a

growl, he charged Yuri and grabbed his knife hand,

forcing it up and away from him. Yuri staggered back,

hit the bottom of the slope and fell, dragging Angelo

down with him�

And suddenly everything was still and silent. Yuri lay on

his back on the slope. Angelo straddled him, panting

hard.

I ran over. Yuri seemed to have given up: he was

staring up at Angelo in dismay, his face pale. Angelo

had gone almost as white, looking down at his hands in

horror.

Then I followed Angelo�s gaze and saw the knife, buried

to the hilt in Yuri�s heart.

37

Irina

�No,� I croaked. �No, no, no!� I ran to Yuri and fell to

my knees beside him. I put my hand to his cheek and it

was already clammy and gray. �No!�

Blood was spreading out beneath him, oozing through

the snow. Angelo and I looked at each other. �I didn�t

���he shook his head��it was an accident.�

All the bits of first aid I�d picked up over the years swam

into my head but my brain was fogged and slow

because this was Yuri, the protector who�d been there

for my family as long as I could remember. Yuri wasn�t

supposed to get hurt. Yuri was forever.

Rico knelt beside me. It was the first time we�d been

this close and the glance he gave me said so much:

anger and hate and distrust...and guilt. Then he focused

on Yuri. �If we want to save him,� he told Angelo,

�we�ve got to go now. Right now.�

Angelo nodded and jumped to his feet. �Get his arms,�

he said.

Yuri gave a long groan of pain as we lifted him but, with

all three of us helping, we managed to get him up the

slope to the big Chrysler Rico had driven there. Pulled

up behind it, I could see one of Vasiliy�s black Mercedes

with blacked-out windows�that must be how Yuri got

there.

We slid Yuri into the back seat and Angelo got in with

him. Rico got into the driver�s seat and they both looked

up at me, waiting for me to get in.

�I can�t come,� I told them.

�What?� They both said it at the same time.

�Vasiliy will kill whoever did this. If I disappear, he�ll

figure out it was you. I need to go home. We stick to

the plan: I claim I tried to run away and then had

second thoughts, nothing to do with you.�

Angelo just stared at me. His instinct was to stay with

me, no matter the consequences. He shook his head.

�We don�t have time to argue!� I told him. �I�ll take the

Mercedes. Find the keys!�

Angelo shook his head again but rooted in Yuri�s pocket

and pulled out a key fob. He weighed it in his hand,

looking at me beseechingly.

�We gotta go!� yelled Rico.

Angelo drew in a long, shuddering breath and tossed

me the keys. �Be careful!�

I nodded and slammed the door before he could change

his mind. The big car roared away, threading its way

quickly through the highway traffic in the direction of

the hospital.

Jesus. Yuri. It was difficult to breathe. Please don�t let

him die! Not Yuri. There�d been too many casualties of

this war already.

I ran over to the Mercedes, got in and started it up.

How did this go so wrong, so fast? Vasiliy would want

vengeance against whoever had stabbed his beloved

bodyguard. There was no question: he�d put a hit out on

the attacker. The only saving grace was that no one

knew it was Angelo.

�Hello, Irina,� said Mikhail from the back seat.

38

Angelo

I had Yuri�s head resting on my lap, my hands slick with

his blood as I tried to keep pressure on the knife

wound. The knife itself was still in his chest, evidence of

my crime. I wanted to throw up every time I looked at

it, but I didn�t dare move it because it was stopping

some of the bleeding. Please don�t let him die. Yuri�s

face had gone the same color as the soot-stained snow

back in Little Italy, his eyes narrowed in agony, his teeth

gritted. From what Irina had told me, this guy was

practically family. The guilt was like nothing I�d ever felt.

And yet, each time I felt Rico glance furiously back at

me, that guilt was almost worse.

�What were you doing, Angelo?� he demanded.

�Just drive,� I said tightly.

�You�re dressed like you�re going on vacation.� Rico was

almost panting, he was so angry. �You�re out here by

the highway�what�s out this way, huh? The airport?!�

�Just drive! He needs the hospital!�

�I�m fucking driving!� He banged the steering wheel.

�You were running out on us. You were fucking running

out on us, weren�t you?�

I didn�t answer, just looked down at Yuri�s ashen face.

When he spoke again, Rico�s voice was so full of hurt it

brought a lump to my throat. �Fuck you, Angelo.�

Moments later, we arrived. Rico pulled right up to the

Emergency Room entrance and I ran in to get a doctor.

We got Yuri onto a gurney and inside but, immediately,

nurses were asking me questions: who was he, who

was I, what happened?

I had Vasiliy�s number in my phone from when I�d set

up the peace talk. I scrawled it on a form and handed it

to a nurse. �Call this man. He�ll take care of everything.�

Then I was running back to Rico. I didn�t want to leave

Yuri, but there was nothing more I could do and getting

myself arrested wasn�t going to help.

Rico pulled away as soon as I got in the car but we

didn�t head towards the city. He turned and headed out

of town. �What are you doing?� I asked.

�The Saints just called,� Rico said. �They want to see

you.� He twisted in his seat and looked at me, his face

drawn with worry. �Angelo...they know.�

39

Irina

My hands were still on the Mercedes�s steering wheel. I

sat there clutching it, willing it not to be true. But when

I looked up into the rear view mirror, I could see the

lower half of Mikhail�s face, his unmistakable wide smirk

almost splitting his pink, doughy face in two. With

shaking hands, I adjusted the mirror and those beady,

lust-filled eyes gleamed back at me.

We hadn�t even considered it, when we carried Yuri to

Rico and Angelo�s car. The Mercedes had been sitting

there with the doors closed, the blacked-out windows

concealing Mikhail. We�d just assumed Yuri had come

alone.

Mikhail leaned forward. �I saw everything. I took a peek

over the top of the hill, just in time to see your

boyfriend murder Yuri.�

I wanted to throw up. When he found out, Vasiliy

wouldn�t rest until Angelo was dead.

�Since you�re already in the driver�s seat, I think you

should drive,� said Mikhail. He sat back in his seat.

�Let�s go home.�

My heart pounding, I put the car into gear and drove off

to Vasiliy�s house to seal Angelo�s fate.

40

Angelo

It wasn�t like the last time I�d seen The Saints. Last time

had been like being summoned to the Principal�s office.

This was like the walk to the gallows.

The big, dark room was lit this time by a huge fire

roaring in the fireplace, the flames turning one side of

Nicky�s scowling face to flickering gold. He stood, hands

braced on the table, but insisted I sit down. The other

Saints stood beside him, looking equally pissed. Even

kindly old Vincenzo was giving me a you�re fucked, kid

look.

I sat. I figured that if they were going to kill me, it

wouldn�t make much difference. Rico stood in the

doorway behind me. I figured that that would be my

warning: if they asked him to leave, I was dead.

Nicky opened a brown envelope and tossed a sheaf of

photos onto the table. They spun and spread as they

landed, covering the table in a glossy fan of eyes and

lips, breasts and thighs. Moments that were meant to be

private.

Mikhail, you bastard�.

�You arrogant, self-centered little fuck!� snapped Nicky.

�How dare you? How dare you endanger everything,

just to dip your dick into that little whore?�

I felt the anger start, then. It was red-hot and clean,

burning upward through the cold black layers of

tradition and respect as if they were so much filthy coal.

�Don�t talk about her like that,� I grated.

Nicky groaned. �You�re fucking sweet on her?� he asked

incredulously. �Oh, Jesus�.� All of The Saints were

shaking their heads in despair, now. �We knew you�d

been dumb but we thought you were smarter than

that!�

I stared at him in confusion.

�It�s a trick, you dumb fuck!� yelled Nicky, slamming his

fist down on the table. The photos of Irina and me

jumped and drifted further apart, revealing more and

more of us. �Vasiliy sent her to get into your pants, so

you�d go soft on the Russians!�

�No,� I said angrily. �She�s his niece!�

�So? He�s a Russian. Russians don�t have any fucking

qualms about sacrificing their own. Don�t they teach you

history in school? World War II?� He leaned across the

table at me. �That�s why he brought her over here, to

fucking seduce you!� He glanced down at the photos,

his eyes stopping on one of Irina, her leotard rolled

down to mid-thigh. �She�s got a nice pussy, I�ll give you

that. She was probably turning tricks for Vasiliy when

she was fifteen.�

If I�d been standing, I would have been able to hit him.

But I had to shove my chair back first and stand and,

when my fist was an inch from Nicky�s jaw, it slapped

into Rico�s hand. I twisted around and glared at Rico but

he simply shook his head. He forced my fist back with

me resisting every inch of the way.

�It�s not like that,� I told Nicky. I had to pant through

my anger. I barely recognized my own voice�God,

what had happened to me?

�Yeah, it�s true fucking love,� spat Taavetti. He coughed

and adjusted the valve on his oxygen cylinder. �We got

no confidence in you anymore, Angelo.� He indicated

the room. �That�s what this is.�

He nodded at Rico and my shoulders tensed. This was

it. Rico would leave the room, some hired killer would

come in to take me off into the woods and it would all

be over.

But Rico didn�t leave. He walked around to stand beside

me.

Aw, shit. Shit, no.

�Did you know about him and Irina?� Nicky asked.

I willed Rico to be smart. No use both of us dying over

this. Thankfully, he was. �No,� he said.

�You got a problem taking over?� asked Nicky. �Make no

mistake, you�re inheriting a war and a fucking nasty

one. We�ll want you to eliminate every one of those

Russian bastards. No mercy. No matter how many of

ours it takes. Got it?�

Rico slowly nodded. �Got it.�

�Good,� said Nicky. He pushed himself off from the

table and waved his hand at me. �Get rid of this piece of

shit.� He led the other Saints out of the room and closed

the door behind him. Rico and I were left there in

silence, the only noise the crackling of the fire.

I couldn�t believe it. I�d been ready to give it all up...but

for Irina. Not like this. Not to be chewed up and spat

out by The Saints and replaced by my best friend.

�I had to,� muttered Rico, as if he was trying to

convince himself. He leaned against the fireplace, its

light silhouetting his big body, and gripped the

mantelpiece so hard I thought it would snap. �If I�d

have said no, they�d have got someone else to do it.�

I shook my head. �Don�t do this. They�re using you,

Rico. You heard them, they�ll carry on this war until

we�re all wiped out. They don�t give a shit about us.� I

held out my hands. �You want my job? You got it. I

don�t care anymore. But you gotta make peace with

Vasiliy.�

�Peace?� Rico spun to glare at me. �Listen to yourself.

Ever since I�ve known you, all you ever talked about

was power: holding onto power, getting more power.

The Saints are right, she�s fucking corrupted you!�

�No! She�s got me thinking straight! We gotta stop this!

You and me!�

Rico suddenly hauled me out of my chair and pushed

me away, sending me staggering across the room.

�Since when did some woman tell you what to do?� He

slammed his hands into my chest, sending me

staggering again. I could feel the heat of the fire behind

me. �Think, Angelo! Snap out of this, because I can�t

protect you anymore!�

I took a deep breath and went to straighten my lapels,

trying to hold in my rage. But my suit jacket wasn�t

there, just my leather jacket and t-shirt, mocking me for

dreaming of a different path. �Irina��

�Fuck Irina!� Rico yelled. And he gave me another

shove. My foot clattered awkwardly on the hearth and

then my heels kicked against the logs in the fire, raising

a cloud of sparks. Burning pain shot up my ankle as the

flames licked at me. I staggered sideways, slapping at

my singed jeans, just as Rico�s fist caught me under the

chin.

I spun and crashed down onto the table, sending

pictures of Irina and me spilling onto the floor. Then

Rico was hauling me up by the throat and slamming me

against the wall with the fireplace again. The back of my

head mashed against the big mirror that hung above the

hearth. The backs of my legs prickled with heat from

the roaring fire.

Rico stepped back, drew his gun and pointed it at my

head. �Ever since you met her,� he muttered. �Ever

since the day you met her, you�ve been�� He was

talking almost to himself, trying to justify what he was

about to do. He shook his head and cocked the gun. �I

never thought a woman would come between us,� he

said.

And I suddenly saw the jealousy in his eyes. Shit! How

could I have done this to him? �Rico��

He pulled the trigger.

Pain exploded in my head. The whole room seemed to

shake as the gunshot reverberated. I waited for

everything to go dark. But Rico just stood there, anger

and hurt twisting his face, the smoke still rising from his

gun.

Blood was trickling down the back of my neck. I slowly

turned around and looked at the mirror. There was a

bullet hole a few inches to the left of where my head

had been, cracks fanning out around it. A few slivers of

mirror were missing�the ones that had erupted out and

slashed at my neck. I could see Rico staring at me in

the mirror, just as he must have been able to see

himself.

�Get out,� he said coldly. �Get out of the city. Get out of

the country. I�ll tell The Saints I killed you, but I can�t

ever see you again.�

There was nothing more I could say. I turned and

walked out of the door without looking back.

41

Irina

I drove slowly�putting off the inevitable, I guess. So

the news about Yuri reached Vasiliy before we did.

When we arrived, he was already pacing the hallways,

his anger obvious in the heavy slam of his feet against

the tiles. We walked through the door and heard him

rushing to the top of the stairs to see who it was. I

braced myself for the shouting to begin�

But for a second, he just looked relieved. �Irina!�

I�d been looking at the floor, too afraid to meet his

eyes. I looked up and the expression on his face made

my heart ache. He�d been so worried about me, he�d

forgotten his anger for a moment. He still loves me�.

Then he seemed to catch himself and he started down

the stairs, his expression growing darker and darker.

�What the fuck is going on? The three of you go to

Irina�s house to get clothes, you don�t come back for

hours and then the hospital calls to say Yuri�s close to

death!�

I braced myself again. This was where Mikhail would tell

Vasiliy what happened.

�We were at Irina�s house,� said Mikhail calmly. �Yuri

got a phone call�I don�t know who from. He drove off

in a cab. When he didn�t come back, we took his car

and came back here. What happened to him?�

I stared at him, slack-jawed. I hadn�t realized what a

good liar he could be.

Vasiliy�s face twisted in rage. �Some bastard stabbed

him, right in the heart. Probably one of the Italians.

When I find out who, I�ll personally gut the bastard.�

Mikhail shook his head. �Why would they kill Yuri?� he

asked. �More likely, it was someone Yuri�s had dealings

with in the past. He had plenty of enemies.�

�Has!� corrected Vasiliy. He closed his eyes. �They�re

operating on him. But the damage to his heart was

severe. He may not survive.� His fists were tight, white-

knuckled balls of rage. �I�ll kill the man who did this,� he

whispered. �I�ll make it fucking slow.�

Mikhail nodded and put a hand on Vasiliy�s shoulder. It

made me sick: he�d use even this moment of horror to

wheedle his way into Vasiliy�s affections. �I�ll help you

track him down,� he said. Then, while Vasiliy�s eyes

were still closed, he turned and looked at me.

I frowned back at him. Why are you doing this? Mikhail

hated Angelo. Why would he cover for him? But his

expression was unreadable.

Vasiliy sighed and opened his eyes. He suddenly looked

very tired: of all the death and suffering I�d seen him

face in his career, Yuri�s stabbing was hitting him

hardest of all. Only the death of his wife had broken him

like this. And me betraying him, I reminded myself

viciously. Yuri had been the one rock he�d had left to

cling to. No wonder he was lost...and furious. �It is too

dangerous here,� he said. �Irina, you must go back to

Moscow immediately.�

I opened my mouth to protest but he cut me off. �No

arguments.� Then he turned to Mikhail. �And you will go

with her. Your name is all over the news. The police

want to talk to you. I told you you were getting your

hands too dirty! I will handle things here. You will return

when things have calmed down.�

I expected Mikhail to argue�New York was his territory.

But he slowly nodded. Some time in Moscow was better

than years in jail.

I finally found my voice. �I�m not going back to

Moscow,� I told Vasiliy, throwing a look at Mikhail. �I��

Mikhail put a big, possessive hand on my shoulder. I

turned to snap at him but something in his eyes made

me hesitate. �If I could have a word with Irina in

private?� he asked.

Vasiliy sighed and waved us away. Mikhail ushered me

into the sumptuously-furnished drawing room. He

turned to close the door behind us. �Look,� I said as we

both turned to face each other. �I don�t know why��

He swung and slapped me across the face. His hands

were like hams and he put all his anger and frustration

into it. I flew sideways, falling into the big leather

couch, my cheek blazing with pain.

�Shut the fuck up,� he said.

I slowly opened my eyes and stared at him in shock and

outrage. Was he crazy?! Vasiliy would�

�Here�s what�s going to happen,� said Mikhail. �You are

going to come to Moscow with me. In fact, you�re going

to move in with me. You and I are going to get to know

each other very well.�

And suddenly I saw it. How could I have been so naive?

�You�re going to do exactly what I say,� he said.

�Everything I say. Or Vasiliy�s going to find out that

Angelo killed Yuri. He�ll hunt him down like a dog and

torture him. You�ve never seen Vasiliy when he�s

vengeful. Your boyfriend will beg for death. And he

doesn�t have his mafia friends to protect him anymore.�

What? �What did you do?� I croaked.

�I sent photos of the two of you together to Angelo�s

bosses,� said Mikhail sweetly. �They�ll have pushed him

out by now.�

I opened my mouth to scream at him, but suddenly that

big, clammy hand was across my mouth, pushing me

back into the couch while my legs kicked uselessly in the

air. �I told you to shut up!� he said testily.

I could barely breathe. His big, flabby hand half-blocked

my nostrils and I couldn�t suck in enough air. I stared up

at him in panic. For all his being out of shape, he was

much bigger than me...and now he had something he

could hold over me like an axe.

�Will you be good?� he asked.

I nodded, tears in my eyes.

He released his hand.

�Vasiliy won�t believe I...like you,� I croaked.

Mikhail straightened his suit. �Not now,� he said. �You�ll

tell him that you�re coming to Moscow under my

protection. But over the next few months, you�ll start to

spin him a story: you�re getting to know me, you�re

starting to fall in love with me�in six months, you�ll tell

him we�re getting married.�

He leaned close so that he could whisper. �But actually?

You�ll be in my bed every night, starting tonight. I�m

going to enjoy violating his little princess in every way

there is, and I�ll teach you to fucking obey. I don�t really

care if you ever love me or not. But you�ll marry me into

Vasiliy�s fortune and you�ll give me a couple of kids to

seal the deal. Within a few years, I�ll run New York and

Moscow.�

�I can�t do it,� I said. �I can�t make him believe that.�

�Oh, yes you can, Irina. You�ve already shown me what

a good liar you are. You managed to string me along

while you were really fucking that Italian piece of shit. I

think you can convince Vasiliy of anything you

want...and you�d better, or Angelo�s going to die.�

We stared at each other. I knew he was right. I would

lie to Vasiliy and I�d do a good job of it, too. I had to.

The nightmare I�d always feared was coming to pass,

but it was far worse than I�d ever imagined. I was going

back to Moscow and marrying a gangster...but it wasn�t

just some suitor I didn�t love. It was a man who hated

me as much as he lusted after me, who�d spend every

night finding new ways to cause me pain. And I couldn�t

tell anyone, couldn�t complain, or the man I did love

would die.

I drew in a long, shuddering breath and willed the tears

to draw back from my eyes. I had to use every scrap of

Malakov ice to get through this. I had to wear that mask

like never before. �Is my face red?� I asked Mikhail.

�What?�

�Is my face red, you son of a bitch? Where you slapped

me?�

He slowly grinned. �Only a little. It hasn�t bruised yet.�

I stood up. �Then I should do this now.�

He didn�t try to stop me rising. He knew I was under his

control, now. He sprawled on the couch as I walked to

the door, his eyes on my ass.

I found Vasiliy in his study, looking at a map of New

York. He was already planning where he was going to

strike the Italians next: which businesses to burn, which

politicians and police to bribe or threaten to bring their

empire down. I remembered what I�d said to Angelo:

this was going to turn into a bloodbath without him as

leader...and now that had actually come to pass.

Why hadn�t I run with him when I had the chance? By

now, we could have been in the air, on our way to

another country. I�d given that up to try to do the right

thing and now the war was beyond our control anyway.

Vasiliy turned and looked at me. �What?� he snapped,

still leaning over the table. Then he frowned at my

expression and straightened up, turning to face me

properly. �What?� he asked again, his voice softer.

Just tell him. If he knew how Mikhail was blackmailing

me, he�d destroy him.

But not before Mikhail could tell him what happened to

Yuri. Mikhail would die, but so would Angelo.

�I�ve thought about it,� I said. �I�ll go to Moscow. But I

don�t want to be all by myself, in your house. I want to

go to Mikhail�s place.�

Vasiliy�s brow knitted. �Irina, you hate Mikhail. Don�t

think I don�t see it in your face, every time you look at

him.�

I took a deep breath. �I�ve realized I need to make

sacrifices. And I need someone who can protect me. I

might even grow to like him.�

He looked at me doubtfully. �I know I tried to push you

together. But I want you to be happy.�

I shook my head and pulled him into a hug. It was the

only way I could hide my tears. �I will be,� I said. It

horrified me that I could lie so well to someone I loved

so much.

But it was nothing compared to what I�d have to do

next.

42

Angelo

I walked. I guess I could have called a cab but I was

too broken, too emotionally wrung-out, to get my phone

out. The highways were plowed, but not the grass

beside them where I had to walk. The snow was knee

deep and, as the afternoon wore on, it started to snow

again. My leather jacket and the sweater beneath it

turned white but I didn�t even bother to zip the jacket

closed. The cold felt good. Numbing.

The fire that had always driven me had gone out. I�d

failed my dad�his territory might stay in Italian hands

but it would be a wasteland by the end of it, a ghetto

where no one wanted to raise their kids or run a

business. I�d failed Rico, my best friend, abandoned him

for a woman and put him in an unwinnable position.

He�d likely die, in the war to come. As would all my

men.

I�d lost everything. I�d been fighting my whole life and

now I couldn�t fight at all. I didn�t have anything to fight

for. I felt utterly cold inside, save for one bright spark.

Irina.

We couldn�t stop the war, now, but maybe, when this

was all over, I could contact her and convince her to run

away with me. It was a slim hope, but it was all that

kept me going.

My phone rang. I pulled it out. �Yeah?�

I knew it was her as soon as she breathed. That�s how

well I knew her, now: I could see the tremble of her lips

as she inhaled, feel the rise of her firm breasts against

my chest. I knew it was her and I knew she was on the

edge of tears. �Irina?�

�...I need to go away,� she said at last. Her voice was

haunting, deep dark pain dredged up from her soul and

shaped into words. �Back to Moscow.� She inhaled again

and I heard her voice catch. �I can�t see you again.�

What? There was an iron band around my chest and it

was slowly constricting. I sank down and sat on the

grass, the snow soaking through my jeans. �Why?�

She took a deep, pained breath. �Too many people are

going to die. Yuri will probably die. Because of us.�

�But...us being apart: that won�t change anything!�

�No. But maybe it�ll make it right. We should never have

been together. I should be with a Russian. You should

find some Italian girl.�

�I don�t want some Italian girl!�

�We don�t get to choose, Angelo. This isn�t a fairy tale

and people like us don�t get happy endings. We do what

we have to do.� Her voice caught again. �I�m going.

Stay safe.�

�Irina��

�Goodbye.� And the line went dead. I sat there staring

at the phone, snowflakes drifting down to melt on the

screen. What?!

I called her back. She didn�t answer. I tried again and

again until she finally turned her phone off.

It made no sense. Not unless the others�Rico and

Vasiliy and Yuri�had been right all along. Not unless

this thing we had was stupid and impossible and she�d

finally woken up to all that.

What if they were right? What if I�d been lost in some

fucking romantic dream that was never going to end

well? What if I�d lost everything...for nothing? People

like us don�t get happy endings.

That last spark of light and warmth went out and I just

went...cold.

I got up and started to walk towards the city, but I�d

stopped noticing how tired my legs were, or how bitterly

cold the air was. I started to see why Irina liked the cold

so much. If you got cold enough, you stopped feeling

anything.

It was late morning by the time I stumbled into Little

Italy. I saw the smoke and the blue and red lights long

before I got there. Russian gangs were out: not just

Mikhail�s people but the street rats, the hangers-on,

anyone who had an axe to grind or who just wanted a

good fight. They ran straight past me. I was covered in

snow, my neck was bloody and I was stumbling along

on legs I could barely feel anymore. They probably