NIKOLA

LEGACY OF HEATHENS SERIES

EVA WINNERS

Copyright © 2025 by Winners Publishing LLC and Eva Winners

Cover Image Designer: Eve Graphic Design LLC

Photographer: Michelle Lancaster

Illustrated Cover: Manuela Soriani and Gabriele Zibordi

Illustrations: Manuela Soriani and Gabriele Zibordi, Eve Graphic Design LLC (a couple’s headshot)

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Visit www.evawinners.com and subscribe to my newsletter.

FB group: https://bit.ly/3gHEe0e

FB page: https://bit.ly/30DzP8Q

Insta: http://Instagram.com/evawinners

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/eva-winners

Amazon: http://amazon.com/author/evawinners

Goodreads: http://goodreads.com/evawinners

TikTok: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMeETK7pq/

LEGACY OF HEATHENS SERIES

Each book in this second-generation series can be read as a standalone. However, this universe is an extension of my first-generation series:

Belles & Mobsters

Thorns of Omertá

The Kingpins of The Syndicate

Stolen Empire trilogy

Billionaire Kings

For more things Eva Winners, please visit www.evawinners.com.

PLAYLIST

https://spoti.fi/3FBMBvU

AUTHOR NOTE

Hello readers,

Please note that this book has some dark elements and disturbing scenes to it. Please proceed with caution. It is not for the faint of heart.

Don’t forget to sign up to Eva Winners’s Newsletter (www.evawinners.com) for news about future releases.

TRIGGER WARNINGS

Please be aware that this book contains content some readers might find disturbing, such as mentions of death, handicap-related issues, bad language, graphic descriptions of torture, violence, and gore.

GLOSSARY

St. Jean D’Arc School (D’Arc) - in Connecticut — a college with undergrad and graduate programs, focusing on educating and preparing children to rule their criminal empires.

Arianna/Hannah - 25 years old

Matteo - 25 years old

Francesca (Matteo’s sister) - 21 years old

Twins Dominico and Cassius - 21 years old, Dominico born a minute earlier than Cassius

Gianna - 19 years old

Skye Leone - daughter of Phoenix and Dante Leone (Thorns of Silence), 20 years old, and adoptive daughter to Sasha and Branka Nikolaev

Nikola Nikolaev - son of Isabella and Vasili Nikolaev (The Den of Sin). Just turned 24 years old

Amara Brennan - daughter of Emory and Killian Brennan (Ravenous Kingpin), 24 years old

Penelope DiMauro - daughter to Margaret and Luca King DiMauro (Belles & Mobsters: Luca), 21 years old (correction from Matteo’s Glossary)

Enzo and Amadeo Marchetti - heirs to the Marchetti empire, raised by Isla and Enrico Marchetti (Thorns of Death), ages 33 and 30 respectively (correction from Glossary in Matteo)

Marietta Nikolaev - daughter of Isabella and Vasili Nikolaev, 20 years old

It’s now or never.

BLURB

I was the dutiful daughter. Or at least that was what it looked like from the outside.

Deep inside, I was suffocating. I longed for something I didn’t know how or where to find. But I kept my façade firmly in place while I searched for answers.

Until one New Orleans night changed it all.

Nikola Nikolaev—the heir to the Crescent City’s ruthless criminal empire—caught me in a club that was off-limits. And just like that, my carefully constructed world began to crumble.

We never saw it coming. The invisible force between us, the one that had a power far beyond anything we understood, pulling us closer, demanding what we couldn’t give.

But there was more to Nikola than the unhinged, reckless man everyone saw.

I fell. Hard.

He didn’t.

I should’ve walked away. Instead, I was determined to peel back his layers and prove to him he’d met his match.

I, Skye Leone, would rise to become his queen.

THE FAMILY TREES

PROLOGUE

SKYE, 20 YEARS OLD; NIKOLA, 24 YEARS OLD

Present

New Orleans

“Are you out of your fucking mind, son?”

My father slammed his office door shut behind him, each of his footsteps reverberating like an earthquake threatening to level the house.

“I’m talking to you, Nikola,” he roared, the arched window at his back rattling against its frame. He lowered himself at his desk, bringing his fist down onto the mahogany surface. Honestly, I was surprised the desk had lasted this long. Rumor went that the last one was almost splintered when Uncle Sasha kidnapped Aunt Branka on her wedding day to another man.

“I hear you,” I said calmly. “I’m your only son. Of course you’re talking to me, Vasili.”

His expression darkened, and I knew I’d struck a nerve. My father didn’t take kindly to me calling him by his first name. Today was not the day to push his buttons.

So naturally, I pushed them harder.

“I’m pretty sure everyone in New Orleans did,” I scoffed. “Besides, what’s done is done; it’s time to move on.”

I reached into my pocket and fished out a stick of gum, tossing it into my mouth. The crinkle of the wrapper was barely loud enough to cut through the somber silence that accompanied our staredown.

I held his glare, smacking my gum obnoxiously.

My father’s blondish-grayish hair turned a remarkable shade of orange as his blood pressure skyrocketed and his skin heated.

“Her father saw the fucking tape,” he bellowed.

“It was discreetly done. You can’t see anything scandalous,” I stated matter-of-factly.

“You’re missing the point, which is that you are fucking Dante Leone’s only daughter!”

“Hmm, I thought she was Uncle Sasha’s daughter,” I snickered, and he shot me a look that told me he would love to reach across the table and strangle me. “Relax, it’s not incest. She was adopted, remember?” I said, even though I knew there was no way he’d forget.

“Incest is the least of your worries.”

The temperature in the room plummeted to dangerous digits, but it didn’t faze me. My father would eventually see that I had done the right thing.

I leaned back in my chair, propped my legs up on the desk, and started flipping through an old copy of Forbes I’d picked up on my way in.

“Put the fucking magazine down,” he hissed through gritted teeth. The vein throbbing in his neck told me he was moments away from erupting.

“Relax, Dad. Honestly, in today’s day and age, sex tapes are everywhere.”

“Don’t fucking tell me to relax,” he roared. “This is like déjà vu. My brother and sister reincarnated into my own children. My brother’s erratic behavior finally calmed down. My sister stopped her partying and lunacy. Our family was so fucking close to something resembling normalcy. Then you came along and⁠—”

“There’s nothing normal about those two,” I chimed in, then popped a bubble. “Besides, Uncle Sasha and Aunt Tatiana might be unchanged, but their spouses are handling it better than you did.”

“I could strangle you right now, Nikola.”

“Let’s not start the kinky incest talk now.”

He gave his head a subtle shake, his nostrils flaring.

“Why didn’t you come to me if there was something between you and Skye? I could have arranged⁠—”

I lifted my palm and stopped him. “After the shitstorm your friends Nico and Luciano created for Matteo… No, thank you.”

“That was an honest mistake, and neither you nor Skye has a twin, so it’s a non-issue,” he retorted patiently.

“Maybe, but I wasn’t risking it. I wanted a sure thing, and that’s what I got. Skye’s mine.” I uncrossed my legs and propped my arms on my knees, growing suddenly irritated with the direction our conversation was taking. “It’s not like our families are known for Jane Austen–worthy courtship practices.”

“I asked your mother to marry me.”

“More or less,” I quipped. “And let’s not forget that Sasha kidnapped his bride on the day of her wedding. To someone else. In the church.”

Lightning gathered in my dad’s eyes, preparing to strike me.

“I just can’t catch a break with all of you.” I opened my mouth, readying for a comeback, when he shot me a look filled with warning. “Your uncle might have kidnapped a bride on her wedding day, but not even he would resort to making a sex tape.”

I shrugged, unimpressed. “What can I say? I’m one of a kind.”

He shoved his hand through his hair, pulling so hard on the ends that I winced.

“One of a kind,” he repeated through gritted teeth. “Son, I’m not going to continue arguing with you. You should have gone to Sasha and Dante Leone and asked to date Skye… marry her… whatever the fuck you young people are doing these days. What you did crossed a line.”

I blew a bubble with my gum, letting it pop before I spoke again. “I asked Uncle Sasha about marrying her and he told me he’d blind me if I so much as tried. Dante Leone wasn’t much better.” I cleared my throat and, in the best Italian accent I could muster, said, “So much as look her way, boy, and I’ll cut you into little pieces and feed them to the sharks.” Needless to say, I got the message. “Honestly, I didn’t think the man was so poetic.”

Dad slammed his fist against his table again, rattling it. “And you didn’t think to heed the man’s advice?”

“Obviously not.”

“Are you trying to start a war?” He stood up, towering over me. If I stood from my chair, we’d be the same height, but I didn’t think it wise to push him any further.

“Why? What have you heard?”

The door to my father’s office opened and my mom appeared, rushing to Dad’s side. “Vasili, keep it down. We don’t need to alarm the staff.”

His expression softened and so did his tone. “Of course, malyshka,” he said and turned to me, his molars making a crunching sound. “And you, Nikola… You will marry her.”

“Of course,” I drawled lazily.

“Expect to get the beatdown of a lifetime by your uncle,” he continued. “I sure as fuck won’t stop him.”

Mom gasped, but I wasn’t concerned. She seemed to forget that my uncle was no longer in his prime and I was no longer her child to protect—if he wanted to go there, let him.

“You will treat that girl with reverence and worship the ground she walks on. You hear me?” he said, sitting back down.

“It’s hard not to hear you.” I popped another bubble just to piss him off a bit more, relishing the fury rolling off him in waves. “You’re still shouting.”

Our eyes locked in a battle of wills. I couldn’t read his thoughts, but I knew they were murderous.

Mom must have thought so too because she wedged herself onto his lap and took his cheeks in her palms, diverting his gaze. I couldn’t help rolling my eyes. The older generations in our world weren’t known for their love matches. Men used to marry for power and greed and control. But my parents? Theirs was a happy marriage.

Before we could spit more words at each other, the door to my father’s office opened again and my sister, Marietta, strolled in theatrically. She was no longer drunk—or as drunk, I should say—and was back to looking put-together and fresh, wearing head-to-toe Givenchy. She’d always dressed more mature and sophisticated than the other twenty-year-olds she brought around the house.

She plunked herself down next to me and winked. “I hear you got yourself into some serious fucking shit, brat.”

“Marietta! Language, please,” Mom scolded.

My baby sister rolled her eyes. “We’re a family of mobsters who kill people, but okay, I’ll watch my vocabulary. Checks out.”

I patted her on the head. “Right you are, sestra, but don’t add fuel to the fire. You know I’ll be the first one they blame.”

She waved her hand. “I did learn from the best.”

I shot her an exasperated look. “If this is you helping, please stop.”

She let out a chuckle.

“Nikola.” Dad looked even more annoyed than before, if that were possible.

“Yes?”

“Put a fucking shirt on,” he thundered, and Mom patted his hand, hoping to calm him down.

“What’s with this ‘look’ of yours, Nikola?” Mom asked, bracketing the word with her fingers. “Do we need to order you⁠—”

Marietta cut her off. “He does it to impress Skye.”

My dad shook his head, muttering, “I’m sure there is some sense in that statement somewhere, but I don’t see it.”

Mom sighed. “It must mean we’re getting old.”

“You two are old.” My sister waved her hand as if she didn’t just insult our parents. “Skye made a passing comment years ago that she likes her men either in suits or shirtless. Nikola opted for the no-shirt option.”

“You’re a pain in my fucking ass,” I hissed.

She grinned. “But you love me.”

“God help me,” Dad grumbled. “You both know I’d kill for you, but some days I’m tempted to put an end to the misery myself.”

“Speaking of, I’m bored. Want me to help you kill someone?” Marietta asked, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers.

Yeah, the Nikolaev family was one of a kind. A different shade of disturbed.

1

SKYE

A Month Ago

The Den of Sin Club, New Orleans

Iloved New Orleans and took advantage of any opportunity to spend time here, especially because it was Nikola’s home. Although I wouldn’t admit that to anyone else.

I was visiting Sasha and Branka with the excuse that it was Halloween. Truthfully, I didn’t need an excuse. The Nikolaevs were my second family, my adoptive family before my birth parents found me. Sasha and Branka, as well as the rest of the Nikolaev family, made it clear that I’d always have a home with them. So I visited often. When traveling back to Italy was too long for short holidays or days off, I’d come here.

New Orleans flashed its color like a mask, hiding a city steeped in secrets, sin, and the kind of thrill that left a mark. My papa—the formidable and slightly unhinged Dante Leone—thought so too.

Hence why he despised my presence here.

My relationship with my family was complicated to say the least, made even more so by our history. I loved my parents, but I also loved my other family—the Nikolaevs—who were my adoptive parents for three short months. My life before the Nikolaevs adopted me was foggy. Sometimes a memory flashed through a thick curtain, but before I could cling on to it… poof. It was as if my life began on the day that Sasha and Branka adopted me.

Like I said, complicated.

Standing on the aged cobblestone in the heart of the French Quarter, my eyes scanned the Welcome to The Den of Sin sign fastened to the door that led to all types of salacious happenings.

My face was hidden behind the harlequin mask, so I wasn’t at risk of being recognized. Many patrons chose to wear masks, and my reasons for this particular one were rooted in my Italian ancestry. I’d always been fascinated with commedia dell’arte and resonated with its representation of the poor, misunderstood Harlequin.

My outfit, on the other hand… There was no chance of anyone misunderstanding. The pink strapless dress, lace bodice, and a ruffled white tutu paired with pink pumps screamed promiscuous.

Papa would blow a gasket if he knew I was out dressed this way, and so would Sasha. It would probably be the only thing those two larger-than-life men agreed on.

The door to the club opened and the heat from inside beckoned me, as did vibrations from a loud bass I couldn’t hear. The bouncer at the door did a double take, causing my heart to trip over itself, before I got myself together and handed him the VIP invitation I’d stolen from Sasha.

I didn’t even feel guilty about it either. He wouldn’t need it, what with the romantic evening he had planned with Branka. Not unless Damien ratted me out, but again, I knew he wouldn’t. My brother was a lot of things, but a snitch wasn’t one of them.

The bouncer’s lips moved, but I didn’t need to read them—I took his nod and the hand he swept to his side as a sign that I was allowed in.

Oh my gosh, it worked.

The thought derailed me as I strutted my Salvatore Ferragamo heels past him, making my way toward the bar of the most popular club in New Orleans. My eyes darted left and right, trying to soak it all in.

The place was darker than I’d imagined—steeped in decadence, swathed in red velvet, the very embodiment of sin.

The music shook the neon light hanging above the dance floor, and judging by the beat reverberating the floor and the way people were moving, it was something sultry, seductive.

The dance floor wasn’t large by any means, but that came as no surprise. The Den of Sin wasn’t exactly known for dancing. The room boasted mirrored walls, and despite it, there were quite a few couples sequestered in alcoves and tucked away in corners, their hands feverishly exploring.

If I squinted, I was sure I could spy a fair few people having full-blown sex. The brunette next to the hallway leading to the restrooms bounced on her man’s lap as he sat reclining on a chaise lounge. Thankfully, her vintage costume hid their shamelessness from view—although they didn’t seem affected by the onlookers gawking at them.

There were people who gesticulated wildly, deep in meaningless conversation, where they sat on red leather stools by the long black-marble bar.

I smoothed a hand over my outfit, resisting the urge to touch my mask while I scanned my surroundings for my victim.

Nikola Nikolaev.

The asshole had underestimated me today. He made it clear that I was blacklisted at his father’s club for no other reason than that I was a “fragile, sheltered mafia princess”—his words. There was nothing fragile about me.

I knew there was more to Nikola’s whole overbearing protectiveness, but I could never figure out what.

Nikola treated me with indifference dipped in disdain. Whenever I was around, he barely acknowledged me, often straight up looking past me. Like I didn’t even exist.

I’ll prove to him he won’t have a choice but to see me, I thought smugly.

A man appeared next to me, but I ignored him. He must not have been happy about that, because he moved to block my path.

My brows furrowed when he nodded in the direction of a set of stairs leading to God knew where. I peered at him and caught something that looked like “Want to go…?” and gathered that this guy wanted me to follow him.

I raised my palm, cutting him off. I rarely vocalized, sticking mostly to signing or, when the situation called for it, typing notes on my phone or scribbling on a piece of paper. Speaking made me self-conscious, so whenever I preferred not to reveal my disability, I stuck to universal gestures to scare people off.

“But—”

This time I wrinkled my nose beneath my mask and flipped him my middle finger. The message was clear enough to send him running, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Pulling my shoulders back and raising my chin, I strode to the bar and perched myself on a stool. Tonight I was prepared to do something reckless, dangerous, and stupid. I’d make sure Nikola knew that being deaf and a mafia princess sat at the very bottom of what made me me, and I didn’t appreciate being reduced to such qualities.

I was a woman with needs, and it was high time he saw that.

However, he didn’t see me as such. Much like the other men in my life—Papa, Sasha, Uncle Vasili, and Alexei—Nikola never saw my strengths, he focused only on what made me different and the ways in which I needed protecting. He didn’t see my persistence or determination, my resilience.

He definitely didn’t see my craftiness; otherwise, he’d have been in the bouncer’s ear earlier, sending me back from where I came.

And to make matters worse, I’d started to like Nikola somewhere along the way. Infatuation was probably not the right term, but it was close. It was becoming a nuisance, this crush.

I couldn’t pinpoint when or how it happened. Maybe the day he saved me from the bullies. Or maybe even before that. I just knew that Nikola had always been my safe haven. Yes, Papa and Sasha always had my back, but they also instantly resorted to putting me into a protective bubble. Not Nikola. He gave me all the freedoms while ensuring nobody fucked with me.

I’d grown up around Nikola. We circled each other at dinners, family events, parties, school. What I did know for sure was that he thought he always needed to save me, but would never let me do the same for him. As if my hearing impairment made me weak. Or maybe it was all in my head.

I didn’t like this feeling, like I wasn’t enough. I’d worked too hard on accepting myself, flaws and all, to be sidelined by a guy who didn’t deserve me. And I knew better than anyone what requited love looked like—I’d grown up around it.

Branka and Sasha—Nikola’s aunt and uncle—remained a large part of my life. My mama was a surrogate for them, birthing Damien, who I considered my baby brother. In fact, the entire Nikolaev family was closely intertwined with ours whether my papa liked it or not.

Despite seeing Nikola all the time, he never really gave me the time of day. We’d had very little to do with each other, so when our paths did cross, it was a bittersweet experience that only worsened as we got older.

I twisted slightly on my stool, doing my best to be discreet as I peered around, and it didn’t take long for me to zero in on the man I’d come to see.

I watched Nikola move through the club confidently, looking at ease among the eclectic crowd. Which was fair, considering he owned it. Or, at least, his family did. His muscled body, etched with so much ink there was hardly any skin left unmarked, flexed with each stride. I vowed a long time ago that I would study every inch of him and memorize every tattoo on his skin. Maybe that would finally happen today.

He didn’t bother with a Halloween costume, opting for a white muscle shirt, black jeans, and a pair of combat boots. His pale blond head shone beneath the multicolored lights that flickered above us, but it was his eyes I craved. They were the palest of blue, reminding me of a tropical oasis.

He turned toward the hallway in the back and I almost tumbled off the stool in my haste to follow. My heart strummed erratically as I rushed after him, pushing past strangers and staff without so much as a sorry.

I crept down the hallway bathed in red lighting, bracing my hand against the rough wall. Nikola had disappeared, but he couldn’t have gone far.

I ran my fingers along the endless row of padded leather doors, not daring to find out what lay beyond them. I’d heard whispers that members could rent them for hours at a time, and something told me I wouldn’t want to witness the goings-on. My money was on kink marathons, but I’d kept those thoughts to myself.

I stopped at the last door in the hallway, immediately noticing this one was different from all the others. The padding on the door was a deep, sultry red—not the expected cold black leather. Just above the brass knocker, a lone sconce clung to the wall, its candle melted down to a stub, leaving behind curling wax. I drew a slow, steadying breath and reached for the door handle, only for the door to swing inward on its own, slicing the air from my chest with a soundless swish.

The room was cloaked in matte black. Scarlet candles flickered from iron sconces and clustered candlesticks, casting dancing shadows that licked the walls. The air was thick with the scent of wax, smoke, and something sweetly decadent. It felt less like a room and more like a sanctuary of indulgence. I didn’t even notice I’d moved until I was standing in the center, drawn in as if by spellwork or instinct.

Lush crimson curtains framed the king-sized bed that was draped in intricate gold-embroidered filigree, shimmering like delicate vines spun from sunlight—an opulent centerpiece that dared you to touch, to sink into its luxurious promise. Along the far wall, a golden bar cart stocked with expensive whiskeys, bourbons, and gin glimmered in the candlelight. The abundance of alcohol was enough to nurture an alcoholic for weeks. And, just beyond it, was a chest overflowing with… sex toys.

Jesus Christ.

From the corner of my eye, I caught light under the gap of another door. I trod lightly and quietly across the room, despite the thick rug beneath my shoes that I hoped would muffle the sound.

I cracked open the door and peered down yet another staircase. Had Nikola gone down there? Were the torture rooms in the basement? Maybe. I wouldn’t put it past the Nikolaevs.

Instinctively, I knew that going down there was incredibly stupid. However, my legs didn’t seem to get the memo, because there I was sinking farther below ground.

Exhaling, I took that last step, bracing a hand against the rough wall. Trepidation slithered up my spine with every step, each footfall pulling me deeper into the dark as the light from the room above shrank to a faint and dying ember.

I’d been raised in the criminal world and knew what my family—and many other mafia men—did to their enemies. Being down here… it was like I could feel the violence in the air.

A dark ominous cloud traveled through the hallway, and I expected something to suddenly appear at any moment now. Vibration bled through the walls, punctuated by a rhythmic thud every five seconds. It was the way I imagined the clang of metal on metal would sound.

And as I turned another corner, coming face-to-face with a man bound to a chair, bloodied and bruised, I knew that violence had found me.

A guard who worked for the Nikolaevs was punching him with brass knuckles and a gleam on his face that shook me to my core. But that was nothing compared to the sight of Nikola.

His shirtless upper body was spattered with blood, making the scene appear even more grim. His face was the worst part, rendering me speechless. A merciless, cruel expression hinted to the fact that he actually enjoyed seeing the pain on the tortured man’s face.

The coppery scent of blood hung in the air, clogging my nose. This smell and image would be buried deep in the darkest corner of my mind, where all things I wished to forget went.

A static filled my head and I took a step back, but the ground tilted under me and I reached out for the wall, steadying myself.

Instantly, three sets of eyes shot to me, and I barely stifled a cry of terror. Time froze as we momentarily stared at each other. One heartbeat, two…

My gaze was locked to Nikola’s face, reading his lips. “Why in the fuck can’t the guests keep out of this basement?”

He nodded toward me and his guard instantly advanced on me, fury twisting his rough features. His red-stained palm gripped me by my arm and yanked me so hard my mask slid off my face.

I looked up into his dark eyes and tried to wrench myself free, but his grip clamped around my arm, vise-tight and bruising. I braced myself to fight back, nails curled and ready to claw, when suddenly his body was yanked backward as if by invisible hands. He was lifted clean off the ground, his boots scraping against the cold concrete floor before dangling in the air.

I gasped, my hand coming up to cover my mouth. Nikola had him pinned against the cement wall, a hand wrapped around his throat, while the man flailed like a rag doll.

Then he faced me and mouthed, You okay? When I didn’t answer, he followed up in fluent ASL with, “Are you okay?”

Too shocked to do anything else, I nodded.

Nikola turned back to his man and dumped him on the floor like a bag of trash, his mouth moving too fast to pick up what he said, but I didn’t imagine it was anything pleasant.

I winced, terrified to witness this side of him, although I’d seen plenty of cruelty in this world. After all, we were the legacy of heathens, and cruelty was inevitable.

Zayka, he mouthed, and it seemed to snap me out of my stupor. I gave my head a subtle shake, chasing any remaining fear from my bones. Nikola would never hurt me. Mistaking my silence for fear, he took a hesitant step toward me. I took one back, staring at him wide-eyed as his lips moved around a plea. “Come on, say something.”

My hands were heavy as I signed slowly, “Don’t get blood on me. And don’t call me zayka.”

Surprise flickered in his pale blue eyes and then suddenly he threw his head back and laughed.

“Only you would worry about that,” he said slowly.

“Actually, any reasonable girl wearing a nice dress would.” My eyes landed on his broad chest. “Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” Again.

Nikola made his way to a sink in the far corner, scrubbed his hands clean, and then returned, his gaze full of amusement.

“No sense in staining it,” he signed and mouthed at the same time.

It was a reasonable explanation. “But even at school you go around shirtless. I know your body temperature runs hotter than most, but—” The words I don’t want every woman seeing what’s mine were on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them. “But it’s really not appropriate.”

His expression sobered. “Blood stains are a bitch to wash off, you know.” I narrowed my eyes on him. “And I fucking suck at putting a tie on. I can kill a man in ten seconds flat, but it takes me twenty minutes to fumble with a tie.”

Surprise washed over me. “But you hate wearing suits.”

“For that exact reason.”

“Then wear a normal T-shirt,” I argued. “It’s better than going around half-naked.”

“But see, dollface… When I’m half-naked, women can’t resist me and girls run the other way.” He chuckled. “Besides, didn’t you say you hate men in T-shirts?”

It was hardly a point right now. Besides, Nikola looked great in pretty much anything.

“Don’t fucking call me dollface,” I signed instead, letting out an exasperated breath. “I can teach you how to tie a tie. I help my papa all the time.”

He stilled for a moment, then flashed me his most charming smile. “You always manage to surprise me, zayka.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Stop calling me little rabbit.”

The nickname he’d bestowed on me somewhere along the way was anything but cute. Honestly, I wasn’t sure which one was more annoying: dollface or zayka. He called every girl dollface, but at least he reserved zayka for me.

“Never.” Nikola had always been stubborn as a mule. “You’ll always be zayka to me.”

“Saying rabbit while drenched in blood really isn’t a good look.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, suddenly feeling slightly queasy. Maybe it was the copper-scented air or just the basement in general. He cupped my face and I forced my eyelids open to find Nikola mouthing, I’ll get cleaned up upstairs and then we’ll get freaky. Let’s get out of here.

Finally!

I’d been waiting for Nikola to say those words to me for years. I wasn’t certain what had brought them on now, but I wasn’t going to question his motives.

Every cell in my body tingled with excitement, which should have been alarming, considering what I’d just witnessed.

With one final glance at the man tied to the chair, we retraced our steps back upstairs. Nikola reached around me and locked the door, and I tilted my head. “You’re going to lock the other guy down there?”

He shook his head. “Hound—” I blinked in confusion. “The guy downstairs… We call him Hound. He knows his way back up through the tunnels.”

I wanted to ask about the battered man but didn’t dare. Our families were cruel when the situation called for it, but they’d always managed to shield me from the worst of that cruelty.

Tonight, my eyes had been opened, and I wished they weren’t.

When I remained silent, Nikola signed, “I’m going to shower and change into something clean. Then I’m taking you home.”

“Where is the freaky party?” I questioned.

He chuckled. “Just look around you.”

And I did, not the least bit surprised that this room was littered with sex toys. Nikola had always been into pushing limits, trying out new and forbidden things. Who was I to judge?

“Are you going to be okay by yourself or will you lose your shit?” Nikola asked.

“Because you're kinky?” He shrugged. “I’m okay with kinky.”

His eyebrow arched. “I was referring to what you witnessed in the basement.”

Oh.

I exhaled a deep breath and squared my shoulders.

“I don’t lose my shit, Nikola. You should know that by now. Why were you torturing that guy down there? I certainly hope it wasn’t because he owed you a few bucks.”

Nikola chuckled. “You really have no clue, do you?”

I narrowed my eyes as I signed, “Don’t act superior. I understand our world, but it doesn’t mean I support the torture of an innocent soul.”

His expression darkened.

“I imagine you wouldn’t. But rest assured, there’s nothing innocent about that guy. Especially after all the shit that happened to Hannah and Arianna.”

I raised an eyebrow, not following. It’d been a rough few months for the twins. Hannah was still recovering from her secret drug addiction and kidnapping by organ traffickers. Thankfully, she was rescued, but she would forever live with a missing organ.

“What do you mean?” I signed.

He rolled his eyes, moving his crimson-stained hands. “Don’t you girls talk?”

“We do, although it’s difficult to match the level of men’s yapping.”

“You’re difficult.” His gaze traveled over my outfit. “And why in the fuck are you dressed like that? Every fucker you pass will get an eyeful.”

“That’s their problem, not mine. You don’t see me ogling every man I find attractive.” Much to my dismay, there was only one man I found attractive. I pursed my lips in annoyance. At myself. At him. “You’re getting distracted. Explain what I just saw downstairs.”

He scoffed. “He’s part of the organ trafficking ring we’ve been surveilling. You should be thanking me for eliminating him, Skye.”

My mouth shaped into a silent O as I considered his words.

“Nothing to say now, is there?”

“Why didn’t you just take him to D’Arc and spend the night chasing him with all your mask-wearing buddies?” I inquired. “Isn’t that what the legacies are all about?”

“It might have escaped your notice, zayka, but we’re over a thousand miles away from Connecticut. Do you remember we flew to New Orleans for the Halloween weekend and are due back on campus on Monday?”

His expression was dripping in sarcasm and I bit my lip to keep from snapping at him over the nickname. Tell Nikola he couldn’t do something, and he’d push you even further.

“It might have slipped your mind, mudak”—yes, I knew some Russian too, and this one meant idiot—“but you can fly there. Should I remind you about your private jet?”

“I prefer to take care of some things my own way.” He shook his head as if he found me ridiculous. “Am I free to take a shower, or would you rather someone find me covered in this mess?” He gestured down the length of his torso.

I waved my hand, dismissing him, and he disappeared into the bathroom.

With my adrenaline on a steady decline, I collapsed on the bed, not even bothering to remove my shoes. A smoky cologne hung in the air, a scent I hadn’t noticed before, but now it clawed at my senses. It was unmistakably Nikola—bold, spicy, with a warmth that wrapped around me like an unspoken promise. It lingered in the air, far too tempting for my own good.

For as long as I’d known him, there had always been something appealing about Nikola. Even as a boy who kept tugging on my pigtails. He could be overbearingly annoying, but also thoughtful and protective. He’d proven that so many times. Like that time we played laser tag as teenagers and he “killed” everyone who tried to shoot at me. Or when we played that stupid escape room game. It was meant for team building and working together, but the moment he noticed I was feeling sick, he solved all the puzzles and pretty much broke down the barriers so he could usher me outside for some fresh air.

That was just who Nikola was: simple but oh so complicated.

He hid himself underneath layers of erratic behavior and wild actions, but that persona was for the outsiders. Not for me. Never to me. I saw the real him.

My gaze trailed over the room, seeing it in a different light now. This place wasn’t lavish, but it still screamed of wealth and power. I turned on my side, propping my head in my hand, and wondered how many women Nikola had brought to this room.

Irrational frustration flared in the pit of my stomach, but I had no time to dwell because the door to the bathroom opened and Nikola leaned against the doorframe, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. I scanned—greedily and wantonly—every one of his gorgeous abs.

None of the Nikolaev men were classically beautiful people, but it was in no way a shortcoming. Instead, they exuded a raw and animalistic power that any red-blooded woman could spot from miles away.

My hormones stirred to life just looking at Nikola. He towered over me with his MMA build, his tattoos a testament to his deeds—both good and bad. The ink was etched into his soul: a hand holding a knife dripping with blood, a fired gun, a set of hands over piano keys, a boy kissing a girl. That latter tattoo melted my heart a little each time I gawked at it, remembering us as children.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” His mouth moved, speaking the words, although he signed them too. Every single member of the Nikolaev family had learned ASL for my benefit long before I could understand how much it would one day mean to me. It was so natural at this stage that I rarely gave it any thought. Lying here though, in his bed, in this mysterious room, my mind was going all sorts of places.

I licked my lips nervously and his pale blue eyes zeroed in on the movement.

“Look, I⁠—”

He raised his hand to cut me off. “Keep in mind, we’re cousins or some shit like that. And then there’s the fact that you’re definitely not my type. All innocent and pure…” He clicked his tongue. “You need to leave. I can’t have you… like that. In my bed.”

His eyes scanned me, and try as he might to hide it, I detected the desire in his expression. I rolled back over and stared at the ceiling to keep from saying anything else incriminating.

My hands moved deftly to form my next words. “We’re not blood cousins.” From the corner of my eye, I caught the jeans that now hung low on his hips, his bare chest still glistening from his shower. Every cell in my body buzzed with this uncontrollable need to touch him. Trace every single tattoo with my fingers. Or better yet, with my tongue.

He waved his arm, and I turned to look at him.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but eyes up here.” He rifled through a drawer and pulled out a black T-shirt, swiftly putting it on. “You’re family, quit gawking at me.”

I snickered. “Again, we’re not actually related.”

“But you agree that we are family.”

“Yes.” That would be impossible to dispute, because the Nikolaevs were and always would be my family. Just like Mama and Papa were. “But family is defined by so much more than blood.”

He rolled his eyes. Fucking asshole. “Whatever you say, zayka.”

I slid off the bed and shrugged my shoulders, hiding my disappointment behind a blank mask. “Well, I’m off to get laid. You go do whatever the hell you do.”

I took three steps toward the door before Nikola’s big hand shot out and hooked around my waist, whirling me around. I lost my balance, my palm landing on his wide chest, right above his heart that thrummed under my fingertips.

He released me and signed, “You are not getting laid.” His nostrils flared as he closed his eyes briefly, looking as though he was gathering his strength. Good. I was glad he felt something—anything. “I’m taking you home. And don’t try to resist me or⁠—”

I shoved him away and resumed my steps until I was lifted into the air, my body positioned so it was hanging over Nikola’s broad shoulder.

Well, I got what I came here for. He’d noticed me, one way or another.

2

NIKOLA

Skye could be infuriating when she wanted to be. She could drive even a level-headed person to certifiable insanity. So it wasn’t a surprise that she was fucking with my head.

Skye was persistence and determination personified. Nothing could ever keep her back or tame her spark. It was what I really liked about her. She really deserved better than the shackles of mafia life. It was one reason I’d always kept her at arm’s length. She was too good to be wrapped up with me or anyone else in the mafia. I was determined to see her break away from these chains of the criminal life we’d been forced into.

I didn’t have a choice in the matter, but she certainly did, and despite her papa and my uncle, she could find a way to live free and happy.

But when she’d gone and told me, “I’m off to get laid,” it completely threw me for a loop. At moments like that, I was tempted to throw all my good intentions to the wind and fuck her into oblivion.

Jesus Christ, at this rate, I’d find myself being taken away and medicated. These emotions were a fucking pain in my ass and giving me major whiplash.

Protect her. Take her.

Keep her away. Shackle her to me.

I couldn’t seem to make up my mind when it came to Skye Leone.

It was no wonder I found myself outside, in the sectioned-off alley that was reserved for my family. The sound of the city felt like a distant noise against the infuriating thump of my heart while I soaked up every inch of Skye’s body that tempted me like water tempted Poseidon.

For fuck’s sake, now I was turning poetic too.

Skye slid down my front, her soft body molding into mine, those ridiculous fuck-me heels landing softly against the ground.

The tension in my body stirred as I stared at my motorbike, eternally cursing myself for not driving my Defender today. Of course I couldn’t have foreseen that this little shit would saunter into the club and sign those godforsaken words with her graceful fingers.

I’m off to get laid.

Over my dead body.

And rest assured, I’d kill any man who dared touch her. Damn her! I had a long list of people who annoyed me, but lately, Skye’d managed to hold the top spot with her not-so-subtle glances.

She sauntered over to my bike, cocked a brow, and tapped her foot impatiently.

“Are you going to stare at me all night?” she questioned as I stared at her, waiting for the punchline. “Because I can suggest a few things that would be more exciting.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Where is this coming from all of a sudden?”

“Maybe I’m just sick of being overlooked. Ever thought of that?”

“I know your papa and Sasha keep you on a short leash, which means you probably didn’t get to experiment much, but seriously… What gives?”

She tapped her lip with a finger as she considered my words, trying to appear unaffected, but her shining blue eyes told me it was just a front. They held a promise of so many promiscuous things that I feared would be the death of me.

I stepped forward, closing the distance between us in one go, and used my arms to box her in against the bike. My combat boots pushed against her Barbie-pink pumps, a metaphor for our personalities.

“Did you forget my warning?” I growled.

Her brow furrowed. “What warning?”

“I told you I’m a broken heart collector and anyone dealing with me needs professional help when I’m done with them.” I smirked coldly, reminding her of the night a few months ago when she and her friends decided to crash our party. “I’d do nothing more than clip your wings, break your heart, and leave only ashes in my wake.”

She shrugged. “Maybe I’ll be the one to break your heart.”

“If you’re interested in me, you really should see a therapist. I’m a magnet for people who need professional help.”

She shrugged. “I don’t mind a visit to a therapist once in a while.”

I gave my head a subtle shake. “Someone has to put a leash on you, zayka.”

Either that or completely cut her loose so she can fly free like an eagle. I’d told her that I left ashes in my wake, and I meant it literally. Life in the mafia was death, and she deserved better. But she didn’t heed the warning.

“Nobody’s putting a leash on me, Nik. Not unless it’s for kinky purposes.”

The little shi⁠—

“What do you know about kinks, zayka?”

“Nothing.” Her blue eyes widened innocently—a blue so shocking I was thrown into the memory of one of the few times I visited her at her father’s castello on the Gulf of Trieste, the summer of Skye’s high school graduation before she departed for D’Arc. “But you can show me.”

I furrowed my eyebrows. “Show you what?”

She beamed. “Your kinks.”

Yeah, this woman would be the end of me if I wasn’t careful. It was time I taught her a lesson. After all, it was years in the making.

“Pull that pretty little dress up for me and climb on.” I pointed my chin at the bike.

Her sharp inhale filled the space between us; the city sounds drowned out by everything happening in this little alley.

I was brushing her chest with how close we were standing, and her faint scent—a mixture of wildflowers and honey—gave me déjà vu of our childhood, running through the meadows as we laughed our heads off.

“Why?” she signed slowly, her expression that of a timid rabbit.

“Because I’ll do things to you you’ll never forget.”

A heartbeat stretched into infinity before she got herself together and signed, “You’re not the only unforgettable one.”

Against my better judgment, I pushed forward. I slipped a finger under her chin and tilted it upward, forcing her to look at me. My palm slid down the curve of her firm ass, squeezing as I pulled her closer to me.

I didn’t know what I expected, but surprise flared through me as her soft body complied. Her body was soft, smooth, and so damn tempting with those curves that she hadn’t bothered to hide today.

Her heat—or was it mine—radiated off our clothes, and I stifled a groan.

“We’ll start slow before you take off running, my little zayka,” I murmured, my lips gliding down the side of her neck.

She inhaled a sharp breath, and before I could think better of it, I crashed my mouth against hers punishingly, resenting her for yielding to temptation.

Skye’s lips molded over mine, her soft moan—the first sound I felt from her—vibrating against me. It was our first kiss, but I knew it would also be our last, and something about that thought infuriated me.

So, my kiss turned brutal, with teeth and tongue, reminding her that I was in control. Again though, she surprised me. Her tongue met mine thrust for thrust, like we’d been fucking for years and knew each other intimately.

Her fingers fisted my shirt, drawing me closer. I bit her lower lip until I split it open, her warm, metallic blood trickling into my mouth.

Break the fucking kiss, zayka. I’m too much for you.

She didn’t. Instead, she kissed me harder. I pulled her entire lip into my mouth, and she let me. In fact, she seemed too eager for it.

I chuckled darkly at her stubbornness, putting more pressure on her lips, kissing her harder, tasting her blood and enjoying it all too much.

Because I was a sadist. Because she was too sweet. Because she was mine.

I was so hard, I knew I was in real danger of taking her right here in the alley, on top of my bike. As if she could read my thoughts, she straddled my thigh, grinding herself against me. Shamelessly. Wantonly. Unapologetically.

Just the way I fucking liked it.

And that was enough.

I tore my mouth from hers, brushing my thumb over her cheekbone. She stumbled forward, and I let her fall on my chest. I craned my neck back to stare up at the night sky, not knowing how she’d turned the tables on me or what I was thinking, ceding control.

She steadied herself and pulled away, blinking repeatedly as if to clear the fog in her head. Then she signed with a confused expression, “Why did you stop?”

Wasn’t that the million-dollar question? The problem was that Skye was innocent, a sheltered princess, and I was a reckless, irrevocably fucked-up man with deviant tastes who would end up hurting her. She deserved better.

“You can’t handle me,” I growled.

It was a lie—to her and to myself—because a dark voice whispered in my head that it was me who couldn’t handle her. I’d known it for a while, and instantly one specific memory flitted to the forefront of my mind.

Skye floated around the old castello courtyard like she was a princess who had stepped through time. The crystal blue waters surrounded one side of the castle while a forested hill and gardens lined the other. It was truly a fairy-tale place, although Skye mentioned once that her papa and his brother had a rough childhood here. Tragic beginnings were a running theme among our parents.

A laugh rang in the air and my gaze locked on its source to find it was Skye’s. She wore a long pink maxi dress, smiling graciously at everyone. But it was when she smiled at her parents and my uncle Sasha and aunt Branka that her expression glowed.

That girl loved them and would die for them.

Something ugly flickered in my chest for the first time ever, taking me aback. I stood frozen amid all the guests, analyzing it, when realization sunk in. Jealousy!

Fuck, why was I jealous? Skye was practically another cousin, although not by blood. But it was clear from the moment my aunt and uncle had adopted her that she was our family.

“It’s wrong,” I muttered under my breath.

“What’s wrong?” Uncle Sasha stood next to me, eyeing me suspiciously. “And why are you staring at Skye?”

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. But I couldn’t find the damn words.

“Nikola, you better not be starting any shit with my Skye,” Uncle growled when I remained speechless. “I told you when you two were little: she’s family and she’s to be protected. I expect you to keep her safe when she goes to D’Arc too.”

“You realize I’m older than her. I’ll be graduating next year,” I grumbled.

“Shouldn’t you work on your master’s?” It was a suggestion-slash-order and I couldn’t decide whether it was a good one or a bad one. It’d allow me more time around Skye which was good.

No, you fucking idiot. It would be bad, my mind scolded.

“I think you’re right,” I heard myself say. “I’ll work on my master’s and ensure nobody gets the wrong idea with Skye.”

“Yes, keep those bad boys away,” Uncle Sasha agreed. “Including yourself. You two are practically siblings.”

I never got a chance to respond because Skye threw herself at Uncle, grinning happily. “Thank you for talking to Papa about D’Arc. He would have never let me go if it wasn’t for you.”

Sasha patted her affectionately, her small frame making her look like a child in his arms.

“He’s a tough nut to crack, but not to worry, princess. I’d crack it again and again,” he signed and said the words at the same time.

Skye chuckled. “That sounded too threatening, but I know you didn’t mean it. You two are the best parents in the world. Right, Damiano?”

My cousin, Sasha’s only son whom Skye’s mother birthed as a surrogate, appeared. The kid always trailed behind Skye, the two acting as if they were birth siblings. Fuck if I knew whether they were or not. Our family relations were too goddamn complicated.

The only thing I was certain of was that Skye wasn’t blood-related to me at all.

Damiano yapped while Skye nodded her head enthusiastically, her eyes sparkling like blue diamonds, and suddenly I wanted to smack my little cousin’s head.

Was it petty? Maybe. Did he deserve it? Maybe not. Would I keep Skye at arm’s length? Definitely.

Even back then I knew if I wasn’t careful, Skye could swallow me whole and never spit me out.

3

SKYE

Two Weeks Later

Having a crush sucked, but being full-blown obsessed with a boy sucked even more.

Nikola Nikolaev was the one I shouldn’t want, but there was no ordering my heart around.

To the world, Nikola was a scary motherfucker with connections to the Bratva. Covered in tats, ruthless, and unforgiving.

To me, he was the boy who always came through for me.

After spending a long weekend in New Orleans for Halloween, partly to visit Branka and Sasha and partly because I knew Nikola would be there, I’d returned to D’Arc in Connecticut.

Unfortunately, Nikola had been avoiding me ever since our run-in, and it was getting old fast. Our kiss on Halloween was proving detrimental to my health—and my heart. I wasn’t having it.

So I opted to trek through the woods to get a peek at the man taking up an unacceptable amount of space in my brain.

A cold November breeze tousled my hair, but I didn’t feel it as flames licked my skin at the memory of his mouth on me. Bonfires raged across the clearing, flames clawing skyward and flickering showers of embers that lit up the night.

I stood there, my eyes burning from the smoke and my body buzzing with anticipation as I scanned the painted faces of every criminal faction.

Legacy events took place at the very edge of Jean D’Arc’s boundary line, in a wide-open clearing surrounded by towering pines, their gnarled, skeletal branches twisted upward like grasping hands, clawing at the night sky and strangling every last thread of moonlight. The trees loomed like silent sentinels, casting the clearing in a suffocating, ink-black darkness.

In other words: it kept curious eyes away.

Shadows spilled out thick and heavy along the edges, watching from the tree line like creepy predators. The air was dense with the scent of damp earth, smoke, and copper.

“Welcome to the freakshow,” Penelope uttered and signed at the same time. The skulls painted on people’s faces were a reminder to the legacies, and everyone connected to the mafia, of the skeletons our families had buried.

My girlfriends and I stood in the forest, watching the scene with the same uneasy feeling we experienced the first time we saw this happen. But instead of walking back to our dorm that was a mere walk away, we stayed glued to our spots.

Anya shot her a look. “We couldn’t let Skye come alone. What kind of friends would that make us?”

I flashed her a grateful look.

“Agreed, but those skulls… fire… it’s all just too much.”

Penelope stared at the skulls with rose thorns that represented the Omertàs. And, given that she was arranged to marry Enzo Marchetti, who was practically Omertà royalty, I could see why they made her the most anxious. Not that Enzo was present. He never attended D’Arc, but his minions could be present among us.

There were also the black-and-white skulls with golden crowns reserved for the kingpins, as well as masks with silver accents representing the mobsters who fought the Belles and Mobsters agreements two decades ago. The Yakuzas were my least favorite, with their ominous symbols and dark colors.

“Would you rather we leave?” I offered reluctantly.

“No, I’ll get over it.” She shook her head, but I knew Penelope hated any reminder of her impending marriage. “It’s not like he’s even here.”

I nodded in agreement.

“We could still kill him, you know,” Anya grumbled, picking up on our friend’s stress. “It would be easy.”

“I really wish I didn’t hate violence,” Penelope huffed. “But I might have to resort to it.”

“We,” Amara corrected her. “If it comes down to it, we’ll find a way to do it together.”

“We go down together,” I agreed, then gestured toward the clearing. “Maybe we tie him up like that guy and torture him.”

Haunted expressions marred my friends’ faces, all eyes turning on the guy tied to a tree like he was about to be burned at the stake.

I’d seen a version of it play out half a dozen times—some freakish game of cat and mouse would be played until he was caught, and then he’d be killed.

“Do we know who he is?” I signed to my girlfriends.

Penelope shrugged. “Organ trafficker.”

I winced. There’d been more and more cases of attempted kidnapping and organ trafficking lately.

What happened to the Morrellis at the beginning of the semester had been a warning to us all. The group attacked Arianna and kidnapped Hannah, extracting an organ from her body. Thankfully her father had found her before she could be slaughtered for even more organs and left for dead.

It was no wonder the legacies took torturing of the organ traffickers to the extreme, as was evidenced by the man howling in pain and terror, his skin rubbed raw from his restraints.

I wasn’t sure what it said about me, but I couldn’t find it in my heart to protest the cruelty of what was about to happen.

In fact, I was glad for it. Maybe because I grew up in this mafia world or maybe because it was the lesser of two evils. Our families fought fire with fire when it came to human and organ trafficking, knowing that at any moment the world surrounding us could be burned to ash because of it.

So yes, I understood that our friends and families were fighting the battles law enforcement couldn’t.

I suspected my friends felt the same, especially because of how close we were to the Morrelli twins, neither of whom would be returning to D’Arc. Instead, they’d opted to finish their degrees from the comfort of their homes.

Arianna married Matteo, and Hannah was still recovering. Gianna, their younger sister, had been coming and going, focused on spending more time with her family.

“Has anyone heard from Hannah?” Amara asked. When nobody answered, she pinned Francesca with a stare. Her family and the Morrellis were tighter than ever, and she was usually more than eager to dish out gossip. “Any updates, Francesca?”

Matteo’s sister just shrugged. “All I know is that she’s in Ireland, recovering.”

“We should ask Gianna when she’s back,” Penelope added, catching the grimace I shared with Amara. “You’re probably right. It would upset her.”

“Doesn’t it seem odd that of all the places in the world, she went to Ireland?” Francesca questioned.

“She has some family there, no?” The many limbs of our respective family trees were beyond complicated, and sometimes it was hard to keep track of everyone’s relations.

Penelope, who was also Hannah’s cousin, shook her head. “My uncles—Mama’s brothers—have a place there. But Hannah isn’t related to them. Not by blood anyhow.”

We waited for her to elaborate, but she remained silent.

“So she’s staying with them?” Francesca questioned with a puzzled expression.

“What’s with all the questions?” Penelope retorted wryly.

Francesca let out a sigh. “I kind of miss her crazy ass. Arianna’s hitched. Gianna is barely here. Which, same goes for you, by the way.”

“Who?” everyone asked at the same time, but Francesca didn’t look away from Penelope.

“You guys haven’t noticed her slipping in and out of campus?” She crossed her arms, not seeming affected by the way our friend was squirming.

Penelope’s cheeks flushed a deep red as she muttered, “Blabbering ass.”

“Where have you been going?” I signed, then frowned. “I hope you’re being safe.” She didn’t need me saying the words “organ traffickers” to know how serious the situation was. Especially not with what had brought us here tonight.

“I am,” Penelope signed, her shoulders slumping. “I’ve been… doing some research.”

“Research?” Francesca repeated.

Penelope looked uncomfortable, shifting from one foot to the other, her mouth opening and closing.

Deciding to step in and help her, I waved over my head to capture everyone’s attention before I signed, “I kissed Nikola.”

As expected, three sets of eyes turned my way and I caught Penelope’s mouthed “Thank you.”

“Why would you do that?” Amara asked in shock.

“Yeah, why? He’s…” Francesca apparently struggled to find adequate words to describe him. “He’s just so fucking nuts.”

I shrugged. “He’s a good kisser.”

There was so much more to Nikola than they could see. He was more than just the crazy and wild person everyone thought he was. I knew who he really was and saw past all his Russian craziness. Or I could tell them about the pleasure that Nikola’s hands could bring, but I didn’t think the girls could handle me telling them about his expert mouth and magic touch.

So I kept all that for myself. There was one thing I knew for certain though: I would have Nikola’s lips on me again.

“Ah, it looks like your good kisser is up for the chase,” Amara said, her mouth moving slowly for my benefit.

I whipped my head around to find the man in question standing in the middle of the woods. The painted face of a ruthless mobster, ready to hunt.

“Tonight we show what happens to human traffickers,” Penelope signed Nikola’s words for me.

Everyone’s attention was on him, his upper body bare despite the chilly November temperature. And call me silly, but I wanted to stomp my way over to him and demand he put his shirt on.

Only I was allowed to admire the inked canvas of his chiseled abs.

4

NIKOLA

Isensed her the moment she stepped into the clearing.

But like the smart man I was, I stuck to my plan of ignoring her until her infatuation with me ceased to exist.

She was forbidden fruit that I had no intention of tasting again. Ever.

I was trying so hard to do right by her and keep my distance. The only way I could ensure I didn’t cave into her temptation was to stay away, but she was making it so hard.

After our little rendezvous in the club, I’d been more or less successfully avoiding her. Skye, the goddamn pest she was, took that as a challenge and had been flooding me with texts for over two weeks. I would never admit it, but I’d taken to scrolling through them mindlessly throughout my day.

Skye: It’s me, Skye. smiling face with hearts

Ridiculous of her to think I wouldn’t have her number—I’d known her most of my life for fuck’s sake.

Skye: I still owe you a lesson on how to put a tie on properly.

Skye: Want to go see a movie?

Skye: Okay, that was a dumb question. You aren’t into movies. Want to go to a bar?

At twenty years old, the girl was underage, but I didn’t bother pointing that out. Skye was smart enough to know that she couldn’t get into any bar that I’d be interested in. Not to mention, it wasn’t safe, and I’d rather cut my balls off than put her life in danger.

Skye: We could have a drink?

Skye: Or do you want to do something else? I’m up for whatever.

Skye: I played at the Metropolitan Opera today. The singer was amazing, but I daresay my piano performance was even better. Don’t bother pointing out that I can’t hear—I’m well aware. But I can always judge by the audience if the singer is good or not.

She was right about that. I wasn’t into classical music or opera, but I’d gone to see her performance. Mainly to ensure she was safe, but also to sneak a peek at her.

I wasn’t obsessed with her, and as soon as this invisible threat that lurked around was eliminated, I’d be happy to welcome some normalcy back into my life.

At least that was what I kept telling myself.

The rest of her texts went unanswered, even though I’d been tempted a few times.

Skye: I do love playing piano, although sometimes it puts me in a melancholy mood.

Skye: Why are you being such a dick?

Skye: Can you at least say something… Anything!

Skye: I know you want me, Nikola. I felt it, and if you wait too long, you’ll miss your chance.

Skye: Nikola, talk to me! Or I’ll find someone else who will.

Skye: Gosh, just because we kissed doesn’t mean you have to shut me out. We could still be friends. Whatever.

It took everything in me to remain silent. I’d even considered blocking her. But if I did that, I wouldn’t be able to track her location.

The fact that I was, at this very moment, standing in a pool of blood, a sadistic-looking man smirking at me, was enough of a sign that she was no match for me. Our incompatibility couldn’t be clearer.

Instead, those fucking hearts in her eyes refused to withdraw.

During the chase, we taunted the organ trafficker with the possibility of escape. We had booby traps set up all throughout to ensure the men were thoroughly battered down when we located them. And we always did, because an escape wasn’t possible.

After the chase, we’d dragged the fucker back to the clearing so everyone could witness the swift punishment. Under the light of the moon and flicker of fire, our captive’s face was so bloodied that his identity was barely recognizable. But we knew who he was.

“Just end him already,” Gabriel drawled in a bored tone. “I swear, sometimes you’re like a fucking cat playing with his food.”

I shot him an annoying glare as I punched my victim again. “You mean lion.”

“No, I actually meant a cat.” He took a step back, probably scared blood would splash on his pristine suit. Fucking prima donna. “If he doesn’t have any information for us, he’s useless. Just kill him already.”

“You just want to run to Amara,” I said at the same time Gabriel mumbled something, and I leaned closer to hear him. “What? I can’t hear you, Colombiano. Old age getting to you?”

“It’s your hearing that’s lacking, not mine.” He narrowed his eyes on me. “Where is your shirt again?”

“I got fucking hot.”

“I’m so fucking tired of staring at your nipples. I see them more than any woman’s.”

I scoffed. “Seems you have a lady problem. Besides, stop staring at my nipples. We’re related. It’s creepy.”

“Dios santo, you drive me insane. No matter.” He jerked his chin at the guy in my hold. “Fucking kill him already or I will.”

In his suit, Gabriel looked like he belonged on the runway, but his appearance was deceiving. He could kill easily and swiftly, regardless of whether he wore his typical white three-piece suit. In a fucking forest, nonetheless.

“All in due time, Colombiano.” I did want to get things moving along though, so I pulled the knife from my leg holster and cut the rope binding him to the oak tree.

“For the hundredth time, I was born in the States, just like you, mad Russian.”

“Potato, potahto,” I drawled, reaching for a nearby baseball bat someone left, then swung it against the man’s skull, knocking him unconscious.

“God, you’re annoying,” Gabriel grunted, leisurely leaning against the tree.

I nodded toward the gap in the trees up ahead and started walking, knowing he’d follow. I was finished with this night, and knowing Skye was here only made me more anxious to get home. I needed a shower and to burn these blood- and dirt-stained clothes.

“I might be annoying, but I’m your friend. And as I said when you called me complaining yesterday: if you want to live, you’ll steer clear of the Brennan girl,” I stated matter-of-factly.

He scoffed. “And you’re one to talk?”

My eyes darted—involuntarily—to the five-foot-five spitfire huddled with her friends across the clearing when Gabriel’s chuckle pulled my attention back to him.

“You’re worried about me making it out unscathed? Dude, you might want to take your own advice. At least Amara’s father is reasonable. Skye’s family—” He threw his head back and laughed. “Ah, I just remembered, she’s also part of the Nikolaev family. Yeah, you’re a dead man.”

“I kind of want to kill you now, friend or not,” I muttered.

“I’ll certainly applaud your effort.” Gabriel, like the rest of the guys in our group, was an overconfident prick. No fucking wonder we got along so well. “Seriously, Nikola, think carefully here.”

Annoyance flared in me. “Easier said than done.”

“Why?”

“Well, for starters, she goes to the same school as me.”

“Easily remedied,” he drawled. “Submit that thesis you’ve been dragging your ass on and you’re done.”

We headed out of the clearing and through the forest toward our dorm. The energy coursing through my veins warned me that my night wasn’t over. I was too pumped up, but I knew a ride on my motorcycle would cure that.

I narrowed my eyes. “Then there’s the little matter of her being present at every family function.”

He tilted his chin, tapping it pensively. “Yeah, I can see how that would pose a problem.”

I fished the keys out of my pocket when we got to the parking lot in front of our dorm building as I said in a voice laced with sarcasm, “You don’t fucking say. And here I thought you might actually have some useful advice.”

He didn’t even flinch. “Avoid family functions.”

“That’s the best you got?” I asked incredulously, then scrubbed a hand down my face. “If I do that, I’ll be upsetting my mother.”

“Who knew you were such a softy underneath all that scary exterior?” He laughed.

“You’re lucky we’re friends⁠—”

“And I’m your uncle.” A detail he never failed to remind me of.

“I fucking hate how incestuous our families feel sometimes,” I muttered as I flipped him the bird, then got on my motorcycle.

Just as I knew it would, the motorcycle ride cleared my head.

Usually, I was of the opinion that nothing could beat riding at supersonic speed, the wind beating at you from all sides. It was the very reason I kept a sports motorcycle here on campus, one in our Siberian residence, and one in New Orleans.

But ever since that cursed night when I kissed Skye against my bike, I couldn’t find quite the same pleasure in riding it. I couldn’t even look at it without thinking about her.

I found myself in front of the dorm Matteo, Gabriel, and I had shared for the past few years. Matteo’s room now sat vacant, seeing as he got hitched and now lived midway between Maryland and New York, maintaining a delicate balance between keeping his in-laws and his own parents happy.

Either way, the campus wasn’t quite the same anymore since Matteo’s departure.

I fished out my cell phone and scrolled past Skye’s messages, pausing at my group chat with the boys.

Me: How’s married life, Matteo?

Gabriel: He’s getting laid every day. How do you think?

Me: Funny, I didn’t know your name was Matteo, Colombiano.

Kostya: Do you two ever stop bickering?

Cassius: I think those two need a life.

Dominico: Obviously they’re not getting laid enough.

Me: middle fingermiddle fingermiddle finger

Gabriel: middle fingermiddle fingermiddle finger

Kostya: Boo. Is that the only emoji you guys know?

From the corner of my eye, I spotted the bane of my existence.

Skye Leone.

Forgetting all about my phone, I zeroed in on the woman with long dark hair, the one who’d been haunting my thoughts. If I was smart, I’d head straight inside and erase her from my mind.

It turns out, I wasn’t smart at all.

“Fuck,” I muttered.

I couldn’t possibly let her roam around by herself at night, could I?

I stopped in my tracks when I realized she wasn’t alone. Penelope DiMauro and Amara Brennan flanked Skye, all three dressed as if they didn’t just spend hours out in the woods in the middle of November. All three wore short minidresses that covered too little and high heels that made them stumble too much.

The three of them got into Amara’s car, giggling and unaware of my presence. They had to be up to no good, sneaking out in the middle of the night.

Besides, a campus-wide curfew was implemented last month: no student was to leave the campus without a bodyguard. Not only did we have the threat of the organ traffickers, but the FBI was also snooping around. Special Agent Lloyd, who worked undercover, had been making waves among the traffickers, but not enough to make a dent or protect anyone from the scum. The straitlaced agent refused to share any intel with anyone in the mafia, but what we’d managed to uncover revealed that the organization that restarted Belles and Mobsters had many more players than we initially thought. Unfortunately, their identities remained a mystery.

Hence the need for the protection, and Skye was under mine. After all, my uncle had assigned me as her protector four years ago. So I took it upon myself to be Skye’s—and her crazy friends’—bodyguard for tonight.

Mounting the bike once again, I slid my helmet on and waited until they were a distance away before I revved it.

Thirty minutes later, the girls pulled up in front of a building on the outskirts of Connecticut. It was an upscale neighborhood known for housing lawyers, doctors, and judges, complete with an exclusive yacht club for the rich, pompous assholes who thought themselves almighty but were just plain crooked.

Why would the girls come here?

Another building towered next to the famous yacht club with a discreet sign that read Revelation.

The building's architecture stood out like a relic from another time and place—its towering spires, pointed arches, and intricate stone carvings seemed better suited to a centuries-old European city than the bustling modern landscape around it. The dark, weathered facade, adorned with stained-glass windows, whispered tales of forgotten histories.

I dug out my phone and typed the name into the search, my gaze darting over the words. Forbidden pleasures. Anything goes. Willing partners.

What the f⁠—

It was a goddamn sex club.

I lifted my head just as the girls disappeared behind the doors of the club, and I quickly dismounted and went after them.

The door was an inch from shutting in my face when I wedged my combat boot in to stop it.

“The club is by invitation only,” the bouncer warned, eyeing me warily. “And we have a black-tie dress code.”

I scoffed. “But anything goes for the ladies, huh?”

The minidresses the girls were wearing were hardly a black-tie kind of dress code.

He said nothing and attempted to shut the door on me again.

“Not so fast,” I growled. “My friends just went inside, and I’m not leaving unless they leave with me.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t enter wearing…” His eyes skimmed over the leather jacket I’d slung over my bare shoulders. “This.”

I was riding before I saw them and was still in the same clothes that apparently weren't appropriate for this place, and I blamed the girls for that. But something told me this guy would need more convincing. “Thousand bucks and you let me in.”

He shook his head. “I could lose my job.”

“Fifty thousand,” I spat impatiently.

“There is a spare suit on the premises that might be your size. For another ten, you can try it on and then go find your friends.”

“Fine, give me your Zelle number.”

And just like that, I sent sixty grand to the fucker for the pleasure of wearing clothes that felt too tight, threatening to rip at the seams.

But over my dead body would I allow Skye to roam a sex club without protection.

5

SKYE

The D’Arc school was created for the children of criminal families. Some studied only at this campus, while others used it as a home base with the securities it offered us.

I was the only one in our group to study music—ironic, I know. It worked for me since I enjoyed music purely for my own pleasure. I was my mama’s daughter after all, but I wasn’t as talented as her. I loved playing piano, but playing also made me sad.

My mama said it was the only connection she felt to the sounds. Yes, it was the next best thing to not being able to hear them, but it made me too aware of my disability. I wasn’t ashamed of it, but I also didn’t like the reminder of what could have been if I had my hearing.

Nonetheless, I wouldn’t trade my years at D’Arc or the friendships I’d made for anything in the world. They were the kind that my mama had with her group of friends, and she often reminisced about those days with Aunt Reina. Even to this day, they were all very close, even so that I grew up thinking Raven, Isla, and Athena were my actual aunts.

Much like my mom and her tight circle of friends who always had each other’s back, so did my friends and I. When they sought out trouble, I was right there along for the ride or to be their voice of reason.

So when, after the theatrical performance in the forest, Penelope suggested we went out and let off some steam, I was all for it.

Penelope, Amara, and I got all dolled up for the newest secret club called Revelation that had opened in the suburbs of Connecticut. I’d never heard of it, but Penelope had secured an invitation from a secret admirer. She insisted that the night was young, we were beautiful, and she was visiting the club no matter what.

Amara and I, the great supporters—after all, what’re friends for—agreed, and voilà. The three of us, frequenting a scandalous secret event, dressed to the nines and looking for trouble.

We got past the bouncer outside the club, a man in a Venetian costume greeted us with a snobbish expression, which was undermined by his comical appearance, and demanded to see our invitation. The costume was two sizes too small, his round belly protruding beneath the hem of the fabric with his thick arms bursting through the two too-tight cuffs.

Penelope handed him her invitation and we watched him scan it with bated breath. Something flashed on his screen and his smug expression turned into something else. Was it fear? Or maybe reverence? I couldn’t quite determine.

I managed to read his lips when he said, “You have full privileges—everything is on the house.” Amara squeezed my hand and I felt my stomach swoop. We were in.

He stepped aside, pulling back the thick red curtain and giving us a full view of the grand hallway stretching behind him.

“Who gave you that invitation?” I asked Penelope.

“For real, because that guy was about to shit his pants when he scanned it,” Amara chimed in.

Penelope flashed us a sheepish smile. “I don’t know. I got it in the mail without a return address.”

“Well, let’s hope it’s not from a psychotic stalker who wants to kill us or some shit,” Amara signed and stated at the same time.

Penelope rolled her eyes. “Stop being a baby. Besides, we can take care of ourselves.”

“I didn’t bring any weapons,” I signed.

Amara lost her balance and I reached out, catching her before she could faceplant.

“We’ll use our five-inch heels if need be.” She glared down at her shoes like they were her sworn enemy. “They’re definitely not good for walking.”

I chuckled. “Want to switch our shoes? Mine are only three inches.”

I wore a pink Valentino dress with matching pumps—a gift from my aunt Reina who loved to spoil me with the latest couture—but to make Amara comfortable, I’d give them up.

She waved her hand, dismissing the offer. “Nah. I might need to stab someone.”

We continued down the elegant hallway with red-painted walls until we reached a large open space that glittered with chandeliers. Hundreds of candles lit up every surface and red rose petals adorned the shiny marble floors.

There were men and women dressed in silks and satins, smiling as they drank from dainty glassware. Champagne coupes had been set beneath a tower of flowing bubbles, and at the head of the room, a ten-piece orchestra performed.

The far wall of the ballroom was painted in the colors of the British flag and a photo of the current king hung there.

“Is this place owned by a Brit?” I signed.

Penelope shrugged. “No freaking clue.”

“I read that this club was first opened in London, so maybe it’s in honor of their beginnings,” Amara chirped.

“I don’t give a crap about their beginnings,” Penelope quipped. “I want to get laid and be done with this bullshit.”

I winced. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Penelope had tried to experiment with men before, but both times ended in a tragic accident for the men. They ended up dead before she could get their pants off.

Her blue eyes met mine. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re kind of engaged, and you know those mafia husbands. They’re…” I cleared my throat uncomfortably. “They’re hypocrites and notorious for double standards. They sleep around but will kill anyone who dares to sleep with us. Do you really want to have someone else’s blood on your hands?”

“Of course not. That’s why we’ll never speak of this again. What happens in Revelation, stays in Revelation.”

“That goes for Vegas, not a club,” I corrected her. “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

Penelope’s nose scrunched and her eyes narrowed to detestable slits. “I’m not getting what I want, and I’ll ensure that he won’t either. Life’s a bitch⁠—”

“And then we die,” I finished with a sigh. “Maybe Enzo isn’t all that bad. Have you even met him yet?”

She shook her head. “No, but I saw a photo from his childhood. He isn’t my type.”

“I sure hope not,” Amara scoffed. “Why would you think that he would be your type if you only saw a photo of him as a child?”

Penelope slapped her on the shoulder. “You know what I mean.”

“Did you not ask to meet him? Or an updated photo?” I signed, questioning her.

Penelope’s answer was curt. “No. Don’t want to see him, meet him, or marry him.”

“I wonder why he doesn’t attend D’Arc?” Amara wondered, echoing my own thoughts. “Where do the Marchettis study?”

Penelope shrugged. “From what I hear, they both studied in the UK and are already running the Marchetti empire in some shape or form.”

“Isn’t it odd that you haven’t met him yet?” I questioned. “You’d think you two would have at least crossed paths by now.”

Amara snickered. “Maybe he’s not the academic type.”

I shook my head. “I’m sure he has other valuable skills. If you only gave him a chance.”

“Whatever,” Penelope said. “I just know we’re incompatible. The dude is old.”

I pursed my lips at her stubbornness. “You shouldn’t rush into having sex.”

“I think what Skye’s trying to say,” Amara interjected, coming to the rescue, “is that you should have sex with someone you care for. Someone who makes your world spin.”

Penelope slapped her hand against her forehead. “While that all sounds nice, as you know, my marriage to Enzo Marchetti was arranged decades ago. Whether I like it or not, it’s happening. Mama told me they set the date.”

Amara and I stared at her open-mouthed. “Already?”

“Yes, apparently Mr. fucking Marchetti is tired of waiting,” Penelope said with an exasperated expression. “Says he’s getting too old.”

“Enrico Marchetti? Why would he care?”

Penelope pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m talking about Enzo. The fucker wants a bride. Now!” She snapped her fingers to emphasize the urgency. “Something about him getting too old to keep waiting.”

“But he isn’t that old,” Amara protested. “Is he?”

She shrugged. “Early thirties. Thirty-two, I think?”

“But you’re twenty-one,” I pointed out. “Isn’t that a bit… weird?”

Amara’s cheeks flushed and she shifted uncomfortably on her heels. “I dunno… I’ve heard of more scandalous age gaps, I guess.”

I tilted my head pensively.

“Okay, are we talking about Penelope or you?” This time she turned crimson, and I couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. Amara would rather die than admit out loud her attraction to Gabriel Santos. “Gabriel’s slightly younger than thirty-two.”

Amara waved her hand nonchalantly. “Tomato, potato.”

“Do I look hot?” Penelope chimed in, interrupting our subject shift. She was determined to get laid, and there’d be nothing on this planet that could stop her.

We both glanced her way, giving her another take. She’d opted for a white Givenchy strapless dress with a flared skirt that barely reached her mid-thighs. She looked stunning, if not a little Virgin Mary–like.

“You two look hot as fuck,” she continued, “and I’m terrified that I’ll be left sitting around while you get picked up.”

“You’re beautiful,” I assured her. “And I’m not sleeping with any strangers, so if it happens that you sit it out, I’ll be right there with you.”

Amara grinned.

“I’m just hoping to teach someone a lesson.” When Penelope and I shot her a questioning look, she just blew out a frustrated breath. “Long story.”

Sensing her desire to move on, we linked arms and ventured deeper into the sprawling room, where velvet drapes and gilded accents shimmered under the low, amber light. The air crackled with anticipation, alive with murmured conversations and flirtatious glances. Some guests wore elaborate masks, their eyes glinting through ornate patterns, while others remained barefaced, their expressions laid bare amid the revelry. I couldn’t help but think of my recent venture into the Nikolaev club.

I shook my head, not wanting to spiral over his lack of communication. I’d already embarrassed myself enough lately with all my—unanswered—texts. Some days I didn’t even know what possessed me when I’d furiously typed a message to Nikola and then hit send, only to watch it change to ‘Read.’

I released a breath and glanced around as a tall man with broad shoulders and chiseled jaw stopped in front of us. A white mask hid half of his face, the color stark against his tanned skin and coal-black hair, but his charisma was impossible to hide.

Amara’s fingers tightened around my hand and I shot her a curious look, just in time to catch her lips moving. “Holy mother of God.”

Penelope licked her lips, giving the stranger and his custom suit a once-over. It was as if she’d completely forgotten about us in his presence.

“I see you got my invitation,” the man said, his eyes burning as he stared at Penelope, while Amara and I just stood there gaping. “Want a tour?”

He extended his hand, and without hesitation, her fingers came to rest in his palm. She took a step toward him when I tugged on her arm.

She turned her head and I signed, “Be safe. Okay?”

A beaming smile on her face and a curt nod was my answer before she left.

“Well, that was…”

Amara seemed at a loss for words, so I helped her. “Intense.”

“Right? Like, who is that guy?”

“A panty-melting hottie.”

Amara’s eyes flashed with something, and I followed her line of vision past my shoulder.

She tugged on my hand for attention. “I think I saw someone.”

Not seeing anything out of the ordinary, I turned back to Amara. “Who?”

“Not sure, but I’ll be right back. Will you be okay?”

I nodded, then smiled and shooed her away when she remained glued to the spot. “I’m a big girl. You just go ahead. I’ll wait for you both here.”

I watched her cut across the room with a purposeful stride, then found a corner with a chair where I could people-watch.

The room pulsed with a vibrant, almost tangible energy. People laughed and conversed while the air buzzed with excitement, as if the very walls were alive with anticipation. A waiter carrying a tray of champagne ambled past me and I flagged him down, taking a glass. I almost expected him to card me, but when he didn’t, I promptly drained the tall flute.

The bubbles hit the back of my throat as I returned the empty glass to the tray and snagged another two.

The waiter disappeared and I fastened my gaze on a couple making out in plain sight, not a care in the world. They were all over each other—kissing and grinding like time was of the essence.

It made me feel like a voyeur, but I found myself unable to look away.

I almost spilled both my glasses over my dress when the woman lowered herself onto a velvet chaise and pulled up her skirt, bunching it around her waist. She parted her legs, revealing her bare pussy, and the man dropped to his knees, burying his face in her sex.

Holy fucking shit. Is that even allowed? I thought, my jaw all but hitting the floor.

No sooner had the sight scorched my eyeballs than another couple to their left seemed to take their cue. A woman was bent over a piano while her partner rammed into her, fucking her in front of everyone.

I stared at it all, appalled and a bit… turned on?

My body tightened and hummed with desire as the wild, erotic scenes unfolded in front of my eyes.

I downed one drink, then the other, and placed them at the first table I spotted just as a man walked by. He smiled, and distractingly, I smiled back. In the next heartbeat, he cupped my cheek and pressed a kiss on my mouth, catching me by surprise.

I pushed him away, scrunched my nose, and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Before I had a chance to tell him off, he was knocked off his feet in a flurry of movements.

A strong set of inked fingers wrapped around my forearm and I attempted to slip away, but when I looked up, I came face-to-face with none other than Nikola.

“What are you doing here?” I signed, suddenly feeling like I was on fire, the guy who just kissed me completely forgotten.

My heart thundered against my rib cage as he stared at me with a furious expression that I couldn’t grasp. Why was he so upset? He’d made it abundantly clear he wanted nothing to do with me.

“Better question is, what the fuck are you doing here?”

His eyes were blazing as I stared back. Gosh, all this sex going on around me with Nikola so close was a recipe for disaster. A battle raged within me, the temptation to move closer growing stronger with every beat, driven by the infectious rhythm and the sway of a dozen gyrating bodies surrounding us.

Rather than doing that, I looked up at him defiantly.

“I’m here with a date, about to get laid,” I lied, my fingers shaking as I signed. I raised my chin, meeting him square in the eye. “So please get lost.”

He signed and said the next words with a locked jaw. “Is your date the guy who just kissed you? Because it didn’t look like you enjoyed that very much.”

I pursed my lips. “No, that’s… that’s not him.”

He leaned against the wall casually, watching me. “Well, let’s wait for him, shall we? You can watch me break every bone in his body.” He flashed me a shark-like grin. “And then we’ll leave.”

I couldn’t do anything but stare at him, shocked, as he waved over a waiter and picked up two glasses. Suddenly parched, I gulped them down one at a time, then slammed them on the empty tray.

“Do they know you’re underage, zayka?”

I narrowed my eyes on him, annoyed at the reminder. “Go away, mudak.”

Suddenly I wished I knew more insulting Russian words than just mudak. Idiot. How was I supposed to be fierce and badass if I couldn’t even throw appropriate insults at him?

“I’m not going anywhere without you.” The fire in his gaze could have easily set me on fire. He downed his drink in one go, then said pensively, “Maybe you and I can join them on the floor?”

It was hard to miss that he was furious as he uttered those words, signing them at the same time. His fingers were stiff and his teeth clenched, I feared he’d crack his knuckles and his jaw.

Nonetheless, just the possibility of Nikola’s hands on me had my heart racing so fast I felt like I’d just run a marathon. “Really?”

A dark expression passed his face. “Sure, but then I’ll be busy killing everyone for the rest of the night.”

This man was giving me whiplash. “And yet you can’t answer a simple text.”

I was close enough to see the pale blue specks in his eyes, his cologne clogging my senses. It was only once I got to college and met new people—men—that I realized his was the only scent that overpowered me, made me feel dizzy, like the atmosphere in every room we shared had been drained of oxygen.

I stood up, ignoring the way his body vibrated with power, and leaned my soft body against his muscular one. I watched the throbbing pulse at the base of his throat. My tongue swept across my bottom lip, yearning to lick it.

“Decide whether you want me or not, Nikola, before it’s too late.”

His gaze zeroed in on me. “That almost sounds like an ultimatum.”

I shrugged.

“Take it as you will. But do you know what I think?” My fingers trembled as I signed.

“What?”

“You’re scared. You’re scared to kiss me and lose control.”

“Wrong, zayka,” he replied, and then reached around to the back of my neck where he grabbed a fistful of my hair, tilting my face up toward his before he swooped his mouth down to possess mine.

He turned us and slammed me up against the wall, ravaging my lips. Our tongues explored each other hungrily, off-the-charts chemistry erupting between us. His mouth drove me wild in a way I could never have imagined.

Heat rippled through me, and every cell in my brain fizzled to a stop. My arms snaked up around his neck, my fingers tangling in his thick hair.

He circled my tongue, sucking it deep into his mouth, and kissed me with such ferocity my knees went weak. I was quickly getting drunk on the taste of him. There was such a thrill in being maneuvered in such a way, and something awoke in me, answering his animal call. A thrilling excitement kicked hard in the pit of my belly as I clung to him, soaking in his addictive heat, his hard length nudging against the softness of my stomach.

A rush of pleasure coursed through my body. Heat pooled between my legs and I wanted—needed—him unlike anything else.

The kiss stopped abruptly, with me panting and grinding against his thigh.

My hands took up what limited space existed between us as I signed, “Why did you stop?”

“Trust me, it’s for your own good,” he said with a grumbling expression. “You and me… we’re a disaster waiting to happen.”

My eyes traveled over his body and the bulge that was clearly visible behind the zipper of his pants before I ventured back up and stared at the tie that hung loose around his neck.

“You have no idea what’s good for me,” I signed slowly, hurt by his rejection. I wanted to tell him that he was good for me and I could be good for him. Instead, all I could come up with was “Nice suit.”

A masked man appeared next to us, his eyes darting to Nikola, then to me, eyeing me like I was his dinner.

“Are you two interested in⁠—”

Nikola never let him finish his question, his fist connecting with the man’s face and shattering his nose. I gasped, but before I could do anything, Nikola picked me up and threw me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, just like he’d done on Halloween. This was getting old, even if I did kind of like it.

I’d have to remember to send the girls a text letting them know I’d get myself back home safely. I’d deal with their questions later.

Once outside, he set me on his bike and sniffed before saying, “You fight me right now, Skye, and I’m having you shipped back to Italy.”

What. A. Fucking. Asshole.

6

NIKOLA

Ibarely spoke to Skye on the drive back to her dorm—I was too busy planning my return to Revelation so I could find the fucker who dared kiss Skye.

I couldn’t fuck her, so beating up an asshole who touched what was mine was the next best thing. It didn’t take me long to locate him, drag him outside to the neighboring deserted lot, and zip-tie his wrists behind his back.

“What the fuck is this, man?” he whimpered, his nose I punched earlier now swollen. But it was his black beady eyes that spoke of evil and all the depraved shit he probably planned on doing to my Skye. “This is against club rules.”

“We’re not in the club,” I pointed out as I took the time to slide off my suit jacket and roll the sleeves of my shirt up my forearms. I wasn’t fond of suits, but there was no sense in ruining one, especially since I’d just paid sixty grand for it.

Okay, truth be told, I didn’t give a shit about my suit. I just wanted to make the fucker sweat a bit longer.

“And guess what?” I continued with a drawl.

“Wh-what?” he stuttered, his black eyes darting around us, but there was nobody to save him.

“You’re about to be taught a lesson.”

“What do you mean, man?”

“To never touch what isn’t yours.” The rage simmered beneath my skin at the memory of seeing his hands cupping Skye’s jaw and planting a kiss on the mouth that belonged to me. “To never touch a woman who doesn’t want your advances. She didn’t want your kiss.” I tsked my tongue, shaking my head. “You picked the wrong woman.”

I took a step forward, my hands balled into fists, and the fucker’s eyes filled with fear.

“I didn’t pick her,” he cried, jerking against his binds. “I swear. I was told to kiss her.”

I paused. “By whom?”

“A woman. She gave me a thousand bucks to seduce her, then take her into one of those private rooms.”

“Who’s this woman?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know her name.”

My lips curled, my words dripping with sarcasm. “How convenient.”

“She goes by The Duchess.” My brow furrowed, but he must’ve taken my silence as a sign to plow forward. “She was going to let me fuck the mute bitch, but if you want her… I won’t. I like them better when they’re screaming anyhow.”

Fury shot through me and I fished out a lighter from my pocket, then lit it up.

“Who are you calling a mute?” I gritted, bringing the fire so close to his eyes that I could smell his flesh burn. “You’ll fucking pay for that. You and this fucking Duchess.”

“Please, you have to believe me.” He blinked, staring cross-eyed at the fire. “She was waiting for us in one of the private rooms. Maybe the club has her name?” He was dripping with sweat, fighting against the restraints I’d bound him with.

I sighed and stored the information away, making a mental note to follow up. With the recent resurfacing of the Belles and Mobsters Agreements and organ trafficking, I had to track every potential threat.

“Time to pay,” I declared.

“Spare me.” As if I’d ever let any fucker get away with putting a finger—never mind his lips—on Skye.

My fist flew into his face, connecting with his cheekbone. He let out a pathetic scream and I circled him. His eyes tried to follow my movement, but they were unfocused.

“Please, I don’t do well with pain,” he cried, his body shaking with fear and his cheek already purpling. Blood mixed with drool dripped from his mouth.

“Tsk, tsk,” I started, my voice calm while my rage simmered. “Should have thought of that before you touched my girl.”

Another punch.

“I’m sorry, man.”

I grinned at the screaming bastard; it was only the beginning of my lesson.

By the time I was done, his black beady eyes would never see or hurt another woman.

“I’m sorry, sir, but that information is confidential.”

The woman stared at me with a fearful gaze, her fingers trembling above a red panic button.

I’d really tried to appear non-threatening, but clearly I was failing.

“Can you contact the manager? Owner?” Fucking anyone else besides this woman who was ready to piss herself just standing here next to me.

“What seems to be the problem here?” A British-accented voice had me turning around. “I’m Maxim Baldwin, the owner.”

He extended his hand, and my attention was immediately drawn to his Tom Ford suit.

“Nikola Nikolaev.” We shook hands. “I need the name of a woman who tried to have my girlfriend abducted.”

Okay, maybe I was inflating the situation, but I needed results.

“Our screening policy is strict and very efficient. None of our members or visiting patrons fit that description.”

“Well, I got in, so it can’t be that efficient.” A heartbeat of silence followed and I continued. “I just need to know the name of a woman who goes by The Duchess.”

Maxim’s eyebrows pulled together. “She’s a frequent visitor?”

I shrugged.

“I don’t know. It was my girlfriend’s first time here.” Then, realizing my mistake, I quickly added, “Mine too. Our first time here.”

Maxim went around the counter and typed in a few keystrokes. His eyebrows furrowed as he read and then began to type again.

When his eyes met mine, there was an expression in them I understood too well. Diplomacy.

“I’m afraid our system was exploited,” he stated slowly. “This Duchess”—he held up both hands to mark the word, his cufflinks shining in the low light—“gained entry using an invitation extended by a legacy member. One who just so happens to be long deceased.” At my blank look, he added, “A forged invitation, Mr. Nikolaev.”

I stiffened. A voice at the back of my mind warned me there was more to this, but judging by the expression on Maxim’s face, he wouldn’t be divulging anything else.

“Apologies again,” he said again. “We don’t have any other information.”

7

SKYE

It had been a whole week since the visit to Revelation, and Nikola was back to ignoring me. It infuriated me that he could be so smart yet blind as a fucking bat.

Didn’t he see that we were perfect together?

He’d always been my knight, even when he so annoyingly tugged on my hair as children.

My mind darted back to one of the visits I’d had with the Nikolaevs in my early teens. My parents were celebrating their hard-earned wedding anniversary, and it was my weekend with Sasha and Branka. As per usual, when they were in New Orleans, we often stayed at the Nikolaev compound, owned by Nikola’s parents, Vasili and Isabella Nikolaev.

I stared at the screen of the laptop, all my Robux gaming points in the Roblox game were completely gone. The Nikolaev library was empty, its books the only thing keeping me company. Usually, the Nikolaev family liked to hang out here because there was a bar in the corner of it. However, they were all busy today, and my cousin was in school, which was the reason I was alone. Thanks to an Italian holiday, I had a long weekend and they didn’t.

Although, school might have been a better alternative to this scenario.

My eyes burned, fighting tears that threatened to spill. It seemed to be a thirteen-year-old curse: amplified emotions. Mama said it would pass, but at this moment, I struggled to see how.

Nikola’s hands grabbed my face and turned me away from my favorite online game. “What’s the matter?”

And tears spilled.

There was no holding them back. I cried, hiccupped, and made a mess of my face and Nikola’s T-shirt.

“Skye, what the fuck happened?” he asked again, his lips barely readable through my rain of tears.

“My Robux,” was all I could sign.

His brows scrunched as he glanced at the screen and then back at me. “Did you use them all up?”

I started crying even harder and Nikola hugged me tighter, his hand roaming my back in slow, clumsy movements. But I found comfort in it nonetheless.

When my tears finally eased, he put space between us and used the hem of his shirt to wipe my wet face.

“Now tell me, what happened with your Robux?” he demanded in that certain way that reminded me of Sasha. Or maybe it was of his papa. They were both formidable, demanding men.

My bottom lip quivered as I signed, “My Roblox account was hacked, and all my Robux points are now gone.”

His expression darkened, and he shifted me over, taking the laptop. I had no idea what he was doing as I watched his hands, fresh tattoos on them, move across the keyboard. At seventeen, Nikola could no longer wait to ink his body, much to his mother’s dismay. But every Nikolaev man had tattoos, so it was certainly not a surprise.

“What are you doing?” I asked, noting he was scanning various group chats.

He didn’t answer, but in half an hour, he finally smiled that shark grin that usually scared everyone. He met my gaze and patted my cheek affectionately.

“I got him, zayka.” He closed the laptop, placed it on the coffee table in front of us, and stood up. “Don’t go into the game. I’ll be back soon.”

It took Nikola exactly six hours and thirty-five minutes to get to the hacker who stole my Robux. It was some boy I shared a class with. Nikola roughed him up a bit, then got all of my Robux back for me. That time when my parents came to pick me up and take me back to Italy, I hugged Nikola—my hero—tighter than ever.

“What’s that about?” Papa demanded.

Nikola waved his hand dismissively. “Roblox.”

Papa glared at Sasha. “That’s the most useless game. Why did you get her hooked on it?”

“Because she’s a kid and she asked me to. Duh!” Sasha loved taunting Papa. “That's the reason I’m her favorite. We eat popcorn while I watch a movie and she plays Roblox.”

“She prefers Italian movies with me,” Papa protested.

“I hate to tell you, but Skye hates watching movies,” Nikola corrected them both, and I flashed them all a sheepish smile.

I recognized that it was a rarity to have such a family, but I wouldn’t have traded it for the world. I still remembered the loneliness before Sasha and Branka adopted me into their family.

Of course, in hindsight, it was a silly thing to cry about, but Nikola’s actions made me trust him even more. Despite his sometimes crazy behavior and determination to push me away, I was always safe with him.

Sasha and Branka’s short adoption period when I was five connected me to the Nikolaev family in an unconventional way, and somehow it made sense that we would forever have this bond and attraction. It was the best of both worlds.

Right?

So why was he resisting this attraction that clearly we both felt? He wanted me, deep down I felt it, and nobody could convince me otherwise.

It was only six in the afternoon when I decided to corner Nikola. Like a scorned woman, I stomped out of my dorm building and made my way through various parking lots until I reached his dorm.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

I banged on the door with force, hoping Nikola would hear my frustration. Nothing happened. So I did it again. Boom. Boom. Boom. Still nothing.

Certain that he was in there, I pushed on the door handle, swung the door open, and entered the suite, only to find it empty.

Maybe he’s in his room, I thought to myself.

I padded across the empty suite. The truth was it almost looked abandoned. It was too neat, like it was unused. I guess it made sense since most of its tenants weren’t even full-time students.

Nikola only had to turn in his thesis and he was done. His father already handed him some of the reins of the Nikolaev criminal empire. Matteo Vitale married Arianna, and then there was Gabriel Santos. The truth was that he shouldn’t be here either. His official excuse: he assisted with some class lectures.

I suspected he stayed for Amara.

I entered Nikola’s room, the whiff of that familiar cologne permeated the air, but he was nowhere to be found. Instead, there was only a mess of both packed and empty boxes sitting around the bedroom. I weaved my way through the boxes, reaching the closet, and peered inside.

What the fuck?

My eyes zeroed in on a pair of handcuffs hanging among the leather jackets, Bond-like suits, and jeans. Ignoring them all, I reached for the handcuffs and traced them with my fingers while I wondered why Nikola had them.

Duh, he’s into kinky shit, my mind mocked.

Would I trust him enough to let him handcuff me? There was no doubt that I trusted him, but the thought of being handcuffed made my chest tighten with anxiety. If that alone gave me such a reaction, it was clear I wouldn’t be able to handle anything more.

Just as that revelation sunk in, I felt a click.

The handcuff snapped shut around my left wrist with a cold, unforgiving finality, and a surge of panic clawed its way up my throat. My breath hitched, quick and shallow, as if the air itself had thickened, choking me. I yanked on the cuff desperately, but the sharp bite of metal only tightened against my skin, sending a spike of pain shooting up my arm.

No, no, no.

A shudder wracked my body and fear wrapped around my chest like a constricting vise, pressing until my ribs ached. Memories I’d buried deep erupted through the fragile wall I’d built around them, spilling into the present with a vicious force. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing them away.

I have a family now. I have a family now. The words pulsed through my mind like a lifeline, repeating over and over, desperate and raw, as those long-buried memories clawed their way to the surface. I could feel them unraveling the fragile threads I’d used to bind them, threatening to break free.

I gasped for air, but it was like inhaling water—thick, suffocating, and merciless. Panic coiled tighter, pulling me under, and just when it felt like I might drown, strong hands gripped my shoulders. They shook me—firm and unyielding—jolting me from the spiraling void. My eyes snapped open and there was Nikola, his face hovering just inches from mine, his worried gaze cutting through the haze like a beacon.

“Nik—” My mouth moved, but my clattering teeth made it impossible to call out his name. The very same name I practiced saying when alone.

He yanked the handcuff off my wrist and I fell into his broad chest, shaking like a leaf. His arms enveloped me, pulling me close, and I sank into the solid warmth of his chest. Those big, gentle hands traced soothing circles along my back, grounding me with each stroke.

His palm moved up and down, and my breaths mimicked his slow movements. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

It wasn’t until my heartbeat and state of mind were back to normal that I shifted back and snapped, “Why the fuck do you have handcuffs?”

Taken aback, it took him a minute to formulate a response.

“I thought you could handle kinky stuff, zayka?” I hit his bicep hard, glaring, and he feigned a wince. “Now, now, don’t get all violent on me.”

“Not funny.”

His expression sombered suddenly. “You’re right, it isn’t. What was that about?”

It was my turn to feign. “Not sure what you mean.”

He tilted his head.

“Don’t play coy with me, Skye. That was a full-blown panic attack.” A shudder rolled down my spine, and I inhaled a deep breath before releasing it slowly. “Did someone hurt you?” I shook my head and his eyes narrowed on me. “Don’t fucking lie to me.”

I sighed, rubbing my forehead before answering him with shaky fingers. “Honestly, I completely forgot about it until those stupid handcuffs.”

“Forgot what?”

“A memory.”

“Explain!”

Nikola could be so demanding.

“It was before Sasha and Branka adopted me.” I paused, but he didn’t interrupt, so I just continued. “This woman… While I was in foster care, she would handcuff me to a radiator so I would stay put. I completely forgot about it.”

I rubbed my wrists, realizing it was impossible to forget something like that, but I’d subconsciously buried it. I didn’t want to dwell on the bad, but rather focus on all the good things that had happened to me.

“What was her name?” Nikola’s cold expression should have sent me running, but instead all I could find in my heart was gratitude. That was who this man was. Overprotective. Overbearing. Over-controlling. Everything he did was over the top.

Just like Papa. Just like Sasha.

It was why I found comfort in Nikola. He represented safety, which I’d only ever found in the two most important men in my life. They were both father figures in my eyes and I’d never give them up.

“Skye, I’m waiting for that name.”

I shrugged.

“I have no idea, Nikola. Honestly, I willed myself to forget. I don’t even remember what she looked like. I just remember that stupid radiator, its heat, and the handcuffs.”

He cupped my face, his eyes boring into me.

“I will find her.”

I shook my head. “It’s not worth it. Honestly, she’s probably dead. Someone said that my caretakers died, so she must have been one of them.”

His expression clearly told me he didn’t believe it.

8

SKYE

“You’re coming home. Take the jet and I’ll pick you up from the terminal myself.”

“Why, Papa?” My fingers trembled, desperate to keep my composure. Last night’s events had left me rattled, and I knew if he learned about my reckless misadventures at Revelation or the memory I’d shared with Nikola, my days at D’Arc would be over. “I’m so close to finishing my studies.”

Though I’d never been studious like many of my friends, I’d chosen music for my major to make my mama happy and because I’d never had much of a drive for anything outside of piano. Sad, but true; I was still figuring out who I was.

“Because Mama and I miss you. You must miss us too. And Italy, our castello. Princess, Italy’s calling you home.”

“You’re right, I miss Trieste and Italy, but I have to finish this.” I smiled and released the breath I’d been holding since the call came through. There weren’t too many places in the world that matched up to Trieste. Life in Papa’s castello was like a fairy tale meant for a Disney princess. “Besides, you can always FaceTime me whenever you miss me.”

“Not the same.”

Translation, Papa would be upset if I cancelled our traditional November gathering with them. He was a creature of habit, and after a decade of making traditions and doing what he thought was best for our family, he hated breaking them. That meant being home for the upcoming weeks off of school.

I stared at my father’s scowl and had to suppress a giggle. He hated FaceTime, and he only made an exception for Mama and me, which was made apparent by the look on his face. FaceTime was a necessity in our situation, given the hearing disability. Text messages worked too, but they tended to go on and on forever.

“How am I to hug you over FaceTime?” Papa signed with a begrudging expression.

My father—Dante Leone—was the love of my mama’s life. She fell for him fast and hard when she was eighteen, although she claimed it had everything to do with his charm and charisma and not his chiseled jaw and dark eyes.

I didn’t inherit any of his traits—especially not the sprinkling of gray on his temples—although sometimes I couldn’t help but wonder if my baby brother who died prematurely would have been his spitting image.

My chest throbbed at the memory of a tiny, lifeless baby in Mama’s arms. She was heartbroken, and Papa wasn’t far off. The day we buried the youngest member of our family was one of the hardest I could recall.

I was only nine years old when I found Papa alone in the study, crying and broken. To this day, it was the only time I’d ever seen him cry.

Not knowing what else to do, I climbed on his lap and hugged him, not letting go even when I felt his tears dampening my hair.

It was devastating to see the man who was fiercer than life so sad and heartbroken. It was then that I learned it wasn’t the big, powerful weapons that scarred people for life. It was events that were out of our control.

Like the loss of a child.

“I can’t wait to hug you too,” I signed on the small screen, tucking the memory back in the vault. “What are the plans for the holiday break?”

“Well, we’re having our regular November family dinner with Uncle Amon and his clan of kids,” he stated. Uncle Amon and Aunt Reina were the closest relatives we had, and the only ones in Italy. “My brother just about started crying when he heard we might cancel.”

Another lie. Uncle Amon would never spill a single tear.

“We’re just having it a bit earlier, that’s all,” I reasoned.

“Why can’t you just ditch your classes and come home early?” Papa suggested, changing the subject. “I won’t tell your mama. We can play hooky together and do something fun. Just you and me. Maybe go fishing?”

“You hate fishing,” I reminded him. “You said it’s boring as fuck.”

“Don’t curse. Your mama will have my balls.” He glanced around, then shot me a glare. “Don’t tell her I said that either. Now, when are you coming home?”

I rolled my lips and drew myself back to the present as I signed, “Thanksgiving break is about to kick off, so I’ll see you then. Where is Mama?”

Papa’s expression darkened.

“She’s on the phone with those damned Nikolaevs.” I chuckled. Those damned Nikolaevs were Sasha and Branka, my favorite pseudo-parents. “They want us to spend Thanksgiving together.”

“That’s wonderful.”

Although, judging by my papa’s expression, it totally wasn’t. His next words confirmed it. “We’re Italian. We don’t want to eat turkey and stuffing. And I’ll never understand how people can eat sweet potatoes with marshmallows.” He made a face like he was about to be sick, and I chuckled again. “Besides, why do two family gatherings? We already have one with your uncle Amon.”

“Maybe the Nikolaevs will fix us pasta if we ask them nicely.”

“Doesn’t everyone have better things to do?” he begrudged. “It’s not even a real holiday. Plus, staying in the Nikolaev compound with all of them… it’s just too much.”

“You never complain about too much when we spend time with Aunt Reina and Uncle Amon in their fortress,” I pointed out, and Papa let out an exaggerated breath.

“Reina’s not trying to get my wife and daughter to like them better than me.”

I threw my head back and laughed. “Oh, Papa. Mama and I like you the best. Always have and always will.”

“How did I get so lucky?”

I pretended to think about it. “Hmm, according to Mama’s stories, you’re a stubborn man who stole her heart and refused to give up until she was yours.”

“I did do that, but I hope you find a better boy than your papa.” He smiled. “I have to admit, I acted somewhat… recklessly.”

Mama had used the word psychotic, but I wasn’t going to correct him.

“There’s nobody better than you,” I scoffed. “If I find someone like you, I’ll be a lucky girl.”

My fingers itched to tell him that I actually might have already found someone like him, but knowing Papa’s dislike for the Nikolaevs, I didn’t see him taking it well. Their bad blood dated back to my adoption by Sasha and Branka, and the fact that the Nikolaevs tried to take me back.

Yes, the two families had come to a compromise, but it was never quite the familial relationship that Mama and I wanted to achieve. Despite the fact that Mama was a surrogate for Sasha and Branka and birthed Damien, Papa and Sasha never exactly saw eye to eye.

We chatted for a few more minutes, and after we made plans for Papa’s jet to pick me up in two weeks and take me to Trieste, he ended our call with the excuse of going to check on Mama. Even though we both knew it was more the fact that he’d reached his limit for sharing her with Sasha and Branka.

I walked down the hall and found Penelope and Amara in the living room, sleeping it off on the couch. They hadn’t returned to the dorms until the early hours of the morning, looking thoroughly fucked.

A small—okay, big—part of me was jealous.

If only Nikola had lost his head and relaxed for long enough to fuck my brains out.

I sighed.

At least I had my vibrator, which, unlike a certain blond somebody, was extremely reliable and always came through.

9

NIKOLA

The moment Skye flew back home to Italy, I took my own plane back to New Orleans.

The last several weeks since the incident at Revelation were passed in a constant state of arousal. I finally understood the meaning of blue balls, but unfortunately my dick refused to work for any other girl. It zeroed in on Skye, demanding her soft body and her stubborn mouth.

If only that useless organ would cooperate with my reason, life would be easier.

I wanted the best for Skye, and involving her in this life and the mafia wasn’t it. I had no doubt that she’d find some sweet, normal boy who would give her a nice, comfortable life away from the mafia world.

The thought of Skye with anyone else made me literally sick to my stomach. I didn’t know how I would possibly let her go and do the right thing. Loving her and letting her go seemed impossible, yet I knew that both had to be done.

Hence why I did the only other thing I knew I was good at.

I wreaked havoc on this earth while searching high and low for the identities of both The Duchess and the woman who hurt my Skye when she was a little innocent girl without the Nikolaevs and her family to protect her.

I had more than ample time since I was delaying turning in my thesis, but I made a promise to Uncle Sasha to keep Skye safe while in college and I intended to keep that promise.

For more than one reason.

Skye’s safety and happiness were my top priority. I’d learned over the years that her pain was my pain and her distress was my distress. Maybe she couldn’t be mine, but I sure as fuck would ensure she walked—no, danced through life exhilarated.

I sat in my father’s office in New Orleans, digging into Revelation’s archives despite the assurance by Maxim Baldwin that the woman wasn’t a member. I had to turn over every stone while trying to uncover the true identity of the mysterious Duchess and any threat to Skye.

The fact that The Duchess knew Skye would be there told me someone was playing chess and monitoring her movements.

Hence why it was important I scanned through anyone and everyone who was there that night. Plus, I was fairly certain Maxim Baldwin was hiding something. Or someone.

I found records of all its members, and the closest I’d gotten to any member with a title was the Duke of Glasgow. The man was dead, but I knew him due to his connection to Skye’s mother. He was one of the long list of Mrs. Phoenix Leone’s step-grandfathers, deceased and gone. Skye had never met him nor her great-grandmother Diana Bergman, the great actress of her time, who outlived all her husbands.

The coincidence was suspect, but when I dug deeper, it turned out that the duke and Diana had been members of the original club for decades, so it seemed the connection was just that—a coincidence. There was another guest member to the duke that night at Revelation that set me on edge.

Enzo Marchetti.

However, it seemed he was too preoccupied with someone else to even notice Skye.

It really turned out everyone who was anyone belonged to the exclusive club. How I’d never heard of it before I caught the girls sneaking into it was beyond me.

The deviant shit that went on in that club was enough to unseat quite a few politicians, but I wasn’t interested in blackmail today, and the information I needed wasn’t there.

The door barged open and my sister appeared. We always thought Aunt Tatiana was the biggest prima donna, but Marietta superseded her tenfold.

Loungewear for my baby sister consisted of the finest Dior, Armani, Gucci, Prada, Burberry, or Hermès garments. Honestly, it was disturbing that I even knew those names. Recognized them too. A hazard of being related to fashion-obsessed women.

“Jesus, Marietta, don’t you know how to knock?” Yes, it was technically our father’s office, but I used it just as much.

“I do, but why should I when it’s my house too?”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not your office.”

“Yours either.” She strode inside, her emerald-green Armani dress dragging behind her.

“Yet.” I leaned back in the chair. “Is there a reason you’re here other than to annoy me?”

She took a seat across the desk, crossing her legs. “What are you doing?”

Tension crowded my shoulders as I returned my attention to the task at hand. “I’m trying to learn the identity of a club member.”

“Our club?”

“No.”

“Did you try torturing the club owner? That usually works.”

I narrowed my eyes on her. “What do you know about torture?”

“Nothing.” Her eyes met mine and I thought I saw something in them, but it was gone too fast. “Skye messaged me.”

My sister also liked to meddle in things. Our parents were going to have their hands full with that one for sure. God help the poor schmuck who fell in love with her.

“Will you be disturbing me every time someone messages you?”

“No.”

“Thank fuck,” I muttered, my fingers flying across the keyboard, but I knew it was no use. This was yet another dead end. Maxim Baldwin must have either deleted surveillance footage and further records of that night, or he was telling the truth that he didn’t have anything.

When my sister remained quiet, I couldn’t resist asking, “So what did Skye have to say?”

Marietta sat upright and all but rubbed her hands together like a cartoon villain. “She said she’s going to find herself a boyfriend.”

No, she fucking won’t.

The idea of Skye in a relationship left a weird taste in my mouth. In fact, it made me want to set this world on fire, but I wasn’t about to let my sister in on that piece of information.

The bottom line was that none of these feelings mattered, because I would do right by her.

Even if it killed me.

It was the best thing for Skye. There was also the fact that Skye’s papa was protective and overbearing as fuck and he hated Russians. And then there was Uncle Sasha… yeah, he was no better, except for the Russian part, obviously.

“I told her I’ll help her,” my sister drawled. “I made a list of potential candidates. Want to know their names?”

“Listen carefully, Marietta. If you give me those names, I’ll hunt down every one and kill them.” She grinned, unbothered by my threat. “Give those names to Skye, and I’ll consider locking you in your bedroom with only off-brand sweatshirts and sweatpants to wear.”

She chuckled. “Okay, okay. I get the point. Want to know a secret?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Sure, why not.”

“Uncle Sasha is going to Italy. He doesn’t know it yet, but a marriage arrangement proposition will be brought up to him and Dante Leone.”

I leaned forward, propping my elbows on Father’s desk. “Where in the hell did you hear that?”

“Don’t worry about that. All that matters is it’s happening, and soon.”

Marietta had her sneaky ways—mostly by eavesdropping—but she was right; it didn’t matter. The bottom line was that Skye was about to be married off, and I had to do something about it.

10

SKYE

Ientered my family’s castello in Trieste and was immediately surrounded.

“Ah, she’s home,” Cesar, Papa’s right-hand man, greeted me with a big smile on his face. “No boys swept you off your feet yet?”

I opened my mouth to answer when my papa cut in, signing and speaking at the same time, “Don’t be ridiculous, Cesar. Skye likes Italian men, not those brutal Americans.”

My mama sidled up next to him, squeezed his arm, then signed, “You do realize your wife is an American.”

Papa’s expression softened. “But you are the American, Nix.”

“And what am I?” I signed, smiling. My papa was the only one who called my mom Nix, an abbreviation for Phoenix. He claimed it fit her better since she’d embraced his darkness, and Nix meant night in Greek.

“You’re mia figlia and mio mondo.” He pulled me into a hug, never letting go of Mama. “I missed you, princess.”

“Welcome home, kiddo.” Cesar patted my head and a wave of affection washed over me. He’d been a part of our family for as long as I could remember and I looked forward to seeing him each time I touched down in Italy. “I fear the day you bring a boy with you. I must procure some more weapons for your papa.”

“What is it with you? That’s the third time today you’ve mentioned Skye having a boyfriend,” Papa retorted wryly. “Are you trying to send me to an early grave?”

Cesar shrugged. “It’s bound to happen, you know.”

“She’s only twenty,” he protested.

“I was talking about your grave, but whatever,” Cesar retorted wryly, rolling his eyes before he continued. “Besides, need I remind you that your wife was eighteen when you got married? Remember how her Cupid’s arrow pierced your heart.” Huh? But before I could ask, Cesar added, “Ah, my bad. That was her gun.”

I shook my head. “I’m too jet-lagged to ask.”

Mama’s face flushed crimson as she signed, “It’s better we don’t talk about it.”

She hooked her arm around my waist, her fingers intertwined with Papa’s, and we walked into the family room—my favorite space in the house. A grand piano sat by the large bay window, where Mama and I had spent many afternoons playing duets while gazing out toward the sea.

The moment we entered, Aunt Reina and Uncle Amon appeared with their flock of children. The youngest, Kai and Lia, who just turned twelve, shifted their eyes around the room, probably contemplating how to sneak out. Those two loved to collect seashells.

Spotting me, they abandoned their plans and ran over, their faces transforming as grins split their cheeks.

They tilted their faces up, speaking too fast for me to read their lips, and I chuckled at their enthusiasm as I hugged them.

I signed with my free hand. “Slow down.”

Kai straightened, then signed while speaking slowly, “We missed you so goddamn much.”

“Kai!” Aunt Reina scolded him as she strutted over in her pink heels. “Language.” She pecked my cheek. “They couldn’t wait for you to get here.”

Kai muttered something, but his father pinned him with a stare. “Listen to your mother.”

Despite being twins, Kai and Lia couldn’t be more different. Lia was a basket of sunshine with her blonde curls and blue eyes. Kai, on the other hand, was a replica of his father and arrived on earth grumpy.

He looked at me and I winked. “It’s easier if we listen to our parents.”

He signed back. “Because they get off our cases?”

“Exactly.”

Reon, the oldest of Uncle Amon and Aunt Reina’s children, clapped a hand over my shoulder. “What’s up, cousin?”

I stifled a chuckle. “Not much. How’s England?”

“Cold and rainy as fuck,” he grumbled, drawing an exasperated look from his mom. “What? It’s true. I bet Alaska gets more sun than England.”

“Your father and uncle also went to school there,” Aunt Reina reminded him. “So you can handle it. Plus, you’re much closer this way.”

My mama patted her godson on the cheek. “Finish your degree, then you can do whatever you want.” Mama shot Aunt Reina a warning look. “Whatever he wants,” she repeated.

Reon pushed his hands into his pockets like the big shot he thought he was—a fifteen-year-old genius attending college—and made his way to his father, probably to tell him his plans of moving out or something like that.

“The kid is way too independent,” Aunt Reina complained, her eyes on her eldest. “And way too smart.”

“In four years, he’ll forget why he ever wanted to move out,” Mama pacified her.

“I certainly hope so,” Uncle Amon grumbled as he appeared, signing at the same time. “The boy is so much like Dante it’s scary.”

My papa chuckled. “Ah, so super handsome and whip-smart. Sorry, brother, must be hard for you mere mortals.”

“Let’s climb into the boxing ring and you’ll see how ‘super’ you really are,” Uncle Amon threatened teasingly, then winked at me. “Skye can be the judge.”

“You forget that my principessa favors her papa.” He bent his head and pressed a kiss on my forehead. “Call timeout in the first round,” he signed without moving his lips.

Uncle Amon shoved his hand against Papa’s shoulder. “I understood that.”

Sonomi, who was incredibly shy, stood slightly back from her papa, her wide eyes on me, and I closed the distance. “How are you?”

Her timid gaze darted around the room while she blushed profusely and melted into my hug. “I missed you. Are you staying for a while?”

Sonomi was the quietest, usually lost in her thoughts, and often needed to be coaxed out of her shell. She reminded me a lot of myself when I was that age.

“Just a few weeks,” I signed, then slumped onto the loveseat and patted the empty space next to me. When she took it, I continued. “But Christmas holidays are coming up. I’ll be home for at least three weeks.”

Papa took his usual spot on the sofa, Mama finding herself next to him.

The rest of the adults got comfortable while the twins and Reon opened the balcony doors and made their way outside despite the cold.

“Gosh, this feels like the good old days,” Aunt Reina sighed dreamily. “Before Skye and Reon left us.”

“Well, my Skye didn’t leave leave,” Papa amended. “She can’t wait to come back home. Our family is complete with my little apprentice by my side.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t fight the smile pulling at my lips.

Cesar, seated in his usual spot on the single sofa chair, tutted. “Ease up on the guilt, Dante.”

“What?” Papa argued. “She’s only twenty. She belongs at home with us.”

Cesar folded his ankle to rest on his knee. “As long as you realize your princess has grown up.”

Aunt Reina met his gaze with a sad smile. “They’re all growing up too fast.”

“Let us be oblivious for a bit longer,” Mama signed.

Guilt slithered through my veins, filling my chest, but I shook it off. He was right—I was looking forward to returning home eventually. And anyway, Nikola had shut me down—not once but twice—so really, there was nothing keeping me in the States.

“There are no boys in your life, right, Skye?” Aunt Reina asked, like she’d read my mind.

“None,” I lied.

Much later that night, when everyone was fast asleep, I sat crisscrossed on Mama’s bed, watching her going through her bedtime routine in front of her vanity. Somewhere over the years, it’d become the time of the day just for us.

I always found it very comforting watching her as she applied bedtime lotion on her face and neck, then brushed her hair. It reminded me of stories of medieval princesses who insisted on one hundred brushstrokes every night.

Once she was done, she turned around and met my eyes.

“Tell me,” she signed.

I smiled awkwardly. “What?”

“There’s something you’re dying to tell me.” It didn’t surprise me that she picked up on it. She knew me well. “Out with it or I’ll imagine the worst.”

I rolled my eyes.

“It’s nothing bad.” At least, I hoped it wasn’t, but frankly, I wasn’t sure that my mama was ready to hear about my feelings for Nikola. So I settled for a half-truth. “I lied earlier.”

She raised a brow. “About?”

“When I said there aren’t any boys in my life.”

She chuckled.

“We know. You’d be a saint if there were absolutely no boys in your life.” I felt heat creep up my cheeks. “Want to tell me about him?”

“Well, I like him a lot. Love him…” Seeing her dubious look, I quickly added, “Maybe.”

“Sometimes the line between love, infatuation, and lust is very blurry,” she signed slowly. “It’s important to take it slow.”

“Did you and Papa take it slow?”

It was Mama’s turn to blush.

“No, not really, but it ended up costing us. If we took time to get to know each other…” A shadow passed her face. “We wouldn’t have spent years apart, and maybe I wouldn’t have lost you for those first five years of your life. The guilt of not being there for you from the beginning is a heavy one.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I signed, sliding off the bed. “It worked out, didn’t it? The Nikolaevs found me and then you came for me.”

I sat next to her and hugged her tightly, a wisp of a memory like a dark smoke dancing around us. There was no way in hell I would ever voice those long-buried memories and add to Mama’s burden.

After a few moments, I shifted slightly and asked, “How do I know if it’s true love?”

She smiled sadly. “There’s no right or wrong way to know. When you know, you know.”

I nodded, deep down knowing already. The love I felt for Nikola didn’t happen overnight, it was years in the making. From the boy who tugged on my hair to the man who was always there for me. From the first accidental kiss to the last passionate one.

“But there’s one thing I can tell you, Skye,” Mama signed. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you how to feel or doubt what deep down in your soul you know to be true. I let someone do that to me, and it cost me dearly. Your papa too. Fight for the one you love. The road might be paved with obstacles, but if it’s true love, you’ll both overcome it. You’ll be stronger for it. Only you or the man you love can decide whether you should or shouldn’t be together.”

I tilted my head, watching my mom’s somber expression. She was talking from her own experience, and I couldn’t help but wonder what she and Papa had gone through.

“What happened with you and Papa in the beginning?” I asked, although it was something she always avoided talking about.

“It’s too much to go into tonight.” Mama waved her hand nonchalantly. “Life in the mob is hard, and there are enemies everywhere. Threats are often lurking at every corner, so it’s a life of constantly looking over your shoulder. That was the case twenty years ago, and it’s true today.”

“But Papa protects us and we have friends and family that would always stand beside us,” I reminded her, my fingers trembling as I signed.

“Dante’s and my families were part of the mob, but every person in it had an agenda. We ended up paying for it, and I don’t wish that for you. Because it’s always the innocent and young ones who end up paying the price. So whoever that boy is, I hope it’s someone outside our criminal world.”

My heart sank, but at the same time, determination rose within me.

Nikola was mine and I was his. Life without him wasn’t living, just existing. And I would never settle for that.

11

DANTE

Ifound myself attending an Omertá working meeting outside of Rome. It wasn’t the first time, and unfortunately, it wouldn’t be the last. It was just the way of running a criminal empire.

“They just had to call this meeting today,” I grumbled to my brother, Amon, as Cesar pulled up in front of the restaurant where Omertà meetings were usually held. A row of black SUVs was parked around the restaurant with several soldiers patrolling the street.

“Don’t they know kids are back home from school? And it’s fucking midnight,” I added, but really, the fact that Skye was less than five hundred miles away while I was stuck in Rome is what had me on edge.

“Thanksgiving means next to nothing to these Italians.” Amon chuckled, shaking his head. “And since when do you have an issue with late-night meetings?”

“Since I entered the middle-aged stage of my life.”

He scoffed. “You’re delusional if you think you’re middle-aged. You’re practically an old man.”

“Fuck you.”

Enrico Marchetti and Luca DiMauro were already here, and judging by their body language, they were in the midst of an argument. They stood outside Rosa Spinosa, the English translation being Thorned Rose, which was owned by the Marchettis.

“Those two will kill each other one day,” I said, reaching for the door handle.

“If they haven’t in the twenty years they’ve known each other, I’m not so sure,” Amon reasoned.

We slid out of the car, their eyes shifting to us, and whatever they were arguing about instantly ceased. If I had to guess, I’d say the topic of contention was the arranged marriage of Luca’s firstborn to Enrico’s boy. It was the one thing they saw eye to eye on, but it was often the source of heated discussions.

Even under the moonlight, I could see they were both dressed impeccably in dark suits, looking more like respectable businessmen than the heads of Italian criminal families.

Adjusting my cuffs, I followed my brother as we made our way over.

“Are we the last ones?” Amon asked.

“Yes, Sasha Nikolaev just arrived.”

I tensed at the mention and gritted, “This was supposed to be strictly Omertà business. The Nikolaevs aren’t part of the Omertà.”

“Illias Konstantin couldn’t make it, so Sasha came in his stead,” Luca drawled, the unspoken challenge clearly aimed at Enrico. Luca’s connections to the Nikolaevs dated back decades, before any arrangement with the Marchettis.

“No matter.” Enrico clicked his tongue with annoyance flaring in his eyes, clearly directed at Luca. “With the recent developments, it’s everyone’s business.”

Amon and I shared a look. He was referring to the organ trafficking that’d been plaguing the criminal world.

“Anything your side is aware of?” Enrico asked Amon, who headed Yakuza operations.

“We’re running into a similar problem.” Amon slid his hands into his pockets. “We’ve located a warehouse where underground surgeries were performed, but as soon as we shut it down, ten more popped up on our radar. The business is too lucrative and people are too greedy to turn down the opportunity.”

I agreed, but despite the fact that we were sharing information and trying to get ahead of organ trafficking, we were constantly a step behind the masterminds running it. Marco King’s bastard child was dead. We cut off one head of the snake, and two more popped up. The truth was that we weren’t even sure who was involved.

“We need to send a message,” I stated matter-of-factly. “It shouldn’t be a venture anyone even considers aligning themselves with. If they witness us dismantling everyone touching that business, people will start dropping off. Risks have to outweigh the benefits.”

“Matteo Vitale attempted to establish a relationship with an FBI agent, but it seems the scrupulous fed has an agenda of his own,” Luca pointed out. “If we can’t find a way to join forces, the organ traffickers will continue to be a step ahead of us.”

“Let’s head inside,” Marchetti cut in. “And I shouldn’t need to remind either of you: weaponry doesn’t cross the threshold.”

I nodded and we disarmed at the entrance of the restaurant, securing our pieces in the vault kept exactly for this situation.

The restaurant had a Mediterranean feel—the walls were hand-painted with motifs of vineyards, Roman ruins and statues, and Sardinian beaches. The tinted bulletproof windows worked to keep the guise of elegance protected and made patrons like myself feel at ease among fellow criminals.

I nodded toward the men around the table, but it only took one look at Sasha Nikolaev for my blood pressure to spike. It was bad enough I’d have to look at his ugly face for Thanksgiving weekend, but he had to show up here too.

My Nix carried a baby for him and Branka, and it turned out to be her last healthy pregnancy. She wanted to ensure peace between our families, and once Damien was born, we tried for another baby of our own. It ended up being a stillborn. The doctor claimed abnormality and cautioned us against having any more children. Despite his advice, my wife wanted to try for another baby, but I refused to risk her life.

The whole experience made me feel robbed by Sasha and the whole damned Nikolaev family. It was irrational; I knew that.

“Gentlemen,” Enrico greeted. “We’re ready to start.”

“About fucking time,” Sasha grumbled. “What kind of restaurant doesn’t at least put out a spread?”

I barely controlled the urge to strangle the blond Russian bastard.

“Dante, don’t start,” Amon muttered under his breath. I met my brother’s eyes, registering the warning they held. He’d always been the calmer, saner of the two of us.

We took our seats at the circular table, Marchetti opposite me and Amon on my left.

“Let’s get this over with. I want to be home before my family wakes up,” I started.

“We learned of five separate cases in Italy alone over the past week where a body was found with organs extracted,” Marchetti said.

“And even more in the States,” Sasha chimed in, causing me to grit my teeth.

I locked my eyes on him, picturing all the ways I could wipe that stupid smile off his face. If only it wouldn’t upset Skye. She thought of him as her second father. That’s right: he was second. I was first, and the most important.

“It’s happening globally,” Amon stated. “Spreading like a disease. The only reasonable assumption is that it’s run by several people. Other than that, we’re in the dark about any details regarding who, where, or why.”

“Probably our past haunting us,” Luca grumbled.

“Which is exactly why I propose we make certain alliances,” Enrico chimed in.

I frowned, something about his tone raising the hairs on the back of my neck. “What kind of alliances are we talking about?”

The silence stretched, the tension building, and I fucking thrived on it. Let it fucking explode.

“Marriage alliances between factions who align with our interests,” Enrico answered like it was the best idea he’d ever had. “Luca’s daughter was promised a while back, but it’s time we consider it for other daughters too. Like yours, Dante.”

I didn’t mind explosions, but for fuck’s sake… this one detonated in my face.

“Fuck no,” Sasha and I said, in agreement for the first time ever.

“I’m not marrying my daughter off,” I gritted.

“Our daughter,” Sasha corrected, and the urge to kill him was back on.

Enrico released an exasperated sigh. “Enzo’s marriage to Penelope can kick it off.”

“No.” Luca’s one word cut through the air like a sharp blade. “She’s only twenty-one. Your boy is what… thirty-two, thirty-three? He’d had time to enjoy his youth and freedom. Penelope has barely started living.”

“And she had twenty-one years to get ready for this marriage,” Enrico reasoned, refusing to take the bait. Then the fucker dared to look at me. “And we can marry your daughter to Amadeo.”

My jaw clenched to the point of cracking. “Over. My. Dead. Body.”

“And mine,” Sasha hissed.

And here I thought it’d be Sasha who’d push me over the edge.

A clock ticked. Ice clinked in a glass. Windows fogged.

We were in Sasha’s St. Regis hotel suite in Rome, fuming and scheming on how to end Enrico’s ludicrous marriage proposition. The old man must have lost his goddamn mind.

I leaned back with one elbow on the armrest, watching Sasha Nikolaev and his nephew Nikola, who’d apparently accompanied him on this trip.

“Are Italians too cheap to serve snacks?” Nikola asked, his boots on the oak coffee table that had probably been around for hundreds of years. It’d be lucky to survive a night with these two idiots. “I made some popcorn if you want some…”

“Less worrying about the fucking popcorn and more about where you left your shirt, boy.” My lips curled in distaste. The boy had some serious beef with clothing. It was bad enough that he seemed to wear the suits all wrong, but for fuck’s sake, he could at least put a T-shirt on.

I didn’t need to be looking at the angry ink covering every inch of his skin.

“Forget Nikola’s shirt,” Sasha cut in, slamming his own feet on top of the coffee table and causing it to rattle. “We need to talk about killing Enrico, because he isn’t marrying off my… our Skye.”

I flicked a dark look at Amon, who was watching on with a self-satisfied smirk. Easy for him to be fucking amused, Marchetti didn’t dare put his kids on the marriage market. Yes, they were too young, but still… fuck this bullshit.

“What the fuck?” Nikola asked, straightening, although he didn’t look too surprised. “What marriage? And to Skye?”

“Calm down,” I gritted. “And I didn’t agree to Skye marrying Amadeo.”

“But Marchetti always gets what he wants.”

“Not today.”

“And we’re not killing Enrico,” Amon chimed in, pinning Sasha and Nikola with a look that said Rein it in. “We don’t need a war within the Omertà, so strike that out of your vocabulary.”

Sasha pulled a cigar out of somewhere and lit it up, filling the room with smoke.

“Well, fuck, I was looking forward to killing an Italian.” Nikola sighed as if truly troubled by the thought. “I’d start with shredding that stupid Italian suit he’s so keen on wearing.”

“Enough,” I barked. My gaze found Sasha’s through a haze of smoke. “If you must start a killing spree, locate those organ traffickers and focus on them. That will save Skye from this ludicrous marriage arrangement.”

Nikola let out a sardonic breath, shaking his head. “You all are too temperamental.”

My jaw clenched. That little fucking shit. Nobody was as temperamental as these two fuckers sitting opposite of me, and he dared put that trait on us—the Italians.

Sasha puffed on his cigar one last time before putting it out, his expression contemplative. “We’ll eliminate those bastards, but in the meantime, we need to come up with a faux marriage contract for Skye and ensure it’s dated before today.”

My eyebrows shot to my hairline. “Excuse me?”

“That way Enrico can forget about marrying Skye off to his son,” Sasha explained. “The faux marriage agreement would trump Marchetti’s idiotic suggestion.”

I rolled my eyes. “As if that would work.”

Enrico Marchetti wasn’t an idiot, and the fact we didn’t use that reasoning during our meeting would be a dead giveaway.

“Well, I could marry her,” Nikola deadpanned, his expression serious.

I didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely not.”

“No,” Sasha said, stabbing his cigar into the ashtray. “You ever say that again and I’ll blind you, nephew. Besides, you two are cousins.”

Not really, but I wasn’t going to point that out now. At this very moment, it worked to my benefit to emphasize their familial ties.

“And I’ll slice you up and throw you off my yacht,” I supplied, my gaze settling on Nikola. He wouldn’t be my choice if he was the last man on this earth. “She’ll never marry you.”

“Why not?” the little fucker dared to challenge. “Better me than that Amadeo Marchetti. He thinks himself to be a Casanova type, if you know what I mean.”

“My Skye won’t marry either one of you,” I gritted, reveling in the satisfaction of being able to deny him.

“Okay,” Nikola agreed, seemingly too calm and collected, and something about it bothered me. He was too much like his father at this very moment. “Then let’s plan on how to eliminate Enrico Marchetti.”

Ah, I spoke too fucking soon.

My phone buzzed, and the moment I read the message, I knew our plan was already doomed.

Enrico: Sending a courier with a contract. I’m expecting both of your signatures, or a declaration of war. Try to kill me, and your wives will hear of it.

That was a cheap fucking shot. Nix was best friends with Enrico’s wife, and he knew that she’d kill me right along with the Nikolaevs if she got wind of our scheming.

“Fucking Italian asshole,” Sasha hissed, and I lifted my eyes to meet his murderous expression as he scanned his phone screen.

“Watch it, I’m Italian,” I growled. “Although, I agree. He’s being an asshole.”

“Who? What? Why didn’t I get a text?” Nikola questioned, his eyes darting between us.

“Marchetti expects us to sign the marriage contract he’s sending over, and he’s using his wife’s friendship with Phoenix to ensure compliance,” Sasha explained. “Fucking tattletale.”

I pushed my hand through my hair, then typed a reply.

Me: Send it over and we’ll sign it.

My best bet was to keep delaying the wedding date until another solution presented itself.

12

NIKOLA

Itried—I really did—to do right by Skye. She deserved life outside the mob, but if Sasha and Dante planned to marry her off to a mobster, it would be me and nobody else.

The biggest problem: Dante and Sasha.

Skye once claimed that nobody wore a suit better than her papa, and that she preferred men to wear three-piece suits. It was either that or shirtless men.

She failed to mention her papa was also a hard-core Nikolaev hater.

I could see it in his eyes.

Of course I knew about the beef between him and Sasha that started when Phoenix Leone committed to be a surrogate for my uncle and aunt. This distaste I read in Dante’s eyes would be hard to overcome.

Staring at Dante Leone, my mind whirled as I pondered the ways I could get what I wanted out of my uncle and future father-in-law. Yes, father-in-law. Sometime over the past weeks, I’d decided to lay my cards out and be honest about what I wanted.

And that was Skye—captivating, unpredictable, and utterly impossible to ignore. Or maybe it wasn’t just her; maybe it was the idea of anyone else having her, the thought of someone else uncovering the layers I was still trying to navigate. Either way, it didn’t matter. I’d tried to resist her, tried to convince myself that wanting her was reckless, foolish, dangerous. But in the end, my resolve crumbled spectacularly, leaving me caught between desire and the fear of losing something I never truly had.

And now these two oldies wanted to marry her off to someone else.

“Skye needs a good boy,” Sasha stated, directing his words at me. “She’s a good girl.”

I rolled my eyes. The only difference between a good girl and a bad girl was that good girls were selective about who they would be bad with.

“Skye will marry a sweet boy who won’t be a danger to her,” Dante drawled, his Italian accent bleeding into his words. “She’ll marry someone who’ll worship the ground she walks on and would give his life for her.”

She would be mine—I’d make sure of it. All I needed was patience and the discipline to toe the line, no matter how much I wanted to rush in.

I’d wait for the right moment, bide my time, and when the opportunity came, I wouldn’t let it slip through my fingers. Not exactly my fucking forte. I was better at wreaking havoc and violence. I’d learned it firsthand from my uncle. The results were instant.

Or maybe I just thrived on driving my father crazy. He wanted me to be just like him: responsible, reasonable, and worthy to lead the Nikolaev empire.

“We need something to trump Enrico’s suggestion,” Amon said, making his opinion known for the first time.

“Or… we kill him,” Uncle suggested. He definitely had my vote.

“Skye’s too vulnerable for the harshness of the underworld,” Dante reasoned. “I don’t want to risk any arrangement that will put her in harm’s way.”

I watched him closely. He meant every word. The irony wasn’t lost on me—how he saw me as the threat when all I’d ever done was go up against the real dangers lurking around her. I’d kill to keep her safe. The idea of anyone else dragging her into this world made my blood boil, but at the same time, I couldn’t let go. Not now. Not ever.

But I knew if I uttered those words, I’d not only alienate my uncle and Dante, but I’d also risk both of these men barring me any access to her. So, I remained silent.

“We agree to Skye and Amadeo’s arranged marriage but insist on a date far in the future,” Amon, ever the diplomat, recommended.

Something violent spread through my organs like a case of internal frostbite. My irrational side began speaking for me. “Maybe in the next lifetime, when he’s dead and gone.”

“Exactly,” Uncle Sasha agreed. Thankfully he and Dante were both too lost in their own fury about this marriage to notice my jealousy.

“I want Skye to enjoy her freedom,” Dante explained.

Maybe it was stupid, but I went for it again. “Ours could be a marriage only on paper. If she’ll remain in the mafia world, she’d be safer with the Nikolaev name attached to her.”

Uncle Sasha, Dante, and I stared at each other, and I knew the answer even before they uttered it.

A firm, final “Fuck no.”

Goddammit. I’d give her all the freedoms she wished for as long as she had my last name attached to her. I needed Skye, and I suspected she needed me too. But if I pushed too hard, I would risk her father and my uncle getting wind of my true feelings and killing me off. Besides, after witnessing Skye’s panic when handcuffed, I worried about her reaction to my kinkier tendencies. She was innocent and fragile, despite her brave and independent façade.

So for now, I let it go, but there was no way in fucking hell I’d let them take Skye away from me.

For better or worse, she was mine.

13

SKYE

My papa’s pristine office was a place surrounded by beautiful memories. I’d spent many hours with him in this room—sometimes in silence and other times discussing my worries, dreams, and nightmares. The latter usually revolved around losing the Nikolaevs as a family.

Children usually remembered big milestones and significant events, and I was no different. Except that the biggest event of my life had happened to me before I knew anything about the world.

I’d never forget the day I stepped foot in this castello when I was five. Or the first time I realized Papa would do anything to make me happy.

Muted rays trickled into my bedroom and I twirled around, thinking how much it looked like something out of a dream. My dream, maybe. Everywhere I looked I saw my favorite colors. Pink fairy lights twinkling from the ceiling, Disney princesses and Legos scattered everywhere. Pink and white drapes hanging on either side of the two great big windows.

When I first saw this room, I was so happy I bounced up and down, eager to explore every inch of it and my new home. In a way, the castello reminded me of Branka and Sasha’s home.

My chest got tight and I tapped it lightly.

I missed them. Yes, I knew they weren’t my real parents, but after being rejected by so many due to my disability, Branka and Sasha were the first to see me and accept me just the way I was. And the Nikolaev family was so happy, big, complicated, and loving. There was never a dull moment there, and Nikola always spent time translating for me when his family reverted to Russian.

“We can change whatever you don’t like in this room, princess,” Papa signed with a soft expression. “Anywhere in the castle too.”

We were seated on the floor, a fuzzy rug tickling my legs as we built a tower to keep my princesses safe. It was just us two today because Mama had gone shopping with Aunt Reina.

“I like everything in this castle,” I signed.

“Then why the sad face?” I chewed on my lip, worried that I’d hurt his feelings if I told him the truth but not wanting to lie either.

“You can tell me anything,” he assured with a smile that promised he’d always be there for me.

“I miss Sasha and Branka,” I admitted, lowering my eyes in shame. After being alone and feeling rejected, I should be grateful that my papa and mama had found me. That they’d been looking for me all along. But instead, my heart squeezed.

Papa’s firm but gentle fingers took my chin and tilted my head back. There was no anger in his eyes when mine met his, only understanding.

“Then we’ll call them. Invite them over for a visit too.” I nodded eagerly. “And you can visit them soon, but give your papa some time to be selfish. I want to have you and your mama all to myself for a little bit. Okay?”

I smiled and threw myself into his arms. He hugged me tightly, offering me comfort and so much love that it almost felt like my chest would burst.

I finally shifted away and signed, “Can I have a spot to play in your office too? I want to be with you even while you’re working.”

“On one condition.” I stared at him, waiting for him to continue. “That you always tell me what’s bothering you.”

I made the Scout’s honor sign on my chest. “I promise, Papa.”

Papa grinned. “Then we’ll make that happen today because nothing would make me happier.”

And we did just that.

In fact, my desk—a smaller version of his—still sat in the corner of Papa’s office, intact like I’d used it only yesterday. Even my pencil sat there, waiting for me to start scribbling things down as I pretended to be important and busy like him.

I padded over to Papa’s desk, my fingers tracing the smooth surface, the scent of leather, wood, and Papa’s cologne wafting around it. My gaze traveled over his laptop, at the documents in a neat stack on his desk, and I paused.

Skye Leone, read the printed label of one set a little to the side.

My brow furrowed, and before I could think through the impropriety of the action, I riffled through it.

A sharp gasp left me as realization sunk in. It was a marriage contract.

My eyes skimmed over the document, reeling from the shock. Amadeo Marchetti and Skye Leone Marriage Contract.

My heart thundered as I stared at the documents, wondering why Papa would ever agree to something like this. He hated the mere mention of any boyfriend, so it couldn’t be that he did this lightly. My eyes zeroed in on a signature, recognizing Sasha’s.

What the hell⁠—

Trepidation flickered to life in my heart, and for the first time in my life, I intended to break my promise to Papa. I wouldn’t go to him and discuss this. Instead, I’d find a way to break this contract myself.

My phone buzzed, vibrating against my ass in the back of my jeans. It was the girls’ group chat, Penelope’s the first in the string of names that followed, and suddenly, I could relate to my friend’s marriage anxiety.

I started reading through the messages.

Penelope: I have to find the masked guy from Revelation.

Amara: Why? He’s still alive?

Gianna: What is Revelation? Sounds kinky.

Penelope: Miracle, right? I took it as a sign. Got to bang him again.

Me: Isn’t it weird that he’s still alive?

Was I the only one to question that a man was able to survive fooling around with Penelope?

Gianna: What is Revelation?

Arianna: You’re too young to even type that word, little sis.

A row of angry-face emojis followed.

Penelope: I wonder if he would consider marrying me before this wedding to Enzo takes place.

Arianna: Doesn’t hurt to ask? Do you have his name?

Penelope: No, and I have no idea how to find out who he is.

Gianna: Draw him and maybe I can help.

Penelope: He had a mask on. Besides, I was too busy withering underneath him between the sheets to study him. I don’t think I would even recognize his voice.

Me: face with peeking eyeface with peeking eyeface with peeking eye

Amara: Was the man that good between the sheets?

Penelope: Yes. His eggplant was magic. I saw sparkles.

So many laughing emojis followed, my phone just about exploded.

Gianna: Can someone explain how Penelope got into bed with a masked man?

Anya: It sounds like a scene from an erotica novel.

Penelope: Oh, it was freaky. In a good way. Anyway, I’m no longer a virgin. Fuck you, Enzo Marchetti.

Me: It’s a sad day when we have to resort to sex and marriage with a stranger to escape a man. But as long as the sex was great, it was worth it.

And just as I pressed send, causing a frenzy in the group chat, an idea occurred to me.

In three days, we’d be visiting the Nikolaevs in New Orleans. I’d convince—fine, seduce—Nikola and put a major dent in this marriage contract.

The one, tiny problem: If Nikola couldn’t even return my texts, how in the ever-loving hell would I get him to have sex with me?

I recalled our last encounter at Revelation and smiled smugly. Oh yes—jealousy.

There was hope for me yet.

14

NIKOLA

The search for The Duchess and the woman who starred in Skye’s nightmares proved fruitless. In fact, the more I searched, the less results it seemed to produce. Almost as if someone were actively erasing any results related to Revelation or Skye’s foster care records as I was looking them up.

It left me feeling frustrated.

Or maybe I was missing Skye more than ever, because I kept catching myself counting down the days to when I’d see her again. It had been twelve days, twelve hours, thirty-three minutes, and forty-one seconds since I’d kissed her. It felt like a goddamned lifetime.

There was a reason I hadn’t gone after Skye sooner, and it had everything to do with Uncle Sasha’s warning and the change I began to notice in her. The hearts in her eyes. Discreet glances. Curiosity.

The little rabbit—zayka—would be up for anything I dished her way. She’d let me use her, devour her. She’d be irrevocably mine, and much like her passion for playing piano, she’d give me her all.

Not only that, but she’d demand it all in return too. It was just who she was.

That was what made Skye so dangerous and why I stayed the fuck away from her. That was, until her papa and my uncle decided to agree to a marriage contract with Marchetti.

Yeah, over my dead fucking body. And even then, I’d crawl out of my grave and make sure she was mine.

Through the years, I told myself I could and would resist her, but the reality was that I’d been in denial. One word of the possibility that someone else could get their filthy paws on her had me scheming fast and hard.

It didn’t help that her last two messages—received three days ago and sitting unanswered with the rest—had been the most brazen yet. Just recalling them had my dick stirring.

I pulled them up and re-read them again because it would seem I was a glutton for punishment when it came to Skye Leone.

Skye: Your phone must be broken. I’ll buy you a new one, malysh.

She’d called me baby in Russian.

Skye: Can I ask you something?

Honestly, she could ask me anything, to do anything, and I would. That was how much power she held over me.

Skye: Want to know a secret?

“Why do you keep looking at your watch?” my sister asked. She’d been floating in the heated pool for the past hour, wearing Gucci sunglasses that hid most of her face and sipping on a drink adorned with a paper umbrella.

“Timing your alcohol intake,” I said in place of the truth. “You know you shouldn’t be drinking.”

She waved me off with a nasally, “Yeah, yeah.” Then she huffed and said, “I can’t wait till I’m twenty-one and don’t have to listen to my big brother lecture me while I work on my tan.”

I rolled my eyes behind my sunglasses and spread out on my chaise lounge. This was a perk of visiting home from the East Coast: temperatures hit the mid-70s even in November, and it was warm enough for a swim almost all year round.

It was the reason my sister refused to study at D’Arc. She was a New Orleans native and would have to be dragged kicking and screaming out of this city. Our parents were more than good with it since she seemed prone to getting in trouble.

“I can see your life has reached a new low point.” Marietta’s physical features were a mirror image of our mother’s, but her personality—to Dad’s dismay—was all our aunt Tatiana. “I’ll buy you something to cheer you up.”

Poor Vasili. One day he’d get a brain hemorrhage. He’d hoped for an uptight son and timid daughter; instead he got two wildlings.

“Didn’t your therapist tell you that shopping is just a way to avoid problems?”

“Didn’t yours tell you that being an asshole is overrated?”

Ignoring her, I picked up my phone that just buzzed. When I saw it was a message from my group thread rather than Skye, the disappointment was too real. Why was she suddenly ignoring me?

Duh, because you haven’t answered any of her texts, my subconscious taunted. The problem was that I was scared—I know, hilarious—that one wrong move could put my whole plan at risk and Skye would slip through my fingers forever.

“Besides, I’m mentally preparing for our Thanksgiving dinner that’s kicking off in, hm… an hour,” Marietta continued, unaware of my inner turmoil. “What’s with that look, Nikola?” She waved a hand around in front of her face.

My head snapped up so fast, I feared I might have given myself whiplash.

“I’m not wearing a look, sister.”

Okay, maybe it was that Skye hadn’t texted me in seventy-five hours. But there was no way in hell I’d admit that to my sister.

Her last message still weighed on me.

Skye: I’m stuck thinking about you. I want more.

My dick stirred every time I thought about that message, but I prevailed and ignored it. I had to play it carefully until the opportunity was right. Skye was making it increasingly harder with her messages though, openly admitting that she wanted me as much as I wanted her.

And just as I was tempted to cave in, the texts stopped coming.

And even though I could guess the reason she’d stopped texting, the irrational side of my brain was starting to panic. Of course I knew she was just fine surrounded by her family in Italy.

Still, I stalked her fucking Instagram. I, Nikola Nikolaev, had to lower myself like some love-stricken loser and resort to social media to see what she was up to during her visit home. There was a short reel of her playing the piano with her mama. A selfie with her cousins who would one day rule the Yakuza. A post of her shopping with her aunt Reina, surrounded by piles of pink material.

It didn’t seem she followed through with her boyfriend search since she mostly hung out with her cousins. Good fucking thing.

My phone buzzed again and I swiped my phone open, finding the legacies group chat.

Gabriel: Happy Thanksgiving, motherfuckers. I located an organ smuggler in Miami.

Matteo: Hope you ended him.

Me: Question him first.

Matteo: Wow, Nikola being reasonable? Must be the spirit of the day.

Kostya: I doubt it. He’s probably hoping to torture the fucker himself.

Me: If we don’t get a handle on this shit soon, we’ll have a big problem on our hands.

Gabriel: I questioned him, but only learned he was part of the organization.

Meaning he was part of the Belles and Mobsters Agreements, where unknown threats worked to bring back the whole fucking ordeal, but instead of matching belles to ruthless, sick men, they were ripping out their organs and selling them on the black market. It was ironic that the very thing our parents fought to eliminate decades ago had returned to haunt them, now threatening us in a whole different way.

Matteo: Don’t let Hannah catch wind of that or she might leave Ireland and have a go at him herself.

Kostya: How is she?

Dominico, her brother, answered.

Dominico: She’s still recovering. She won’t talk about what happened during her captivity, but she sure as fuck liked torturing Marco King’s offspring. The fucker should’ve thought twice before messing with her.

Initially, we thought that he was the one running the organization, but speculation now was that there were a lot more leaders to consider here since the operation was still ongoing and threats lurked all over the world.

Me: Gabriel, did this guy you captured say who’s running it?

Gabriel: He didn’t have much information.

Me: I captured one useless organ trafficker on my territory about a month ago and another a week ago, but they didn’t give me anything useful either.

Kostya: And you didn’t call me, cousin?

Me: Slipped my mind.

For more than one reason, and they all revolved around Skye. Fuck, would I ever be able to think rationally again? I’d been spiraling out since our encounter on Halloween.

Kostya: Funny. It slipped my mind to let you know I’m having lunch with Skye tomorrow.

That couldn’t be right.

Me: You mean Thanksgiving dinner tonight?

Kostya: No, I mean lunch tomorrow.

Something about that didn’t sit well with me. A volatile feeling spread through me, filling me with fury and jealousy, and for the first time in my life, I found myself contemplating torturing a member of my family.

“Hello? What the fuck are you typing on that phone that’s so important? I want in on whatever’s going on.” Marietta’s voice brought me back from disturbing images filled with blood, of Kostya with Skye. Fuck! “Hey, hey… Earth to Nikola.”

“What?” I snapped.

“I asked you a question, brother.”

She was still bobbing around, unbothered by the world.

“None of your business,” I muttered. “And get out of the fucking pool. You’re not greeting our guests wearing that skimpy bathing suit.”

She scoffed, not even attempting to move. “Coming from someone who’s usually going around shirtless. Sexist much?”

She slurped from her nearly empty drink, looking at me pointedly. Yeah, she was trying to piss me off. And failing.

For the most part.

Upon hearing familiar voices, Marietta waded through the heated water and lifted herself up on the edge of the pool as I strode across the patio.

“Thanksgiving is about to start,” I muttered under my breath. When the Nikolaev family was about to be all in one place, you needed to be fucking ready. “May the odds be in our favor.”

Thanksgiving at my family’s estate was a loud affair. My aunts and uncles always came to the Nikolaev compound in New Orleans for the celebrations. This year more so than normal because lo and behold, the Leone family was joining us for the first time ever and were due to arrive in a few hours.

Dante Leone, traditional Italian that he was, insisted Thanksgiving wasn’t a holiday they celebrated, hence the family’s refusal to join us in the past. Everyone knew the real reason was the old bastard hated sharing his wife and daughter. But this year, they’d ganged up on his patriarchal ass, and a little birdy told me his wife put her foot down: she would have Thanksgiving weekend with the Nikolaevs.

Sadly, I couldn’t even ridicule the man because I’d forgotten—or thrown to the wind—every rule when it came to Skye.

Thank fucking God nobody knew about our kisses and promiscuous incidents. Nobody would ever know until my ring was on her finger. If my uncle Sasha found out, he would go berserk. Albeit, I could take him down and eventually get him on my side.

Dante Leone, I feared, would be a tougher nut to crack.

But hey, I’d always been up for a challenge.

It didn’t take long for my sister to catch up, working on tightening the towel around herself, and we made our way through the large terrace.

When we arrived at the main foyer, we were greeted by the Brady Bunch, otherwise known as the Konstantin family.

“I certainly hope you’re not joining us for Thanksgiving dinner wearing that,” my aunt drawled snobbishly.

“Aunt Tatiana,” Marietta exclaimed and ran over to her, throwing herself at Mom’s best friend. “Of course not. I’m wearing the Chanel dress you sent me last month.”

Just beyond them, Dad shook hands with Illias Konstantin, exchanging a few words.

“God forbid you put on normal jeans and a blouse,” Mom muttered, rolling her eyes while hugging her three godchildren—Astor, Anushka, and Adrik Konstantin.

Aunt Tati shot her a horrified look. “I certainly hope a blouse is not what you plan on wearing.”

She narrowed her eyes. “In fact it is.”

“I think you’ll look great,” Anushka said, beaming at my mom. She paused, looking excited. That one should have been Mom’s child. “Can I go with you if you get called, Aunt Bella?”

My twenty-one-year-old cousins Astor and Anushka were every parent’s dream. Sensible. Responsible. And boring as fuck. Everything my sister and I weren’t—and that was okay. We’d made our peace with being the rowdy, wild kids in the family long ago.

“I don’t know why you’d want to go. Blood makes you squeamish,” Adrik said, cocking his brow. “Remember when I came back home with blood splattered on my⁠—”

I cut him off. “You mean that time you ripped flesh from that asshole's body the way I taught you?”

“Shut up, you two.” Anushka glared at us, her complexion turning pale.

“Make us,” Adrik challenged, his pale blue eyes gleaming.

Now he was definitely a Nikolaev. He’d terrorized the entire West Coast, much to his father’s dismay, hence why the two of us got along great, despite him being younger than me.

Before Anushka could respond, Uncle Alexei strode in with his wife, Aunt Aurora, and their three children, and suddenly I was no longer interested in stirring shit up between siblings. I took long strides toward them and yanked Kostya by his silk black shirt.

“Aunt. Uncle. Cousins. Nice to see you,” I greeted them. “Kostya and I have some business to discuss.”

Their brows rose in unison while Kostya chuckled. “I didn’t realize you considered her business.”

“Who?” Aunt Aurora questioned curiously.

“Yes, who?” Aunt Tatiana chimed in, waggling her brows. “Is there someone special in your life?”

“There’s nobody special,” I retorted curtly, stepping over discarded shoes, my cousin Kostya trailing behind me.

Curious glances were shot our way, but we were already taking the stairs two at a time, beelining for my bedroom door.

“What is this shit about you having lunch with Skye?” I questioned as I shut the door.

“No shit, just two people sharing a meal,” he deadpanned.

“Cancel it.”

There weren’t too many people who knew what lurked behind Kostya’s standoffish image and control-freak façade. I knew, and while I didn’t judge, there was no way I’d allow Skye around that.

“No way.” He scratched at the scruff on his jaw. “It’ll hurt her feelings.”

I scoffed, then summoned my most threatening tone. “Better you hurt her feelings than I hurt you.”

He shrugged, like he didn’t have a worry in the world. “You can try, cousin. But then we’ll miss dinner and shit will hit the fan. Maybe we just schedule it for…” He paused, his expression turning pensive. “Day after tomorrow. I’m free then.”

“I’m not fucking playing with you,” I growled, getting in his face. I was quickly losing what little patience I had. “Skye is off-limits. She’s family, Kostya.”

Okay, I might have made a hypocrite out of myself. I touched Skye—more than touched her—but that didn’t cancel out the simple fact that she wasn’t right for him.

My bedroom door opened and Anushka’s blonde head slid in. “Our parents are demanding you get your asses downstairs in five seconds flat. Or else.”

I narrowed my eyes on my cousin. “This isn’t over.”

He just laughed. “Oh, but I think it is.”

15

SKYE

While the home visit was wonderful, it left me feeling strangely achy. Restless.

My parents noticed my restlessness thanks to my constant phone checking and excessive Instagram posting.

I blamed the frequent travels and resulting jet lag lately: flying to Italy for a week only to fly back to New Orleans for Thanksgiving weekend at Nikola’s parents’ with everyone.

But it was all a lie.

It all boiled down to the fact that I hadn’t seen or talked to Nikola in weeks, and I missed him more than ever.

It was strange how feelings and thoughts could flip suddenly. From familial to obsessive. From innocent to quite indecent. I’d known Nikola for most of my life, yet it was only lately that I felt like I couldn’t live without him. It felt like this—us—was waiting to happen all along.

He was all I could think about anymore.

After the night of my panic attack in his dorm, Nikola had successfully avoided me for a whole month. And in that time, my crush had turned into a full-blown obsession, complete with a slew of texts sent that I’d rather not think about—it was beyond embarrassing. Who texted a boy over and over again despite getting no reply?

I blamed the stubborn idiot, whose lack of reciprocation was making me feel unhinged.

Well, two could play that game.

It was my turn to ignore him—and to pull out the oldest trick in a woman’s playbook. If he wanted to play games, he’d soon learn that I could play just as well, if not better.

I stopped messaging him three days ago, but he didn’t know me at all if he thought I was done. I might’ve forced myself to stop texting him, but I was determined to make him acknowledge the chemistry between us—at the very least.

I couldn’t go to The Den of Sin where he often frequented since I’d been permanently banned from it. However, I figured out another way to draw out the pale-eyed devil.

I’d have lunch with his cousin.

My close relationship with all the Nikolaevs made it easy to talk to Nikola’s cousins and his sister. It helped that we’d known each other for a long time and pretty much grew up together. But for the first time, I’d manipulated one of them.

I wanted to be honest with Kostya and tell him why I initiated a lunch date with him, well aware that using him to make Nikola jealous wasn’t all that mature. Kostya, a man of few words much like his father, could be intimidating, but he had always been kind to me. And even though I knew he didn’t harbor any feelings for me, it didn’t lessen the guilt.

“Are you okay, sweetie?” my papa signed, that ever-present concern lining his eyes. He worried too much about me, and though I absolutely adored my papa, he could be overbearing sometimes. Protective. Suffocating even. Before I could answer, he offered, “We can go right back to the airport. We’ll be in Italy by tomorrow morning.”

I glanced out the window, taking in the Nikolaev mansion we’d just pulled up to. It never ceased to awe me—and that was saying a lot, because I’d been coming here since I was a little girl.

It stood like a fortress on the outskirts of New Orleans, secluded and imposing, nestled within a dense, tangled forest that seemed to guard it from the outside world. The house itself was a striking vision—stark white against the deep green backdrop, with two grand columns flanking the front entrance like silent sentinels. A wraparound porch hugged the building, its ornate iron railings and hanging lanterns hinting at stories from a bygone era.

The whole place felt like a portal through time, where past and present collided in a surreal harmony. There was an air of refined elegance, like a French chateau transplanted to the bayou, but the unmistakable charm of classic New Orleans lingered in every detail—from the wrought-iron accents to the creaking wooden steps, inviting you closer. It was both regal and haunted, pulling you in with a quiet, magnetic allure.

“You’re desperate to get out of this dinner,” Mama teased, patting his hand affectionately.

The sun was slowly setting, and I knew the whole family already awaited us around back by the pool. It was where the Nikolaev gatherings always took place: a twenty-foot banquet table stretching the length of their pool, usually draped in linens and dotted with candles, and of course crowded with delicious food.

“I’m not,” Papa retorted, an undignified expression marring his face. “I just don’t see the point in sitting through a dinner with a bunch of crazy Russians.” He shot me a look. “And Skye looks like she doesn’t want to be here.”

Oh, he was so wrong.

“I’m great,” I signed, hiding my anxiety at seeing Nikola again behind a smile. “And we’re doing this.”

Sliding out of the back seat, my pink satin dress like a caress against my skin, I followed my parents. Mama slipped her hand into Papa’s and the three of us made our way past the row of luxury vehicles parked neatly in front of the hedge line. There was the Nikolaevs’ collection of sports vehicles—Lamborghinis, BMWs, Audis, and Maseratis. And it looked like Nikola had finally bought himself the red Aston Martin Valkyrie that he’d been yapping about since last fall.

Whenever I stayed here or with Sasha, I drove their vehicles, but usually I opted for the safer ones. Like the ones that Branka or Marietta drove, although the latter had started a collection of her own sports cars too.

An hour and a half later, the evening was in full swing. Even Papa looked as if he was having fun.

Plates were stacked high with roasted turkey, creamy mashed potatoes, and pumpkin bread—and that was before we could make our way to the dessert table.

Candlelight danced around the patio, casting an amber glow on everyone’s happy faces.

The Nikolaev cousins were seated at the left side of the table, while our parents sat at the right side. Damien sat next to me while Nikola sat across from me, looking particularly dapper in his suit, his necktie in a perfect Windsor knot.

“Nikola worked on his tie for at least half an hour,” Marietta stated, and I quickly averted my eyes, cursing myself at getting caught. Be cool, Skye.

“And why do we care about that?” Kostya asked in a bored-looking face.

“I just noticed Skye admiring it, that’s all.” My cheeks flushed. I liked Nikola’s sister, but she could be too much sometimes, especially when her parents let her have a wine or two with dinner. “What do you think, Skye? Does he deserve a star?”

I shrugged, feeling his eyes on me—assessing, daring, challenging—but I was determined not to give him the time of day.

“I hear you and Kostya are having lunch tomorrow,” Nikola said, threading his fingers together behind his head and relaxing back in his seat.

“What’s it to you?”

“That won’t be happening,” he deadpanned.

We’ll see, I thought smugly.

For the rest of the night, I made a point of sticking to conversations with Damien and the rest of the Nikolaev and Konstantin children.

Normally, I would seek out Nikola’s eyes, but not today.

If he wanted me, he’d have to make the next move, because I deserved better than his recent treatment. I wanted him to need me, crave me. Nothing less would do.

“The concept of Thanksgiving is so… weird,” Papa complained from the other end of the table. He was staring at his turkey with disdain, throwing exasperated glares at the Nikolaevs. “Why is this thing stuffed and dripping with grease?”

“That’s the best part, but I know how delicate you Italians are,” Sasha drawled, winking at me.

Papa glared at him. It wasn’t exactly the best first exposure to the Nikolaevs’ Thanksgiving gathering.

“I can show you exactly how delicate I am if we step outside.”

Sasha threw his head back and laughed.

“Not today, Italian.” He casually hooked his tattooed arm around Branka’s chair. “I promised my wife I’d set a good example for Skye and Damien today.”

Key word there was today.

“Don’t you fucking worry about Skye, you fuck,” Papa gritted. “She has impeccable manners. Thanks to us.”

Sasha scoffed. “You fucking wish. Skye takes after me in all the best ways. Right, kiddo?”

“This Italian-Russian-American reserves her right to the Fifth Amendment,” I signed.

Papa’s jaw clenched, a vein in his forehead throbbing, and his hand disappeared below the table, where I suspected he took Mama’s hand to prevent him from shooting Sasha. Papa had a temper on him, and only Mama and I had any hope of setting him at ease.

“Where is the fucking popcorn when you need it?” Nikola chimed in, glaring at me while I ignored him. Sure, now he’d be mad that I was ignoring him when he’d been ignoring me for weeks.

“Nikola?” Sasha said, clenching his jaw.

“Yes?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Vasili threw his head back and laughed. “Actually, maybe he should continue so Sasha can get a taste of his own medicine.”

“There are so many ways I could respond, but since it’s Thanksgiving, I won’t,” Sasha answered, winking at Damien and me. “I’m feeling generous.”

“They’ll never stop, will they?” Damien signed.

“I suspect not.”

He turned to face me. “What are we going to do when they kill each other?”

I shrugged, laughing as he gave me an exasperated look. “They won’t.”

With his blond curls, piercing blue eyes, and the bone structure any model would be envious of, Damien would be a heartbreaker one day.

“You seem awfully certain about that,” he said, shooting another glance down the table where the two were still throwing jabs at each other.

“If they’ve coexisted for the past two decades, they’ll be fine for the next two. Besides, Branka and Mama would never forgive them. So there’s that.”

Damien scoffed. “Our mothers certainly know how to keep them in check. Remind me to never get married.”

I chuckled. “Aren’t you a little young to be so cynical?”

Damien just turned fourteen, although he appeared much older, thanks to his serious demeanor and strict boxing regimen that’d always put him in the highest percentile for size. His demeanor was in such contrast to Sasha’s and Branka’s personalities that we often joked that he was my mama’s son. Strangely, Papa didn’t mind that at all and often invited him over to Trieste.

“Is there an age limit?” he retorted wryly.

“Damien, is there something bothering you?” I signed slowly, taking in his slumped shoulders and the way he was wringing his hands under the table after each time he signed. “You’ve been different lately and I⁠—”

“I’m perfectly fine,” he cut me off, and my brow furrowed. But before I could say anything else, he turned the conversation around. “What’s been up with you lately?”

“Nothing worth talking about,” I signed, aware of Nikola’s eyes on us. “Tell me what you want for Christmas.”

He smiled, then threw a piece of sweet potato into his mouth. “An Xbox One and the new Call of Duty.”

I grinned. “You got it.”

“But I can tell something is bothering you,” Damien pressed. I debated whether to tell him what I recently learned while I was snooping the other day, but I hesitated. I didn’t like to complain, and I didn’t want to stress my parents. “You can tell me.”

“Trust goes both ways,” I pointed out.

“I’m fine, it’s really nothing. But I know you. I can tell it’s something serious.”

I glanced around, but everyone seemed to be preoccupied with their own conversations. I lowered my hands so only Damien could see what I signed.

“I found something on my papa’s desk.” Damien watched me with confusion. “It’s a marriage contract.”

Honestly, I was still in shock. I couldn’t believe he would have put something like that in place.

“My dad would never allow that.”

“Funny you should say that, because Sasha signed it too.”

Our eyes darted to the two men who were still bickering on the other end of the table. In all my life, I’d never seen them agree on anything, so to find both their signatures on the marriage contract… Yeah, it was shocking to say the least.

The table’s vibrations had my attention whipped to its source. The Konstantin siblings were all staring at us, and it took me a moment to realize it was Adrik who demanded my attention. The little shit had a smile on his face that would scare off any sane person, but not me. Apparently, you had to be insane to survive our families.

“What the fuck are you two whispering about over there?” he signed, mouthing the words at the same time.

Damien and I answered at the same time, “Nothing.”

“Didn’t look like nothing,” Adrik stated. “If you’re killing someone, I want in.”

My brows shot to my hairline. “What is it with you and killing everyone?”

He shrugged. “My dad says it’s the Nikolaev in me.”

Damien shot him a blank look. “I’m a Nikolaev and I don’t have that problem.”

“If you’re not a bit crazy, you’re not a Nikolaev,” Marietta drawled.

“That’s not nice,” I scolded Marietta with a soft expression. “His calm personality makes Damien the best Nikolaev.”

Marietta rolled her eyes. “Better rephrase that or Nikola will switch his personality tomorrow.”

My brows furrowed, but before I could question her further, Kostya chimed in. “I heard that Nikola has been searching for someone from your past, Skye. From your foster care days.”

“How do you know?” I questioned as I stiffened, my head darting between him and Nikola.

The latter smacked him on the head. “Are you spying on me?”

Kostya shrugged. “Just keeping you in check.”

“I’m older, so I keep you in check,” Nikola warned with a dark expression. “And keep your mouth shut about the search.”

“Did…” I swallowed, my eyes darting between them while my heart thundered in my ears. Since Nikola hadn’t brought it up, I assumed he gave up searching for the woman who had abused me as a child. I should have known better. “Did you find anything?”

“No, but I will,” Nikola stated with confidence, and I didn’t doubt it.

Since it resurfaced, that whole memory had been haunting me. On one hand, I hoped Nikola would let it go, but on the other, I hoped he’d learn who that woman was and what happened to her. Maybe that would lay those bad memories to rest once and for all.

Papa’s and Sasha’s eyes locked on us.

“Is something wrong?” Sasha asked, signing and speaking while his gaze darted between Damien and me. “You’ve been quiet all night.”

“Only because you two have been too loud,” I retorted, flashing them a forced smile.

Branka and my mama shared an amused glance before Branka raised her glass of wine and said, “Boys will be boys.”

Sasha straightened in his seat. “I believe you meant to say, men will be men.”

Branka pursed her lips as if she were considering the words, then said, “No, I meant exactly what I said.”

Mama chuckled, her deep blue eyes stark against her dark hair and shining with the kind of peace that pulled you in. “Dante and Sasha really need to stop the constant bickering.” She flashed me a soft smile. “We want to set a good example for the children.”

“I agree,” Tatiana chimed in. “But then again, a family duel would be fun too.”

Everyone’s eyes turned to her.

“A duel?” Isabella, Nikola’s mother, questioned with a furrowed brow.

Tatiana patted the corners of her mouth. “Yes, a duel. Where two men face off⁠—”

“I think they know what a duel is, moya luna.” Her husband patted her hand. “They might just be wondering where the idea came from.”

“I’ve been reading historical romances lately,” she said, then winked at her husband. “And let me tell you, there are some hot⁠—”

“Children!” Isabella cut her off.

Marietta threw her head back and laughed. “Mom, we know all about sex, thank you.”

“Keep talking nonsense, Marietta, and you’ll be on lockdown until you’re married.” Vasili offered a stony smile, swirling his whiskey in his hand. “Which won’t be for many more years.”

Papa’s hand came to his forehead like he was suddenly nursing a terrible headache. In his mind, I would forever be the picture of innocence, in need of shelter and protection.

If he only knew.

“There have been increased incidents of organ trafficking,” Aurora said, changing subjects so abruptly I almost thought I’d misread her lips.

Alexei, who was usually stoic and quiet, chimed in, “Nico Morrelli informed me that it’s no longer only an FBI issue. Other agencies like Interpol, CIA, and a few unnamed ones have joined forces.”

“And the FBI agent who’s working the case has the security clearance above the grade of my contacts,” Aurora, his wife, added. “It’s been impossible to get information from any of my contacts.”

“There has been another incident of organ extractions in Florida now. Three dead girls,” Nikola added.

“Anyone we know?” Sasha asked.

Nikola shook his head and said, “We need to re-evaluate security.”

“Can we leave that for tomorrow?” Isabella cut in, her exasperated looks darting around at her family through her soft brown eyes. “Not like we can achieve world peace over peas and carrots.”

“Burying our heads in the sand and ignoring the problem is dangerous,” Illias countered.

“There’s too much at risk, malyshka,” Vasili chimed in, gesturing around at us young ones.

“Just send your lunatic brother after them. That’ll keep the fuckers busy for a while,” Papa muttered.

“Papa!” I stomped my foot, appalled. He knew how much the Nikolaevs meant to me—of all people, he should understand that I wouldn’t be here without them.

“Dante, that was uncalled for,” Mama scolded him while Sasha smiled, eating his turkey and pretending like no insults were thrown his way.

“Skye, how about you play for us?” Isabella shot me a pleading look while she signed with inexperienced hands. “Or maybe a duet?” Her eyes jumped between Mama and me.

Sasha laughed, pouring himself another drink. “Skye is the best player on this planet. No offense to Mrs. Leone.”

He shot a challenging look at Papa, but his and Mama’s eyes were locked on me, softened and full of unconditional love. “My daughter and wife are the best pianists I’ve ever had the pleasure of hearing.”

“How about it, Mama?”

We moved to the library where a black Steinway D piano sat and sank down on the black leather bench, our fingers gliding reverently over the smooth white and black keys.

A shared glance later and we started playing, our fingers moving in sync. Mama’s recent favorite was “Clair de Lune” by Debussy, the vibrations seemingly soft and peaceful. Our fingers moved across the keys in harmony, the smooth surface comforting.

Despite her deafness, music was Mama’s passion. I loved it, but not as much as she did. Music tended to make me sad, the rare time I regretted my disability. But none of us Leones were into self-pity, and I certainly wouldn’t start now.

I flicked her a look and her expression transformed to one of euphoria. Sasha was so wrong, because my mama was one of the greatest pianists the world had ever seen.

It spurred frustration in me at not being able to hear the melody. As my fingers chased the notes, in a slow, then erratic tempo, a haunted and frightful feeling awakened in my chest.

Will Nikola ever want me?

Maybe he found me lacking. Maybe, maybe, maybe. There were so many possibilities whirling in my head while emotions twisted in my chest.

I didn’t know how long we played, turmoil, defiance, and adrenaline bubbling beneath my skin and pouring into the keys as notes danced in front of my eyes.

Mama’s hand came to rest on my forearm and my fingers fell on top of the keys. The piano cried out under my fingertips with an angry vibration I felt inside me.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Papa took a step toward us, but Mama gave him a subtle shake of her head and he joined the Nikolaevs at the bar in the library. It was everyone’s favorite spot.

“What’s the matter?” Mama signed, studying every inch of my face. I forced my feelings deep down, hiding them behind an invisible cloak.

“Nothing. I just don’t feel like playing anymore.” It was the closest to the truth I dared to get. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” She wrapped her arms around my body, then pecked my cheek. She shifted slightly, then signed, “I think you prefer to play for smaller groups, and that’s perfectly fine.”

Mama knew me even better than I knew myself. Yes, I studied music, but unlike my mama, I didn’t want to be a professional pianist. I only liked to play it for my parents and when I was alone with Sasha and Branka. Today was the first time I’d ever played in front of the entire Nikolaev family, and it became painfully evident that I wouldn’t follow my mama’s footsteps.

“Are you disappointed, Mama?”

“Never. I just want you to do what makes you happy. That’s all Papa and I want for you. Happiness and love. Everything else is just needless noise.”

She wrapped me in her arms and I buried my face in her chest, inhaling her comforting scent. Family was everything to me, and this one made me feel like the luckiest girl in the world. I vaguely remembered the loneliness of not having anyone, and it made me appreciate mine, along with the Nikolaevs, even more.

We joined the family in the library, but it wasn’t long until I excused myself, kissing my parents good night, then Sasha and Branka. I slipped through the corridor, studying the paintings. Aivazovsky. Repin. Malevich. Only to finish it with Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, Monet, and an extended family portrait which included fifteen-year-old me.

My steps faltered as I studied our smiling faces. Unlike the others, I wasn’t smiling at the lens but at Nikola. The awed expression I wore had everything to do with the events that took place earlier in the day, before the photo was taken. I remembered it perfectly, even five years later.

Marietta and I were doing some last-minute Christmas shopping. The boys—Kostya and Nikola—gave us privacy, disappearing into the game store.

The mall was crowded, people rushing to get their Christmas shopping done. But I stood frozen with shock, oblivious to everything and everyone but the group in front of me.

My skin stretched and the anger burned bright as I watched the boy and a group of girls snicker. Some of them pointed judgmental fingers at me. Others laughed with superior expressions on their faces.

The boy who had asked me out merely ten minutes ago took the cake though.

The boy—Martin—went to school with Marietta. We’d crossed paths every time I visited New Orleans over the last few months, only to lead to this very point that left me confused.

“You think I would ever date a girl like you?” he said with a disgusted curl to his lips that had me reeling. Then he shoved me away, hard, uttering words that hurt more than they should. “I can do so much better.”

I felt… less.

My eyes stung and my bottom lip trembled. I blinked, then blinked again and again, willing the tears not to come.

The next few minutes were like a blur. One moment the boy was standing there, the next he was sprawled on the ground, his face bloodied by Nikola. The girls tried to scatter away, but Nikola didn’t let them.

He jumped swiftly to his feet and smiled viciously. “You wanted to have fun, now you’ll get it.”

He didn’t hit them, thank God. But he produced a zip tie from somewhere and tied their wrists and feet.

Someone tugged on my hand, and I turned to find Marietta smiling. She winked at me, then said, “I ran to get Nikola. He’ll teach this fucker a lesson.”

“You’re not supposed to cuss.” Although, considering what was going on, it was the least of our worries.

Marietta grinned. “If you don’t tell, I won’t either.”

Then we turned to watch the scene in front of us. Kostya and Nikola were busy glowering at the group of girls who dared make fun of me. Every so often, the boy would try to stand up and Nikola would punch him, making him stagger back onto his ass.

The cute boy forgotten, I suddenly noticed Nikola’s bulging muscles with each move he made. He had started getting tattoos, and he was well on his way to looking like a heartbreaker.

I liked it. A lot.

I was busy staring at my new hero with hearts in my eyes when the police showed up.

The next tears were for Nikola because they took him away in handcuffs while he looked on proudly at the wreck he’d caused in the middle of the mall.

Truthfully, I was proud too.

But I didn’t get to tell him—or thank him—until hours later.

I turned away from the photo and the memories, pressing my back against the wall, and dragged myself down the length of the wall, crouching against it and burying my face in my satin Givenchy dress.

A hand came to my shoulder, startling me, and my head whipped up to find Nikola towering over me like a dark, albeit protective, cloud.

“Here you are, zayka,” Nikola signed. “Are you hiding?”

I lifted my chin in defiance. “Why would I be hiding?”

“You tell me.” I waved my hand as if to dismiss him. When I didn’t bother commenting, he crouched down and took my chin between his inked fingers. “No more ignoring me.”

A fire inside my chest burned hotter. “So hypocritical. You get to ignore me whenever you want.”

“It’s for your own good, Skye.”

“Don’t pretend it’s for me.” I brought my hands to his chest and pushed him with all my strength, only succeeding in shifting his muscles an inch.

His eyes darted between mine, searching. For what, I didn’t know. “What do you want?”

“Kiss me again.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Why are you going out with Kostya?”

I didn’t have an answer for him. Not one he’d want to hear anyway.

“Give me a reason not to,” I signed with a defiant tilt to my chin.

“You want a reason, huh?” I nodded slowly. “How about keeping Kostya alive?”

“That’s not good enough.” Firstly, he would never hurt Kostya. Secondly, Kostya could hold his own. They both might come out slightly banged up, but it wouldn’t be the first time. When Nikola didn’t react, just remained staring at me, almost as if he was willing me to do what he demanded, I signed slowly, “Are you embarrassed by me?”

I cringed inside as I asked what I swore never to ask anyone. It was their problem if they couldn’t see me for who I was, and I’d never let it bother me before. But somehow I knew it would bother me when it came to Nikola.

His face at eye level, he wrapped his hand around my nape and yanked me to him. Then he kissed me. Hard. Possessive. A vibration sounded from somewhere deep inside of him and traveled through me. Like I owned him as much as he owned me. His tongue slipped inside my mouth as he kissed me deeply.

A groan vibrated through his chest as he slipped his tongue into my mouth. He pulled my bottom lip between his teeth, sucking on it. Nipping it.

My hands wrapped around his neck and then traveled up. Nails scraped against his scalp, tugged his hair, then I brought them down to run them over the hard ridges of his muscles, desperate to touch him everywhere. I wanted to know every inch of his body like it was my sole purpose in life.

That familiar, hazy lust pooled in my stomach, but it was so much more than just that. It was lust wrapped in years of affection, protection, and love.

Suddenly he stopped, yanking himself away from me and straightening to his full height. His eyes bored into me, but there were things in them that I didn’t know how to read.

“Cancel your lunch with Kostya, zayka.”

And then he left me with a throbbing center, my head completely jumbled.

16

PHOENIX

Icouldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

However, there was no way I’d voice that, because my husband would have us packed and gone in less than a minute. Instead, I paced around the Nikolaevs’ living room, trying to release the tension and this ominous sixth sense that seemed to come packaged with motherhood.

A tap on the shoulder had me yelping from surprise, and I whirled around to find Branka standing with a wide smile on her face.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

My hand gripped my chest and I released a deep breath before I managed a smile. “I shouldn’t be startled. After all, I’m in the living room and the house is full.”

“I’m so glad you guys joined,” she said, signing at the same time as she took a seat on a couch. “Are you having a hard time sleeping too?”

My eyes flicked to the clock that showed eleven o’clock, and I realized I’d been pacing for an hour, lost in thought.

“Probably the jet lag,” I signed.

She smiled. “I’m surprised Dante let you out of his sight.”

“He’s on a call with the Omertà.” I waved my hand and took a seat across from her. “Probably discussing marriage terms.”

“I still can’t believe those two are willing to marry her off”—Branka snapped her fingers with an angry expression—“just like that.”

Maybe it was that which bothered me.

I understood the need for the marriage alliance, but I didn’t like where that left our daughter. I wanted love for her. Anything less was cruel and unfair.

“How do you feel about it, Phoenix?” Branka asked.

I released a heavy sigh before answering. “I want love and passion for Skye. An arranged marriage with a stranger won’t give her that. She deserves better.”

Branka nodded; she understood better than anyone.

“I almost wish Skye would fall madly in love and run away to marry a boy. Anything is better than a cold marriage.”

Branka pursed her lips. “Don’t let Sasha and Dante hear you. They’d skin that poor boy alive, whoever he turns out to be.”

I winced. “You’re right.”

“I actually hope she takes her time before falling in love,” Branka remarked. “She’s so young.”

“Agreed, but considering time restraints with this arrangement—” I pointed out. “Let’s hope for sooner.”

Skye was so lucky to have the Nikolaevs in her life. Sasha and Branka would protect her at all costs, just like Dante and I would. In fact, Dante and Sasha were so overbearing and overprotective that nobody had ever dared approach her. Unfortunately, it made it impossible for Skye to experience the things I was sure other twenty-year-olds did.

“I saw Damien and Skye talking at dinner,” I pointed out, changing subjects. “Do you know what they’re up to?”

“I noticed that too. But you know those two…” Branka shrugged, rolling her eyes playfully. “Thick as thieves.”

“True siblings.” I leaned over and took her hand in mine. “We’re lucky they get along so well.”

Guilt passed her expression before she schooled it. “You know, we never talked about…”

I sensed where she was going, and I squeezed her hand. “Even if I’d known then that I’d miscarry and be unable to have any more, I still would have chosen to carry your and Sasha’s baby.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely.”

Tears glistened in her eyes. “I’m so grateful you did, but the guilt has never stopped eating at me.”

I shook my head. “I truly believe that even if I hadn’t carried Damien, Dante’s and my outcome would have been the same. But I’m glad that we could give you and Sasha a beautiful baby boy.”

“You're a better person than I am.”

“Hardly. You two protected our girl until I could find her.” I chuckled. “So let’s put it all behind us. Only lightness ahead.”

When I entered the bedroom, I found Dante seated in the armchair, wrapping up a phone call.

I leaned against the bedpost and admired the man who’d aged like fine wine. His dark hair was streaked with silver around his temples, but other than that, he looked just like he did twenty years ago.

My handsome devil.

My knees still went weak around him, and when he kissed me, the entire world faded into nothing.

We’d endured some obstacles over the years, but I wouldn’t trade my life for anything. I loved it just the way it was. And I loved him more than any words could express.

The only dark cloud that sometimes lurked in a faraway castle was my grandmother who I never reconciled with, much to her dismay. People said that time cured all wounds and forgiveness came easy. That was a load of shit. I hated what she’d done and the years we’d lost because of her even more today than I did when I learned of her betrayal. She cost Dante and me our beginning and years of our lives, and even more unforgivable, those of our daughter.

Dante sighed and threw his phone on the nearby table, crooking his finger to beckon me over, and my grandmother was instantly forgotten.

I smiled, playing coy, and shook my head, knowing exactly where that would lead.

“Wife, when you look at me like that, it should be illegal to deny me.”

I chuckled. “I’m not denying you. I want to talk first.”

He sighed. “Let me guess. Skye and the arrangement.”

“I don’t agree with just marrying her off to anyone.”

Dante pinched the bridge of his nose. “Amadeo Marchetti isn’t just anyone, my dandelion. And his last name will keep her protected should something happen to me.”

Just the thought of something happening to Dante sent a sharp pain through my chest.

I padded across the room, my feet sinking into the Persian rug, until I reached him. “The Nikolaevs have our backs. You’re not going anywhere, and neither are they.”

Dante and Sasha tolerated each other at best. He blamed Sasha—irrationally, which my husband knew—for the fact that we couldn’t have any more children. Dante felt that Sasha—not Branka—stole the one healthy pregnancy that was supposed to be ours.

Emotions were a funny thing, and despite the reason telling him otherwise, my husband couldn’t let it go. Hence why we continued to go in this circle of the two men bickering like hell to be the number one man in Skye’s life. Right now, they were just like children, competing for Skye’s affection and trying to be the superior parent. It was certainly a good problem to have, despite their constant yapping and bickering.

But I knew Dante respected the rest of the Nikolaevs. In fact, I believed my husband respected Sasha too, but the two were too far down the road of bickering all the time to stop. But if push came to shove, in my heart I knew they’d have each other’s backs.

“Their family has their own problems and have to protect their own.” Dante could be so stubborn sometimes. “I don’t want to leave anything to chance when it comes to Skye.”

“They’ll never stop protecting her, and we’re here too.”

“I need you protected as well if something happens to me, Nix. If I die⁠—”

I put my finger to his mouth.

“Don’t talk like that,” I scolded him, taking a seat on his lap. “I wouldn’t survive it.”

“You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

I shook my head. “You give me more credit than I deserve. Just don’t say that again. You and me… we’ll go together. Like Romeo and Juliet.”

His brows met his hairline. “Baby, those two were a tragedy. We’re a fairy tale.”

My lips curved into a soft smile. “That’s what I want to talk to you about.”

“A fairy tale?”

“Yes, I want a fairy tale for Skye.” His jaw clenched, but he didn’t comment. “She won’t get all that she deserves marrying a stranger.”

“I want the same for our daughter, but for that to happen, she needs to live. We already know from the last few raids that the traffickers are targeting children of criminal families.”

“We can protect her,” I reasoned, trying my best not to shudder. If I had to, I would repeat these words until I turned blue. Or until Dante finally caved. “So can the Nikolaevs. Do we really need to push her into this arranged marriage?”

Dante let out a tired sigh and guilt flickered in my chest. “I was able to push their wedding by a year. Maybe by that time, the threat will be eliminated.”

I doubted that, and so did he, judging by his tone. Organ trafficking had taken off and was too lucrative to just die down on its own.

“Marchetti isn’t one for backing down on any deal. Luca DiMauro could attest to that,” I reminded him softly.

“I know, dandelion. Don’t I fucking know it.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I should just kill him.”

“His wife—who’s my very good friend, in case you forgot—would be heartbroken.”

“Friends and family,” he muttered. “Sometimes they make even more trouble than enemies.”

I chuckled. “Maybe, but we love them anyway. If there’s one thing I know for certain, Dante, it’s that you’ll ensure our baby’s happy.”

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I let my fingers brush through his hair before I kissed his forehead. I inhaled his scent deep into my lungs while his hands tightened around my waist.

Taking my throat in a firm grip, he pulled away slightly.

“I love you, Nix. I’d turn this world red for you and our daughter.” All levity had vanished from his tone. “And I promise you this: if the Marchetti boy makes Skye unhappy, I’ll find a way to end him.”

The corners of my lips tipped up. “That’s an awful thing to say, but I love you even more for it.”

“As long as you love me.”

His lips found mine and I sighed into his mouth.

I loved him so much that I’d paint this world into all shades of red for him too.

It wasn’t sweet or gentle. It was the swelling, hopeful kind of love that had been slowly growing over the years, to the point that it felt like it’d explode in my chest if he didn’t love me too.

17

SKYE

Nikola and his warning can go to hell, I thought to myself as I studied my reflection in the mirror.

I hadn’t seen him since our hallway run-in, and he hadn’t really given me a reason to obey him. If he wanted me all to himself, he would have to lay a claim on me.

I picked up my phone and messaged the girls.

Me: I’m going out with Kostya for lunch. What do you think?

I attached a picture of my reflection in the full-sized mirror. I thought I looked cute in a strapless cotton candy–pink dress and nude pumps, both designed by Aunt Reina. The shimmery dress hugged my curves in all the right places, contrasting against my dark hair, and my legs seemed longer in it. Probably because there was so little of my legs covered.

Arianna: Totally hot. firefirefire

Amara: You’re going to give poor Nikolaev a boner, blue balls, and a heart attack.

Anya: God willing. And Nikola will be green with envy. If the fucker won’t fuck you, just fuck his cousin.

Me: WTF, Anya?!?!

Penelope: Jesus Christ, Anya. Who pissed you off?

Anya: Mom and Dad. I just heard all of our parents are scheming.

Amara: Scheming what?

Anya: Arranging marriages to keep their kids safe through alliances.

This confirmed the document I’d found on my papa’s desk. He was doing the same by agreeing to marry me to Amadeo Marchetti.

Amara: WTF?!?!

Arianna: Thank God I’m married.

Me: I heard the same. My papa already signed a contract to marry me off to Amadeo Marchetti.

Amara: Holy shit!

Anya: WTF?!?!

Penelope: Yay, at least we get to be sisters-in-law.

Me: That would be the only highlight, but I won’t be marrying any Marchetti. If I have to, I’ll get on my knees and beg Kostya to marry me.

Anya: As long as that’s all you do on your knees. winking face

Me: When did your mind become such a filthy place?

Anya: It’s all that filth I’m reading.

Arianna: Is Kostya saner than Nikola?

Me: woman shrugging, light skin tone

Penelope: Gosh, those Nikolaevs sono tutti pazzi. Puttane. Sono fuori di testa.

Me: Why are you suddenly messaging in Italian?

Penelope: Practicing. I’m getting married at the end of this year.

Arianna: Whaaat????

Me: Holy shit. Already?

Anya: Don’t you already know Italian? Why practice?

Penelope: I’m not good at cursing in Italian, but I’ll know every fucking word before my wedding day.

Anya: Okaaay, we get it, woman.

Amara: Do you intend to send him into an early grave with all the cussing?

Penelope: He’s not worth it. Besides, mark my words. Enzo Marchetti will regret this wedding before I’m through with him.

Anya: Attagirl.

Amara: Are we invited to the wedding fiasco?

Penelope: Apparently it will be a family-only event. I’m so sorry.

Arianna: Well, that better include me since we are family.

My messaging got interrupted when Kostya knocked and entered my room, his hands tucked casually in his trouser pockets. He whistled while I spun around.

“You look stunning,” he said. “Nikola won’t like that.”

I winced. “Ouch. Why are we talking about Nikola?”

Kostya flashed me a smile.

“Because I know you, and we’re friends-slash-cousins-slash-whatever. I agree with you, Nikola needs a push, and this will be it.”

I smiled sheepishly, letting out a relieved smile. “I’m sorry for not being upfront with you.”

He fished out his phone, then waved it. “Don’t worry about it. Now, let’s post a selfie. We look hot together, but I know you’re not into younger men.”

I threw my head back and laughed just as he snapped the selfie, his smiling eyes meeting mine before flickering to his phone.

“Ah yes, the perfect couple. Just don’t tell your papa or Uncle Sasha. They’d tear me limb by limb.”

“Cross my heart.” I made a sign over my chest and then pretended to lock my mouth and throw away the key.

He put his hand on the small of my back and urged me forward.

“Now let’s have fun torturing Nikola.”

“Where are we going?” I signed to Kostya as he drove down the highway. The manor was far enough from the heart of the city to enjoy some peace and quiet, but still less than a half-hour drive from downtown NOLA.

“Sazerac Bar,” he said, winking. “Nikola’s father owns it, so he’s sure to get updates.”

I chuckled. “Wow, you’re even more strategic than I am.”

Once we arrived, Kostya parked his flashy red Lamborghini right up front, making sure Nikola couldn’t miss it.

He gallantly offered me his arm, and I took it as we entered the restaurant.

I’d always been fond of the vibrant, culture-rich ambiance of New Orleans, and today was no different. Sazerac Bar and Restaurant was located on the corner of St. Louis Street in the historical French Quarter of the city, where deeply patinated walls and old photography decorated the place.

A large crystal chandelier dominated the room and tables and booths surrounded the black-and-white checkered dance floor. There were even a few couples dancing.

“I had a table reserved,” Kostya explained.

We took a seat by the magnificent arched window that looked out onto Jackson Square and the St. Louis Cathedral. Lively crowds strolled past, the sweet alcoholic concoction of gin, rum, vodka, and melon liqueur the locals referred to as hand grenades in their hands as they laughed and chatted. The windows were open, allowing a warm breeze to sweep through from the river and along the busy street, the smell of croissants and local spices drifting in the air.

“Let’s see how long it takes Nikola to shut this place down,” he joked.

“You really think he will?”

“No fucking doubt.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re that sure, huh?”

“I know my cousin.” A waiter showed up and Kostya gave him our order. “I’m glad you’re forcing his hand, although I’m slightly surprised,” he said.

My brows furrowed. “Why surprised?”

He shrugged. “You’ve had this crush on him for… how long? And you’ve never acted on it.”

My cheeks flushed, burning with shame. “Am I that obvious?”

He chuckled. “Only to those of us who pay attention. Our parents, on the other hand, are blind as fuck. So don’t worry about that.”

Our waiter came back with our non-alcoholic drinks. Kostya didn’t like to push the envelope, and neither did I. We left the alcohol for family gatherings and school parties.

“So why the sudden change?” Kostya asked, sipping on his Sprite.

My shoulders slumped. “Papa’s arranged a marriage for me.”

Surprise flickered in his pale blue eyes.

“Are you sure?” I nodded. “To whom?”

My gaze darted to the street where people mingled on the square, lovers held hands, and families enjoyed their midday strolls.

I sighed, returning my attention to my date, and gave him the dreaded name: “Amadeo Marchetti.”

He shook his head in disapproval. “Well, if Nikola doesn’t hurry the fuck up, I will marry you myself. There’s no fucking way you’re going to spend your life tied to a Marchetti.”

I chuckled. “Promise?”

He raised his glass and vowed, “On my life.”

I mimicked his gesture and we clinked our sodas.

“Here’s to marrying you,” I teased. “If all else fails.”

He grinned. “I’ll be waiting.”

And just like that, a sense of peace I didn’t think I’d ever get back washed over me.

18

NIKOLA

My threat must’ve been ineffective because the next afternoon, I got a notification on Instagram that brought me to a selfie of Kostya and Skye. Then to another shot of them in my family’s restaurant, laughing and having a grand old time.

I’d jumped into my car and driven like a fucking maniac before I could even exit out of the app, pulling up right behind Kostya’s ugly red car.

I’d always been impulsive, but that impulse took on a new shape the day I saw a boy torment Skye, mocking her deafness. In that moment, my impulsiveness—courtesy of Uncle Sasha—twisted into unhinged violence. Why? Because I saw, right then, just how effective it could be. Nobody bothered Skye from that day on.

But today, that rage erupted like a wildfire—hotter, fiercer, and more uncontrollable than ever before. It wasn’t just anger; it was a storm tearing through me, unstoppable and all-consuming.

The moment I saw those two seated at that cozy, romantic table, I lost my shit.

Eyes fixed on the two of them, I instructed the staff to clear out the restaurant.

Skye reached for his tie, fingers brushing the fabric before giving it a gentle tug, pulling him closer. With practiced ease, she straightened the knot, her movements fluid and deliberate, all while nodding in rhythm with his animated signing.

A strange, unwelcome sensation coiled in my stomach, and my chest tightened as if gripped by an invisible hand. I couldn’t tear my eyes away, caught between curiosity and something far more unsettling.

“Why are you standing like a statue and glaring at those two?” Lena, my last-minute date, asked in her annoyingly whiny tone. She worked at The Den of Sin and was always open for anything. Even being used. However, she had a completely different thing in mind when I told her I would use her.

When I messaged her, I’d instructed her to meet me in front of the Sazerac Bar. I thought I would clear things up when she got here, but it didn’t appear we had the time. I was about to blow the top off my rage.

“Because that’s my woman, dollface,” I gritted, anger surging through me when Kostya reached out and brushed a strand of her hair away from her face. It rose fast, flooding my chest with a fierce, uncontainable heat that drowned out every rational thought.

He was touching her.

My cousin was a dead man. He’d been warned, and so had she. Did the two shits listen? No, of course they didn’t. And now they were about to see exactly how crazy Nikola Nikolaev could get.

Skye pushed her chair back and stood up, excusing herself to the bathroom. This was my chance, and I didn’t intend on wasting it.

“Things are about to get ugly,” I said, never taking my eyes off my cousin’s table. “So get lost, Lena.”

“It’s not Lena. I’m⁠—”

I stopped listening as she stomped off, huffing and puffing. People started trickling out, but there were still some guests seated around.

No matter though. They’d see soon enough.

I stalked toward Kostya, who flicked me a bored look. “Oh, hey.”

Fury simmered, burning me from the inside, but I managed to offer a tight smile.

“That’s all you have to say to me… fucking hey?”

He yawned. “Nice to see you?” He framed it as a question, clearly set on pushing me.

“Fuck. You. Cousin.”

Kostya scoffed, while his expression told me he was ready to choke me out.

“I warned you she was off-limits.”

My voice shook with anger, and for the first time in my life, I felt obliged to choose someone over family. Even though to me, she had been part of the family from the moment Sasha and Branka brought her home.

Kostya was on his feet and in my face with a harsh expression.

“Then put a ring on her finger.” I stepped closer to him, the toes of my shoes pushing against his, just like our words. “Admit it, Nikola, you want her.”

I tilted my head. “Don’t worry your pretty head about me and Skye.”

“Keep playing, and you’ll lose her. Maybe she’ll realize there’s someone better out there than your crazy ass.”

I smiled harshly. “Speaking from experience, Kostya?”

The subtle jab had Kostya losing his shit. In the next breath, he lunged at me, his hands closing around my throat.

I grabbed his hand, fingers digging into his knuckles, and peeled them off one by one. His eyes widened, but before he could react, I drove my shoulder into his chest with enough force to send him crashing into the wall. The impact made the entire frame shudder, and a loud, startled gasp rippled through the remaining customers, some of them inching backward, eyes wide with fear.

Kostya coughed, pushing off the wall, a smirk still plastered on his face despite the force of the blow. “That all you got?” he sneered, straightening his collar. “No wonder Skye doesn’t look twice at you.”

I stepped closer, heat still simmering in my veins. “Say her name one more time,” I growled, jaw clenched.

He scoffed, wiping a spot of blood from his lip. “At least I’m not scaring her off with my temper. You think she wants a brute?”

“I bet you hate knowing you’re not the one for her.” The tension crackled between us, raw and electric, as the room seemed to shrink around the fury that pulsed between us.

“Fuck you, Nikola,” Kostya growled.

I grinned and headbutted him. “You’re dead, Kostya!”

19

SKYE

Istared at my reflection in the bathroom, my heart heavy with disappointment. Dessert would be hitting the table soon and Nikola still hadn’t shown up.

No matter, I thought to myself.

I’d spent an hour listening to Kostya’s tales about his recent hiking adventure. I didn’t even know he liked hiking, but apparently hiking the Appalachian and Crest Trails was his passion. It was fun listening to his stories, and even made me forget about Nikola for a little while.

Maybe I should give hiking a try, I thought to myself as I dried my hands, but even as the thought materialized, I knew that I wouldn’t. Sweating and climbing weren’t my thing.

The moment I stepped out of the bathroom, I noticed a commotion in the restaurant. I rushed through the hallway and toward the table when I froze.

What I saw hit me like a lightning strike—sharp, unexpected, and paralyzing. My heart clenched and a cold wave of shock crashed over me, leaving my thoughts tangled and disjointed. Two men I cared about were locked in a violent, desperate struggle.

Their bodies collided with brutal force, the fists meeting flesh the only thing I saw. My breath caught in my throat as I watched them grapple, each move more ferocious than the last. It was surreal, like a nightmare unfolding in slow motion.

Nikola had Kostya shoved against the wall, his forearm pushed against his cousin’s throat, while Kostya’s knife pressed against Nikola’s ribs.

Their gazes cut to me; Kostya’s calculating and cold, Nikola’s heated with blue infernos as they slid over my strapless dress that barely reached my mid-thighs.

In the next breath, Nikola’s expression turned into one of pure rage as he shoved his shoulder against Kostya, then threw him on the floor. Tables and chairs clattered to the floor and people scattered, but I spotted a few recording the scene like it was an entertainment show.

I rushed forward and gripped Nikola's arm, yanking him back. But it was fruitless, Nikola was a six-foot-five wall of pure muscle.

Nikola pulled his own knife from his holster and pressed it against Kostya’s throat.

They spat words at each other, the tension palpable. I couldn’t read their lips or process the meaning of this with the amount of panic rushing through my bloodstream.

Kostya shoved his elbow into Nikola’s side with his other hand, keeping his knife pressed against his ribs all the while. Their expressions were terrifying, those signature pale blue eyes staring at each other with cold fury.

A sound tore from my throat, unpracticed and foreign. “Nikola!”

They both froze, and so did I. Then, as if in slow motion, their profiles turned to face me. My hands wrapped around my throat, the shock vibrating through me. I never let anyone hear my voice aside from my parents. I’d always been far too self-conscious. Deaf people struggled to pronounce words smoothly due to the auditory feedback. That meant our voices were usually distorted, words hard to understand, and the pitch, volume, and intonation presented differently to hearing people.

Nikola shot to his feet, releasing Kostya, and was by my side in the next breath.

My heart raced in my chest, terror still clogging my throat as I stared wide-eyed at him. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Kostya was on his feet too, pressing his palm to his throat where Nikola must have cut him.

Swallowing hard, I signed, “You okay, Kostya?”

He nodded and I watched his lips move. “Want me to take you home?”

“I’m taking her,” Nikola growled, his anger vibrating through me.

“I was asking her, not you,” Kostya deadpanned, his body tense, knife still clutched between his fingers.

The restaurant staff was plowing through the crowd, the Nikolaevs’ guards taking everyone’s phones and shoving a stack of hundred-dollar bills in their hands. The people slowly dwindled down until there was nobody left and the windows to the restaurant were firmly shut to stop onlookers. But as the three of us stared at each other, I wasn’t sure whether it was for the best. An audience might keep them from properly murdering each other.

Nikola turned to him and I took a step forward, positioning myself between them. Barely reaching their jaws, I was sandwiched between them, my heart pounding wildly in my chest as I read their lips.

“The only reason you’re still alive is because you’re family. Leave.”

“Fuck. You. She came with me.”

Nikola’s jaw tensed and he took a threatening step forward. I shifted, putting both of my palms on his hard chest.

Nikola didn’t spare me a glance, instead slanting his cousin a dark look. “Last warning.”

“I’m not leaving her alone with you when you’re in this state,” Kostya snarled, anger that was rarely seen on his face twisting so it was almost unrecognizable.

I whipped my head back and forth between them, struggling to read their lips.

“Don’t fucking push me,” Nikola growled, his nostrils flaring. “I don’t want you anywhere near her.”

My mouth parted in shock at the fiercely possessive claim in Nikola’s eyes. His behavior made no sense. He had been pretty much ignoring me. But now, he was acting like I was his property.

“Go ahead, Kostya,” I signed with shaky fingers.

Kostya’s eyes locked on me.

“You sure?” I nodded. He shot a threatening look at Nikola. “Hurt her, make her cry… and there’s nowhere you can hide.”

Nikola’s expression darkened. “Touch what’s mine again and you won’t have to worry about anyone’s tears.”

I swallowed as Nikola’s eyes narrowed on his cousin, seeing a flicker of viciousness that promised retaliation.

Kostya slowly backed away, leaving me alone with Nikola. Our eyes met, mine full of shock and his swimming in blinding jealousy and something else I couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Silence stretched as we stared at each other.

“Are you crazy?” I asked finally.

“Apparently I am crazy about something. Or rather for someone,” he said wryly, his gaze traveling down my body. “You shouldn’t have gotten all dolled up for him, Skye. You’ve unleashed a monster in me.”

I frowned, focusing on the first part of his statement. “What are you saying exactly?”

He cupped my neck and asked slowly, “Why did you come here today?”

I swallowed before my shameful admission. “To make you jealous.”

“It sure worked.” His smile held no humor. “All I think about is you, Skye. You don’t need to make me jealous. I already am. I’m jealous of every smile you give someone else, of everything you touch, including your beloved piano.”

I froze, my lips twitching.

“You’re jealous of my piano?” He watched me for a heartbeat before reaching for his tie and loosening it with a hard tug. When it became clear he wasn’t going to answer, I asked, “Why are you wearing a suit?”

“I came here with a woman.”

I sucked in a breath and closed the small distance between us. “Who is she?”

He waved his hand. “Nobody important.”

“Clearly not true,” I signed, irritated, the little green monster eating at me. “You put a suit on for her.”

Tension lingered in his body. “No, zayka. I put the suit on for you, but you were already gone. So, in a fit of jealous rage, I dragged a woman here.”

I put my hands on my hips and glared at him. “What’s her name?”

I wasn’t even sure why I asked, except that I wanted to lash out at that unknown woman and warn her away from Nikola.

“No fucking idea,” he signed. “Helena. Or was it Elena? No, maybe Lena… Fuck if I know.”

I forced myself to release a heavy breath and calm the storm inside me. My mama always said I possessed her calm temperament and that it took a lot to piss me off. But then I turned into my papa. At this moment, I feared she might be right, because the itch to find that woman—whatever her name was—and unleash violence on her was so real I could almost taste it.

But Nikola clearly didn’t care for her if he couldn’t even remember her name.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, his eyes trailing over my body before locking on my face.

“And go where?” I asked, deciding to let it go. Only, that was when something occurred to me and I narrowed my eyes on him. “By the way, how did you know where I was?”

“You’re sharing your location with me,” he reminded me, and I rolled my eyes. How could I have forgotten that the Nikolaevs had my location for “safety purposes.” I was glad he’d come—that was my intention with this whole thing in the first place—but I’d need to speak with Sasha and Branka about boundaries moving forward.

“See, that’s just not fair. You have me under your thumb, yet you ignore my texts. Ignore me.” Silence tightened around us as I waited for his answer, standing in the empty, disheveled restaurant. “I deserve better.”

“You do.” Well, at least we agreed on something.

“Then why do you only want me now?” I questioned, unable to hide my hurt. “You should have realized you wanted me before I went out with Kostya.”

Of course I was wrong to go out with Kostya for the reasons I did. We were both in the wrong, but it felt too vulnerable to admit it.

“I want to do right by you, Skye. I wanted you to have a normal life, outside the mob world. Even if it meant being away from me.” His admission sent a shockwave through me while turmoil stirred inside my chest. “You deserve so much more than… me and the shackles of this criminal life, regardless of how much I want you.”

That was when I decided there would never be anyone else for me. I would never—could never—love another man because this man was it for me. He had always been the one for me.

“Is that the reason you’ve been ignoring me?” My expression softened as I signed the next words, “Because you want me too much?”

“In the beginning, I ignored you because I wanted better for you, but now… Now I’m scheming…”

My brow furrowed, not quite following what he was trying to say. “Scheming about what?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “I can’t multitask when you’re involved.”

“Huh?”

He waved his hand as if to say none of that was important, then directed the staff and security to close down the restaurant and lock it behind them. We watched in silence as they did his bidding, then scattered.

Once we were alone in the restaurant, it almost felt like we were alone in the world. The small space bubbled with ambiance that dated back hundreds of years with two willing souls trapped in it.

He brushed his inked knuckles against my cheeks, then said, “Say my name again, Skye.”

I reared back, embarrassment flooding me.

I opened my mouth to reject him—or was it to give him what he demanded?—when I stopped myself. He didn’t get to demand crap, not after ignoring me for weeks.

“No.” I squared my shoulders and tilted my chin in challenge. “Not after treating me the way you did.”

His eyes coasted down my body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

“You shouldn’t have gotten all dolled up for him, Skye.” His words were slow and deliberate, a flicker of something wild in his eyes that he fought to rein in. “Now you’ve unleashed a monster.”

I didn’t want him to hold back with me.

Ever since I glimpsed his passion, I felt the imprints of Nikola’s touch under my skin. Maybe it was there all along, waiting for us to grow up, or maybe a switch was flipped somewhere along the way. All I knew was that it was pointless to fight this invisible force that pushed me to him.

“Who said this is all for him?” My chest heaved and my heartbeat raced in my chest as I signed.

And then he was on me, pinning me against the wall, pushing down the top of my dress. My breasts spilled out and he rubbed a thumb across my tightened nipple. I exhaled, my back arching off the wall as pleasure blazed a path to my core.

He slammed his mouth on mine for a hard, possessive kiss that nearly ripped my soul from my body. He gripped my ass with his big hands and lifted me, pressing my back against the wall. My legs hooked around his waist, the skimpy dress bunching up.

He slid his free hand into my hair and pulled my head back as he ravaged my mouth. His tongue explored every inch of my mouth, demanding, taking, and giving. We kissed so deeply, I breathed his air.

A moan bubbled in my throat when he released my strands and his hand reached between us, gripping one of my tits. He squeezed it hard and flicked his thumb over my nipple, then brushed it softly to soothe the sting.

Never breaking the kiss, I pushed his suit jacket off his shoulders and let it fall onto the ground. Then I grabbed his shirt and started to work on the buttons, having a hard time with my trembling fingers.

He squeezed my sensitive nipple so hard I almost released a yelp.

Desire flooding me, I lost the battle with his buttons and ripped his shirt open, smiling shyly as they scattered all around us. He didn’t seem to care though, and neither did I.

Instead, I locked my eyes on his hard, inked chest.

I’d seen Nikola shirtless many times, but it was the first time I’d let myself openly appreciate his body. He was ripped, his strong frame hard enough to be armor. And then there was the ink etched into his skin, telling a story. One of darkness. Death. Life. Love.

But I didn’t have long to admire it because his mouth took mine for another kiss, his hand squeezing my ass through my dress.

Then he started walking, stopping only when the backs of my legs felt the rough edge of a table. He ripped the white tablecloth off, throwing it carelessly on the ground, then lowered me onto my feet.

He whirled me around, then in one swift move, he unzipped my dress, leaving me in nothing but a thong and my heels. Dark lust moved through his eyes, but it was the touch of them over my body—like a caress—that had me shuddering with intensity. I knew I was right to follow my instincts and forgo a bra this morning.

“Take off your panties,” he demanded.

“Shouldn’t that be your job?”

“As you wish, zayka,” he said with a smile, then whirled me around. My thong was shredded in one single breath, my throbbing pussy exposed. He bent me over the table, my chest and stomach pressing against the cool surface of the wood, my hair flipping into my face.

Then I felt his mouth on my ass when he bit me. Hard.

I released a gasp—or was it a moan?—when he moved to my other ass cheek. This time, it was definitely a moan.

He spread my cheeks with his hands and kissed my pussy, his nose in my ass. He sucked relentlessly, making my body twitch and writhe from the unexpected pleasure. He ran his rough hands down my bare legs to my ankles before returning them back up.

I felt the growl vibrating against me, and I was fighting the imminent orgasm. Sparks burned hot as the pressure built and built.

My fingers curled, gripping the edge of the table as he pushed his tongue inside me. In and out. My eyes rolled back in my head and a drop of sweat ran down my spine as I ground myself shamelessly against his face, mindless with lust.

I looked over my shoulder to find Nikola’s big frame kneeling with his eyes closed and a blissful expression on his face. My head fell forward, my cheek pressed against the hard table as the pressure exploded.

I came so hard my thighs trembled, and I’d have slid off the table if not for the set of strong hands holding me. Screwing my eyes shut, I struggled to catch my breath as a languid sensation pulled on my muscles.

He stood up and my eyes fluttered open in time to watch his pants and boxers pool around his dress shoes.

My eyes lowered to his long, hard cock, a pulsing vein running from base to tip. He smacked me on my left ass cheek—hard—and I let out a gasp. My eyes snapped to his, full of questions.

“What?” he challenged. “You asked for it.”

“I did not.”

“You most certainly did when you went out with Kostya.” His palm met my right ass cheek this time and I gasped again. “Didn’t I tell you not to go?”

“Oh. My. God…” I mouthed soundlessly. The burn spread outward from my ass cheek, and the sting of it made my pussy throb.

“Not God, he wouldn’t fucking dare.” He grabbed both of my wrists and pinned them against my lower back before he smacked the other ass cheek, the hardest strike yet. “Say my name.” When I remained silent, he smacked my ass cheek again. “I want to hear it again.”

“Nikola.” His name clawed up my throat while shame burned through me. I didn’t want to feel self-conscious about my voice, but I couldn’t help it.

However, the embarrassment dispersed as he pressed his mouth against mine for a sloppy kiss. “Good girl.”

He kept his grip on my wrists and lowered to his knees to kiss my cheeks, dragging his tongue over the inflamed skin in apology.

My spine arched, trying to show him that I needed him. The sting on my cheeks mixed with the bliss between my legs made for a perfect mix of pain and pleasure. He set all my senses on fire, magnifying his every touch tenfold.

He stood up again, his dick right in the crack of my ass. He ground against me, his mouth peppering kisses all over my neck. He continued to grind against me, nudging my pelvis into the corner of the table and causing friction against my clit.

He turned my face back and our gazes locked. “Remember you asked for it. Now your wings will be clipped.”

He pushed his hard thick length through my soaked entrance, breaking my hymen, and sank deep inside me. I yelped, he shuddered. Then he halted his movement, breathing hard against my skin.

We remained like that for a few moments as I adjusted to having him fill me, his length throbbing inside my walls.

He nipped the sensitive spot beneath my earlobe and I met his gaze. “You good, zayka?”

I nodded and he started moving, a slow, shallow thrust that dragged moans out of my throat. I felt him push deeper, gripping my hip with one hand and my hair with the other.

Then his thrusts became harder, grinding against me, thrusting deep inside me. I closed my eyes and bit my lower lip.

He bit me on the shoulder and my eyes snapped open. “Look at me.”

I narrowed my eyes on him, trying to convey that he was too demanding, but all he did was chuckle, fucking me harder and faster while my gaze remained locked on his.

He pounded into me, my clit continuously pushing and dragging against the hardwood, driving me closer and closer to an orgasm. I moaned and whimpered, feeling the heat grow between my legs, all the emotions bubbling beneath the surface and ready to burst like a broken dam.

He gripped right below my jawline, not tight enough to cut the flow of oxygen but firm enough to make it impossible to move away.

He smacked my ass again and said, “Spread your ass cheeks for me.”

I was so gone in the haze of lust that I didn’t even question his command. I reached behind me and did as he instructed, pulling them far apart.

He gave me an appreciative kiss before he brought his hand to my mouth. I took it between my lips and sucked while he never stopped his thrusts, the feeling incredible.

He pulled his hand from my mouth, then slipped his thumb into my back entrance, pushing deep inside unexplored territory.

I tensed at the foreign feeling, but my panting and moaning didn’t cease. And slowly, discomfort turned into even more intense pleasure. I could feel him everywhere, especially inside me. Euphoria shot through me with the magnitude of a Category 5 storm.

“Nikola!” I didn’t know if I screamed it, moaned it, or just thought it, but as my feet left the floor with his thrusts and the orgasm hit me, tears filled my eyes and I experienced bliss unlike ever before.

A thrust, and then another, and he stilled.

His hot breaths tickled my ear. I never imagined feeling so… connected. Not for my first time.

He continued to breathe against my ear, and the realization he was still rock hard inside me sunk in.

He dipped his head and kissed my shoulders and then up my neck. When he finally pulled out, he brought his hand down and spanked me again. Before I could dwell on the way it had me throbbing between the thighs, he spun me around, gripping my thighs and hoisting me up.

My legs hooked around his waist as he made himself at home between my thighs. Then he pushed himself inside me, never breaking eye contact. He slid in, gripped me by the throat, and squeezed. Something about his control and constrictive energy had me almost blacking out with desire.

I roamed my hands over the ink on his chest, pausing at the image of piano keys with fingers on them. He continued to fuck me in a steady rhythm, and I held on to him like he was my anchor, praying it would never end. I wasn’t ready to face the world outside of this restaurant.

He moved his thumb up my throat to the corner of my mouth. He squeezed again before he let me go, before his hand found a home in my messy hair. I planted my other hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat through his muscles.

“Nikola…” I moaned his name like it was my sole mission in life. Hearing my voice seemed to drive him wild, because he pounded into me even harder and faster, his blue eyes taking hold of me like he was claiming me for life.

“You want it?” I nodded, desperately needing another release. “Beg.”

He fisted a palm in my hair, pinning me in place as his eyes turned sharp and hard. I spread my legs wider and gripped his ass, tugging him into me.

“Please…”

“Fuck.” His balls slapped at my ass, and he lost all sense of control as he let me feel every inch of his cock, making me wince from the sheer size of it. He moved his lips to my ear, his breaths erratic, and his thrusts turned shallow as he came inside me.

He stayed buried for several minutes before the restaurant came back into focus.

He pulled out and our gazes fell to where we were connected. We watched as his cum, mixed with the tinge of my innocence, dripped down my thighs.

“Don’t move,” Nikola ordered as he pulled up his pants. He disappeared down the hallway I knew led to the restrooms, returning several heartbeats later with a tissue box and wet napkins.

“Let’s clean you up, zayka.”

I might’ve suspected what I’d been feeling for Nikola was love, and this all but confirmed it.

20

NIKOLA

Ilost my mind and fucked Skye like some madman, taking her virginity in a restaurant instead of waiting for our wedding night. That should have been all the proof needed that I was no good for her, but fuck it, I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let her go.

One thing was for certain: I wouldn’t let anyone touch, never mind marry, my Skye. It wasn’t a matter of choice but need when it came to this girl. She soothed my anger and made me want to be a better man.

Once I got her cleaned up, I escorted her through the back exit to my Bugatti La Voiture Noire—a birthday gift from Uncle Sasha who would be pleased with my manners but would certainly scold me for putting Skye in such a vulnerable position. I’d instructed my men to keep the doors cordoned off, but anything could’ve happened, and I still couldn’t believe I’d risked it. You’re a fucking idiot, Nikola.

I shook my head and held the door open, but rather than slide into the passenger seat, she turned to look at me.

“What about the woman you came with?” she asked, her eyes narrowed, and I realized my girl was just as jealous as I was.

“I sent her home.”

“Who is she?”

I chuckled. “Nobody I’ll ever be seeing again. Now withdraw your claws, and let’s go home.”

Seemingly happy with that answer, she settled inside the car. Her short pink dress hiked up her thighs, and just like that, I was ready to ravage her again. Fuck. What’d come over me? I could usually bank on being bored with women once I fucked them.

But yet again, Skye was becoming the exception.

“Are you going to stand there and stare all day?”

I threw my head back in amusement, then circled the car and got behind the wheel. We were out of the heart of the city and speeding down the highway toward the manor in no time.

It was a first for me to lose control to that extent, never mind attacking my own cousin in a pure fit of jealousy. Yes, I’d made a few men cry that had upset Skye over the years, but I’d never wanted to murder them as much as I had Kostya. Why? Simply because for the first time ever, I could actually see that Kostya genuinely liked Skye. Then seeing her smile at him tipped the scale. Her smiles were mine, her eyes should only be on me, just as mine had been for her.

Fuck, my entire body buzzed with the need to fuck her again.

Jesus, was this what my life would be with this woman? Resisting the need to fuck her every minute of the day?

I flicked a glance her way and caught her eyes, the same insatiable lust trapped in them.

I clenched my teeth and returned my eyes to the road. I had to remember this was all new to her—pulling over and fucking her right here and now wouldn’t be the responsible thing to do.

Until I felt her lean over, her scent overwhelming me, and she licked the pulse point on my neck.

“Fuck,” I groaned and shot across four lanes to take the exit. My tires screeched in protest as I took a sharp right, pulling over in an empty parking lot, right under a weeping willow tree.

I put the car in park, then turned to face her. “You’re asking for trouble, Skye.”

“Don’t know what you mean.” She smiled innocently, fluttering her eyelashes, but her blush betrayed her.

“Get over here.”

She didn’t even hesitate to climb over the console and straddle my lap. Her knees spread, each landing on the outer sides of my thighs, and her dress hiked up around her waist, giving me a full view of her bare pussy.

She reached between us and the sound of a zipper filled the small space.

I watched her reach inside my pants, pull me out, then wrap her small hand around my length. I let out a groan.

“Are you going to jerk me off, zayka?” I asked her, my eyes locked on her awed expression. I usually fucked women tied up or bent over a table, but with Skye it would seem not even intimacy was off-limits.

“Why didn’t you ask me to teach you how to tie a Windsor knot?” She didn’t even bother hiding the hurt in her eyes and my chest twisted with the knowledge that I caused it. “Who did your tie today?”

I could have lied, but I didn’t want to do that to her.

“I watched a YouTube tutorial for thirty minutes at the slowest speed, and even then, my mother had to fix it,” I admitted. She smiled softly as I moved my seat back to give her more space. “I don’t want you to teach me how to tie my tie. I want you to do it for me. Every day for the rest of our lives.”

The hurt expression was replaced with a hopeful one, and those hearts I’d grown accustomed to seeing returned to her gaze.

“Your cock is so big and thick,” she signed with her free hand, rewarding me with a pump. She shifted herself, her small frame lowering between my thighs, then licked the crown of my cock like it was a lollipop before she took it into her mouth.

She bobbed her head while working her soft hand over me, and I was about to come right then and there.

I grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her up.

“What’s wrong?” she mouthed, licking her lips hungrily. I watched her through a hooded gaze, her expression fascinating me. It was irrational, but I wanted to stretch this moment forever. “You didn’t like it?”

I let out a sardonic breath. “I liked it way too much.” Wiping at the side of her mouth, I added, “Now, jerk me off.”

She did, and the sight of it was too damn erotic. For the first time, I wanted to give a woman free rein to have her way with me. No, not a woman, but this woman, my woman… my Skye.

But there was no fucking way I’d come without giving her pleasure first.

My big hand wrapped around her small one, and I slowed her pumps.

“Slow down, zayka.” I tightened my grip. “I don’t want to get off before you.”

She lifted herself to straddle me, her drenched pussy brushing my throbbing cock.

“Fuck, not helping,” I grunted while her body shuddered.

“I’m going to jerk you off my way.”

Blyat, who would’ve thought she had this side to her. Her gaze met mine, the silence in the car broken by her breathy moans, my grunts, and the low tunes from my jazz playlist coming through the car speakers.

My heart thundered under my rib cage and fire burned in my veins. I wanted nothing more than to ram into her and fuck her into oblivion, but I’d let her do this her way. I’d already pushed her hard enough today.

“Okay, zayka. Do whatever you want to me,” I said and signed simultaneously after releasing my grip around her hand that was still rubbing up and down my shaft. The tension and need for release steamed off our bodies. “But I’m going to touch you too.”

A whimper escaped her before her tongue swept over her lower lip and she bit into it. I grabbed her nape and pulled her in for a hard kiss.

“Don’t fucking hide your noises from me.” I broke our kiss, signing erratically. “Understood?”

I could feel her pussy clenching around the tip of my cock and she nodded slowly.

The moment my finger brushed against her clit, a loud moan vibrated between us.

“Nikola.” Fuck, how I loved hearing my name on her lips. A breathless, needy whisper as I fingered her. I couldn’t believe she’d denied me her voice for all these years.

She was sliding her soaked pussy against my cock, making me groan. I wanted to grab her hips and sink into her, filling her to the hilt.

“Fuck, Skye, you’re close, aren’t you? So wet.” I brought my drenched fingers to her lips and she sucked them clean.

She kept pumping my shaft and I continued fingering her, our grunts and moans coming in tandem with our desperate need for release.

I strummed at her clit, faster and harder, purposely brushing the tip of my shaft against her entrance.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Pressure built higher and higher and I buried my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply while whispering her name and every obscene Russian word I could think of that promised things I had no business doing.

“Nikola—”

I shifted back to look at her. “What do you need?”

“Please,” she mouthed.

Her eyes lowered to where my glistening shaft was pressed against her. I brought my hands to her hips and her gaze returned to mine.

“Want to fuck me, baby?”

She nodded, and I didn’t need any more confirmation. I slammed her down onto my rock-hard cock, and just like that, we both exploded. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, her clenching pussy strangling my cock as my cum spurted inside her.

Her hips rocked against my pelvis, milking me for all I had.

Her forehead came to rest against mine, and I wrapped my arms around her protectively, listening to her breathing as we floated back down to earth. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed, and she smelled like me.

And I knew, without a doubt, that Skye Leone had ruined me for anyone else.

I reached behind me where I knew I had a clean shirt, then wiped us both clean. I balled it up and threw it onto the floor in the back seat, turning to meet Skye’s gaze.

“We should have probably talked about protection,” I started, rubbing the back of my neck.

“I have an IUD. And I’m clean.”

“I’m clean too,” I assured her quickly. It was a benefit—or curse, some might say—of having a mother who was a doctor. She instilled that shit into me before my thirteenth birthday.

“I’m not going to share you,” she signed with a determined expression. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it exclusively.”

I smiled. “You read my mind, zayka.”

Back at my parents’ house, I walked Skye to her bedroom, then returned to my own, where I showered, put on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, then proceeded to pace around until the crack of dawn.

Needing to burn off whatever this odd energy was, I made my way into the gym. I fought a yawn as I pulled open the door, startling when I saw my uncle setting his program on the treadmill.

“Two days in a row with a shirt on,” was Sasha’s greeting as he started his workout. “I’m impressed.”

“It’s Skye’s doing,” I answered. His brows met his hairline, but he didn’t comment. “Is Branka still asleep?”

He shrugged, lifting his eyes up to the ceiling like he was saying a prayer. “Still shopping Black Friday deals with Tatiana and Isabella.”

“Ah.”

“I wish they would move away from that damn tradition.”

“You’re just jealous that someone else is spending time with your wife.”

“Damn straight.” That was the thing about Uncle Sasha. He didn’t even try to hide his crazy obsessive ways. And neither would I.

I stepped on the treadmill beside him and we ran for the next twenty minutes before calling it. I reached for the towel, swiping at my forehead before throwing it into the basket by the water cooler. I gave it about ten seconds of thought before turning to my uncle who was stretching an arm over his chest.

“What if I were to marry Skye?”

His movements paused mid-air before he gave me his swift reply: “No.”

“Why not?” I challenged. “I can keep her safe, and she’s already part of this family. Are you honestly prepared to tell me you’d rather let a Marchetti have her?”

He remained quiet for several minutes, moving around the gym aimlessly—pulling weights off the barbell only to restack it. Finally, he sat down and threw a stick of gum into his mouth. Fuck, that was never a good sign.

He sprawled himself on the padded gym floor, staring at the ceiling like it had all the answers.

“When did you become so selfless, Nikola?”

“I’m just looking out for a fellow Nikolaev,” I grumbled. “Besides, her connection to Dante Leone is crucial to our family and its business dealings.”

“Hmmm.”

“Honestly, I’m surprised you’re okay with giving her away to a fucking Marchetti.” Offense was the best defense, right? “They’ve made a strategic alliance with the DiMauros by arranging the marriage between Penelope and the eldest Marchetti son. And now, if they get a Leone, the Marchettis would pretty much own Italy. They’d be the Omertà’s ruling family.”

“And what does that have to do with Skye?” he drawled lazily. Dangerously.

“She’s—” Mine, I wanted to growl, but stopped myself at the last second. “Ours. She’s a Nikolaev. Always has been and always will be.”

He jumped to his feet, his eyes boring into me.

“That’s right. She’ll always be a Nikolaev—her last name doesn’t change that. However, Nikola—” He got into my face, but I held my own. Uncle terrified most people, but not me. “You and your tendencies for violence, along with your… extracurriculars… would destroy her. And that is the reason she’ll never marry you.”

He stalked toward the exit, but his hand paused on the door handle as he turned around and met my gaze. “Don’t let me fucking hear you touched her, Nikola. Or you and I will have a problem.”

“Too fucking late,” I muttered under my breath.

Because I had done a lot more than just touch Skye Leone.

21

NIKOLA

After my talk with Sasha, I’d gone back to my bedroom and got a few hours of much-needed rest. When I woke up feeling recharged, I was determined to talk to Skye’s father one-on-one. To convince him Skye was better off with me than Amadeo Marchetti.

I cornered Dante Leone just as he was leaving my father’s office. I knew they were meeting to discuss their new distribution routes. They rotated them every few weeks to keep the Coast Guard and Border Patrol off their tail.

“Mr. Leone, I need to talk to you about Skye.”

His jaw clenched at my sudden appearance.

“Don’t you own a shirt?” he gritted.

“I do. Many shirts, in fact.”

“You should really start wearing them.”

“I will, sir.” Once I’m your son-in-law. “I just rushed out of my room to catch you so we could talk for a minute.”

His brows twitched in surprise, but other than that, he maintained his composure. “What about, son?”

Okay, he called me son. That was a good sign.

“Step into the library with me?” I gestured down the hall, letting him walk ahead of me.

Once inside with the door firmly closed, Mr. Leone turned around, staring at me expectantly.

“Okay, Nikola. What’s so important?”

“Skye can’t get engaged to Amadeo Marchetti,” I stated firmly. “He’s all but a stranger to her, and she’d be better off with me, under the protection of the Nikolaev family name.”

Tense silence followed, a range of emotions—none good—filtering through his eyes. Then he drew a deep breath in and closed his eyes for a heartbeat.

When he opened them, I knew his answer before he uttered it. “No.”

Do. Not. Lose. Your. Fucking. Temper.

“With all due respect, sir, you’re making a mistake,” I said. “Every member of the Nikolaev family knows ASL. Expertly. We understand her. We—I know her strengths. We’ll make sure she’s never held back from her full potential.” I paused, rolling my lips. “The Marchetti family are strangers to her.”

“They won’t be strangers for long. I’ve looked into Amadeo. He’s a good kid, serious. He will be faithful to my Skye.”

“So would I.”

There was no chance he could have misinterpreted those words.

He flashed me a smile. “Didn’t I tell you I’d feed you to the sharks if you tried anything with Skye?”

“You did.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I meant what I said.”

I shrugged. “If it keeps Skye out of the Marchetti family tree, go ahead. Feed me to the sharks.”

“Meaning?”

“I won’t let her marry that fucker.”

“Yes, you will. Look her way, boy, and you’ll wish you were never born.”

I squared my shoulders, refusing to back down.

Dante took a step closer, getting in my face. It might have been effective, if only I wasn’t taller than him.

“Skye doesn’t need a man who’s into perverted, kinky shit.”

“Who says I’m into that?” I challenged, more than willing to give all that up if it meant marrying Skye with her father’s approval.

“Let me make this clear, Nikola. For as long as I’m breathing, there is no chance in hell that Skye will be your wife.”

Why wasn’t I surprised one fucking bit?

He stormed out of the library, my words not making it to his ears as I muttered, “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Dante Leone.”

22

SKYE

Idon’t want you to teach me how to tie my tie. I want you to do it for me. Every day for the rest of our lives.

Nikola’s words played on repeat as I wrestled with sleeplessness. When I woke up the next day, giddy with hope, the sun was high in the sky and the digits on the clock blinked 10:09 a.m. in angry red letters. The Thanksgiving weekend was quickly coming to an end, and I didn’t want to waste another minute.

I shot out of bed, brushed my teeth, and was about to go in search of Nikola in this vast Nikolaev compound when the door of my room opened.

My papa’s head peeked through, immediately followed by my mama’s, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Come in.” I waved them over, then pulled my white cardigan sweater over my sheer tank top that might be appropriate for Nikola’s eyes but definitely not my parents’. I’d paired it with a pink short skirt.

“You slept in,” Mama remarked as they entered.

Papa ruffled my hair, a warm smile grazing his lips. My papa was a ruthless man, but I never saw that side of him. “Sorry for interrupting you.”

“You two could never interrupt me, Papa.”

He took a seat on the sofa and Mama took her usual spot on his lap. It would be gross with anyone else, but knowing my parents’ love story, I chose to view it as romantic.

“Nikola cornered me in the library.” My chest expanded with hope. “The shithead had so much to say, a real yapper that one.”

“Oh.” I really wished Papa wouldn’t choose today to be so cryptic.

“What’s with the late start to the day?” Mama remarked. “That isn’t like you.”

“I think jet lag is messing with me. Traveling to Italy, then here to Louisiana. It’s catching up,” I lied shamelessly. It wasn’t as if I could tell them what went on with Nikola last night.

“How was your lunch with Kostya? Did it turn into dinner?” Mama asked.

Papa’s eyes narrowed into slits. “I sure as fuck hope he didn’t push it with you.”

I chuckled, feeling my cheeks burn. “It didn’t turn into dinner.”

“Good.” Papa seemed relieved. “When Nikola approached me earlier, he looked like he’d slept in too. Must be something in the air.”

My heart skipped a beat, but I kept my expression blank.

“Mama and I are going back to Italy tomorrow. There’s only so much of the Nikolaevs and the United States we can take. You sure you don’t want to come along with us?”

I leaned back on the windowsill. “My classes are back in session on Monday.”

“I’m sure they won’t mind you skipping a week or two.”

I plastered on my brightest smile as I faced my parents. “Papa, that’s not the way to reach graduation. I want to finish my bachelor’s before I’m forty.”

“I’m just worried,” Papa admitted, then shared a fleeting glance with Mama. “We both want you closer to home.”

He had always been overbearing, always searching for the slightest hint of distress. I loved him for it, but I didn’t need all that protection.

“I know, but I learned to protect myself at D’Arc,” I reasoned. “Isn’t that the reason you sent me there? Besides, you taught me how to shoot from an early age. I’m safe on campus. I’ll be home for Christmas anyway.”

Papa’s hawk-like gaze zeroed in on me, then flitted around my room. “Why do I feel like you’re keeping something from us?”

I squared my shoulders. “I don’t know, Papa. Maybe because your guilty conscience is eating at you?”

Another shared glance between my parents, and Mama signed, “We have to tell her.”

I braced myself, knowing they were about to tell me about my arranged marriage, but I couldn’t deny the hope I felt. Could Nikola have asked Papa to marry me?

“Princess, I don’t want you to overreact. What I’m about to tell you might come as a shock,” Papa started slowly. “I just want you to know that these are difficult⁠—”

Mama released an annoyed breath, always preferring to cut to the chase. “Papa arranged a marriage for you to keep you safe.”

I swallowed, my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest. “Okay…”

“To Amadeo Marchetti,” Papa added, and I stared at him in shock. Of course I knew this information already, but I thought—hoped—there would be a groom switcheroo of sorts. “The Marchettis are powerful, and should something happen to me⁠—”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you. I can’t believe you would do this without checking with me first.” I shook my head, still reeling from his admission. “And if something were to happen, Mama and I would be safe with the Nikolaevs or with Aunt Reina and Uncle Amon. This marriage talk makes no sense.”

“I told you,” Mama signed, and Papa’s expression darkened. She simply clicked her tongue and patted his hand in comfort.

“Is the contract signed?” I questioned. Papa nodded slowly and I threw my hands out wide. “What about Nikola?”

Papa’s eyes narrowed on me. “What about him?”

“You said he came to talk to you. What did he want?” Nikola surely wasn’t chitchatting with Papa for the hell of it. The two couldn’t stand each other, and that animosity had bled into every conversation I’d witnessed to date.

“He came to annoy me, that’s all.”

I reached up and pulled my hair at the roots, ready to argue some more, but we were interrupted when Sasha appeared at my door. His tall, muscular body crowded the frame, the ink on his body dark and bold not for the faint of heart.

Branka peered over his shoulder and he pulled her forward, wrapping his big arms around her. I tried to ignore the knot in my chest but failed.

Watching them be so open with their love made it easy to imagine what Nikola and I could have.

“Sasha, Papa is marrying me off,” I signed with shaky fingers. I’d never wanted to turn the men against each other any more than they already were, always preferring to play peacemaker, but there was a first time for everything. Sasha wouldn’t allow this marriage to go through if he saw how distressed I was. “I don’t want it. I can’t marry Amadeo.”

Then, to my shock, he uttered the last words I thought I’d ever hear: “I know, princess. Your papa and I talked it through. It’s for the best, and you’ll realize it too.”

My mouth fell open, and I stared at my blended family in shock.

Then I bolted out of the room, pushing Branka and Sasha out of the way.

It took me ten minutes of running through the manor to learn that Nikola wasn’t home. I found myself outside, panting, my hands braced on my knees.

A hand came to my shoulder and I whirled around. Marietta stood dressed in her favorite brand: Chanel. A black-and-white cocktail dress fit her slim frame and matched the white pumps on her feet.

“Hey,” I greeted her lamely.

“You look upset,” she remarked, pushing her black sunglasses up to sit on her head.

I let out a wry chuckle. “That’s probably because I am.”

She tilted her head. “What happened?”

“My parents, along with Sasha and Branka, plan on marrying me off to some stranger.”

She cocked a perfectly shaped brow. “I guess you’re not happy about it?”

I shook my head. “Who in their right mind would be happy about something like this?”

“Well, we need to do something about it.” I shot her a surprised look. “They can’t marry you off like cattle.”

“I agree, yet here we are.”

“Let’s find Nikola, he’ll put a stop to it.” Hope flickered inside my chest for the second time today, and my expression probably matched it. She started heading toward the driveway, passing the stone fountain we used to splash around in when we were younger.

“You think so?” I said, tripping over myself to follow her.

“Absolutely.” Her determined expression told me she believed it too. “He’ll know what to do. Get in the car.”

Normally, I would pause. Marietta was the worst, most distracted driver I’d ever had the displeasure of witnessing behind the wheel, but today I slid into her Maserati eagerly.

“Where is Nikola anyhow?” I asked her after I clicked the seat belt.

“The Den of Sin.”

I released a slow breath and clutched my seat as Marietta shot out of the driveway like she was prepared to blast into space. My leg bounced and I stared out the window, thinking about nothing except finding Nikola.

He would take my side.

23

DANTE

My daughter was unhappy with me, and it killed me. It was a brand-new feeling that I wasn’t familiar with. She was my sidekick, my little princess, and suddenly she wasn’t so little anymore. I didn’t know how to handle it. It was all happening way too soon.

The fucking shitshow moved from Skye’s bedroom to the library while I nursed a glass of some clear liquid called moonshine that Sasha insisted was the only drink that would help in this situation.

It tasted like fucking piss, and I was fairly certain it was poisoning me from the inside.

“She didn’t take it as well as I’d hoped,” Sasha remarked.

“You fucking think?” I gritted, glaring at him. “This is all you Nikolaevs’ fault.”

I wanted to strangle the kid, throw him into the local river and let the gators feast on him. But I couldn’t because I was a goddamn guest here, and I had a sinking feeling Skye would never forgive me.

Of course I couldn’t share my suspicions because Nix would have my balls if she knew Nikola asked to have her and I said no.

“Don’t you fucking blame me and my family,” Sasha snapped. “I saw some benefit and might’ve agreed, but you were the one who caved in to Marchetti’s arranged-fucking-marriage talk.”

“You’re both to blame,” Branka declared.

“You should have asked Skye what she wanted.” My wife sniffed and shot Branka a look, then they turned their backs to us and went to the opposite side of the room.

Sasha and I shared an exasperated look, and I slammed my glass of moonshine against the bar top.

How in the fuck did we get here? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I picked my glass up again, tipped my head back, and let the horrid alcohol burn its way down my throat and into my stomach.

I glanced over my shoulder at the women huddled in conversation, then lowered my voice as I admitted, “Nikola asked me for Skye’s hand.”

“That little shit,” he hissed. “You said no, right?”

I leveled him with a look. “Do you think I want my princess to marry a younger version of your crazy self?”

“Hey, uncalled for.” He refilled our glasses with the alcohol. “Nikola is my nephew, not my son.”

I grabbed the glass and took a healthy gulp. “He might as well be your son. He’s all you.”

He tipped his head back and emptied his glass. “I’m not sure if I should be proud or offended.”

“Definitely the latter.” I shoved my shoulder into him and he slipped off the stool, falling onto his ass. “And here I thought Russians could hold their drink.”

“Drink? Yes. Moonshine… not so much.”

I waved at my wife, then signed, “He’s fine. Come over here and forgive me already. Give me a kiss.”

Shit, was I drunk too? My hand gestures were sloppy and uncoordinated.

Neither woman made any move to join us, but I didn’t get the opportunity to coax her any further because a roar sounded, nearly sending me toppling onto the floor next to Sasha.

“What in the fucking hell is happening here?” Vasili questioned as he stormed over to us. “And why are you two drinking my liquor?”

“Brat, you always said tu casa is my casa.” Sasha’s Spanish was giving me the worst headache ever. “Tvoy dom—moy dom.”

Fuck, his Russian was even worse. Why couldn’t he stick to Italian? Ahem, English. Whatever language wouldn’t give me a headache.

“That still doesn’t explain why you two are getting drunk together like two sorrowful idiots?” Vasili grumbled.

“Where in the fuck were you?” Sasha slurred. “Skye is… missing.”

Vasili’s brow furrowed. “She went out with Marietta.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” I echoed. “I guess that’s good.”

“Isn’t it a bit early in the day to start drinking that shit?” Vasili questioned, eyeing the glasses on the bar.

“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” Sasha drawled, getting to his feet and rubbing his ass. “Jesus, I think that’s gonna bruise.”

“You’re lucky it’s the only thing bruised,” I remarked, my words slightly slurred. I had to stop drinking this shit. It was lethal.

“Why are you two drinking together?” Vasili asked, narrowing his eyes. “You’re usually too busy arguing.”

“We had an urgent… matter to discuss,” I said. “And our wives are mad at us.”

Vasili snickered. “It was bound to happen eventually. You’re both too hardheaded for any woman to put up with. They’re saints for lasting this long.”

“Fuck. You.”

He joined us at the bar. “Now, what happened?”

“Matchmaking gone wrong,” I muttered.

“What he said,” Sasha echoed. “It was funnier when it happened to Nico and Luciano. Twins identity gone wrong happened to us.”

Vasili’s eyebrows shot up. “I didn’t know either of you had twins.”

I waved my hand. “We don’t.”

“Man, this situation is even worse than that of Nico and Luciano,” Sasha grumbled. I didn’t follow, and I certainly wasn’t in the mood to ask for an explanation. “Why did I have a daughter?”

“She’s my daughter, stronzo,” I muttered.

“Mine too,” Sasha argued back.

“Don’t start on that shit again,” Vasili hissed.

And that was how the three of us found ourselves seated at the bar, drinking moonshine for the remainder of the day.

24

SKYE

Nikola wasn’t at the club and wasn’t expected for another few hours, so Marietta and I decided to kill time strolling through the French Quarter, sipping cocktails, and eventually stopping at the tattoo parlor.

Marietta got a tiny tramp stamp that only someone she was intimate with would see.

Likewise, I decided to get a tattoo on my ass: a bite mark in the shape of teeth.

In honor of our first time.

Was it dumb? Maybe. But to my cocktail-hazed brain and empty stomach, it was the best decision I’d ever made.

When we stepped back outside, the sun was bright and we were in no way fit to drive. With that in mind, we visited every antique shop, bakery, and bar on Bourbon Street after proclaiming ourselves the experts at tasting Sazerac, rating them for the owners.

Sometimes they appreciated it, other times they didn’t. But we were mostly grateful no one carded us.

The outside temperatures were comfortable and warm, but we were sweating like it was the dead of summer.

“Someone should really turn down the heat,” Marietta yelled at nobody in particular. “Chanel does not absorb sweat well.”

Our drunken selves snickered, and Marietta tripped over a nonexistent bump in the road. Luckily I caught her, only to stumble forward, sending us both to our knees.

“Oh, fuck. I hit my funny bone.” We shared a glance and burst into a fit of giggles when a dark shadow blocked the sunlight. Our heads shifted upward to find the man we’d been looking for.

“Heeeey,” Marietta greeted him with a drunken smile.

I waved, or attempted to, while gawking at the most handsome boy I’d ever met.

He took Marietta’s elbow and helped her up while I admired Nikola’s strong form. He was dressed in jeans that hung low on his hips and a white T-shirt. Every time he moved, his shirt revealed a hint of his V lines.

With Marietta now on somewhat solid ground, he hooked his arm around my waist and helped me up. His scent wrapped around me like a gauzy cloud and I forced my gaze on his face.

“Hey,” I signed, my movements sloppy and disoriented. “Where are you?”

Nikola rolled his eyes. “Right fucking here, zayka.”

I smiled drunkenly, patting his cheek affectionately. “You’re so beautiful.”

Nikola had the wild kind of beauty that called to me. Sharp jawline, lips that promised many sinful things. High cheekbones. Blond hair that was always cut too short, but not short enough not to be able to rake my fingers through it.

I always thought Nikola didn’t want me, but ever since Halloween, I knew he had to feel this attraction between us. It ran deep. It was real. I inched closer, reaching up to gently press the crease between his brows.

He grabbed my hand, but he didn’t stop me from brushing my fingers along his brow. Instead, he just controlled the movements while our gazes clashed. Pale blue with dark, deep blue.

Marietta started jumping excitedly, drawing Nikola’s and my attention before she announced, “If you guys wanna get busy right here in the street, I’ll record it. Then her parents won’t be able to marry her off.”

An idea flickered in my head, but my brain was too hazy to latch on to it.

“Take my sister home,” Nikola barked, his eyes locking on a man who looked vaguely familiar. “Not a scratch on her or I swear to God, Adrik, you’re a dead man.”

Fuck, of course. His cousin Adrik; I recognized him now.

Marietta rolled her eyes and huffed. “Men are so hypocritical. Show him your tattoo, Skye.”

Nikola looked between us with a dark expression. “What tattoo? What’s she talking about, Skye?”

“I tattooed something on my ass,” I signed, not willing to admit that it was his bite mark, even in my drunken state. I added, “She got a tramp stamp.”

“Take her home before I strangle her,” Nikola hissed.

25

NIKOLA

“Drunk as fucking sailors,” I grumbled into the phone. “Or the damn tourists who frequent Mardi Gras. Except that it’s November.”

After I sent Marietta home with Adrik, who was barely old enough to drive, I brought Skye to The Den of Sin. Skye, who was now asleep in my office at the back of the club.

“It just doesn’t seem like her,” Matteo answered.

“How in the fuck am I supposed to marry her in this state?” I roared. “No priest will agree to that.”

I had everything arranged too, but when the priest saw Skye passed out cold and reeking of alcohol, he drew the line.

“I’m sure there is one somewhere,” he reasoned.

“Want to send me the number of the one that married you?” I retorted in a dry tone.

“He stopped returning my phone calls.”

“How convenient.”

“Are you sure you can’t change your uncle’s mind?” Matteo asked. “From what I heard, Dante Leone is a hard nut to crack, but your uncle always wanted Skye closer to him and Branka.” He chuckled. “Doesn’t get closer than slapping the Nikolaev name on the girl.”

I scoffed. “You would think, but apparently I’m worse for Skye than any other man on this planet.”

“Well, do what you must, and then ask for forgiveness later.”

“That worked out for you because Morrelli isn’t as crazy as my uncle,” I pointed out. “I might not live through the ordeal.”

Matteo chuckled. “Just convince her to marry you. She wants you, doesn’t she?”

“And how would you know what Skye wants?”

He scoffed. “Jesus, Nikola. The girl had eyes for you for as long as I can remember. It’s more than I had with Ari.”

“Well, I can’t force the marriage today since no priest will do it with her drunk as fuck. But I do have another idea,” I said.

“Care to share with the class?”

“Absolutely the fuck not.”

Not with what I had planned.

I sat watching over Skye’s passed-out form as the tattoo artist worked on inking my name on her wedding finger and hers on mine.

Things might not be going according to plan, but I was determined to make do. The tattoo artist was the one I’d used myself many times. The best part: neither she nor her partner had any qualms about my instructions, so they got straight to work. The woman worked on Skye while her husband worked on my own tattoo.

Once they finished with the ink, the artists left and I eyed her finger with smug satisfaction.

My plan had been to marry her today, but I decided to be flexible. And I had my sister to thank for it, of all people. She gave me the idea to make a sex tape. Once Amadeo Marchetti saw it, he would refuse to marry Skye. No self-respecting mobster would marry her after such an overt—not to mention public—show of betrayal.

And then she’d be mine.

I locked the room back up to ensure no one bothered her, then checked the surveillance feed. She had her phone, so I knew she’d call me, but I’d also get a motion alert the moment she woke up.

In the meantime, I made my way to the torture room where the other tattoo artist waited for me. The fucker who inked my woman’s ass.

“Mr. Boucher, tell me what possessed you to tattoo my woman,” I drawled in greeting as I shut the door behind me. “Did you or did you not touch her ass?”

His eyes widened and he stuttered, “Wh-what? No… N-no, I d-didn’t.”

“Furthermore, you gave my sister a tramp stamp,” I added, tsking. “Big mistake. Didn’t you ask to see their IDs?”

“They were old enough.”

“Ah, so you admit to tattooing them.” He whimpered, shooting to his feet, but before he could break away, I grabbed his shoulders and forced him back on his ass. “Don’t you fucking think about it, or I’ll be tempted to make this worse for you.”

He froze, shoulders heaving with the force of his sharp breaths. I grinned savagely, leaning against the wall just as Adrik returned.

“Ahh, right on time,” I drew out. “Meet my cousin. I can’t get blood on me today, so he’ll do the honors.”

Adrik flashed him a cold smile as he circled him. “Time for your lesson, fucker.”

He carved a long cut on the man’s arm, drawing blood. The sight of crimson trickling down the artist’s arm made my body hum with excitement, and I wanted so badly to spill some blood and dish out pain.

But that wasn’t how today would go. I wouldn’t touch my future wife with bloodstained hands.

Rather, I watched my cousin torture the poor bastard until he cried like a baby while I waited for my woman to wake up.

26

SKYE

Iwoke up groggy, my thoughts a jumbled mess.

I couldn’t remember the last time my head and eyelids felt this heavy. The world shifted and I waited for the blurriness to cease, only for shock to set in as my surroundings registered.

Nikola’s bedroom in The Den of Sin.

My skin prickled at the feeling of being watched, but there was nobody in the room. I shifted off the bed, slightly unsteady on my feet, when the door opened and the man I’d wanted since I was a teenager stood there.

I should have reeled back or been terrified at the possessiveness he held behind his gaze. Yet all I could feel was excitement. Comfort. Safety.

“Wh-what… How did I get here?” I asked, struggling to move my hands while trying desperately to orient myself. I remembered drinking with Marietta, roaming the French Quarter…

“I carried you here.” He appeared calm, but his eyes burned, doing things to me. “You and Marietta were hammered.”

“Where is she?”

“Back at the house.” He shut the door behind him, slowly strolling toward me. “You shouldn’t be getting drunk when I’m not around. It isn’t safe, and you know better than that.”

I flinched at the reprimand. “I was looking for you.”

He lifted his cell phone.

“Funny, not a single message came through.”

“Well, since you never answered my messages before, it seemed pointless and didn’t cross my mind,” I signed, flicking a glance at the wall and noting the time.

It was only three in the afternoon. I returned my eyes to his tall frame, doing my best to ignore the trembling in my knees. He looked so handsome in those low-hung jeans and tight T-shirt that hinted at his canvas of ink. I squeezed my hands into fists to keep from reaching for him and⁠—

Ow. What is…

I snapped my head down and narrowed my eyes. I blinked several times, then lifted my hand and brought it closer to my face, certain I was seeing things. But no, the black marks were still there.

“What the fuck is this?” I asked, holding up the finger that had Nikola carved into my reddened skin.

“It’s a tattoo.”

“I can see that, but why is it on my wedding ring finger?”

He shrugged. “We can get a ring later, but this is to ensure everyone knows you’re mine. If you hadn’t gotten so drunk, we’d already be married.”

I blinked, then blinked again. “Married?”

He smiled and my heart tripped over itself. “Yes, but we lost the priest and I had to improvise.”

My brows drew together, unable to follow his meaning. Or maybe my brain was catching up to my inevitable hangover.

“I don’t like the idea of carrying your name inked on my skin when you⁠—”

He raised his hand, drawing my attention to the matching ink on his ring finger.

“I’m not that much of a hypocrite, Skye. You and me, zayka.” I smiled, my chest glowing like a hundred-watt bulb. If that wasn’t a declaration of love, I didn’t know what was. “So what should we do now?”

“I’m not going back home.” I wasn’t ready to deal with my papa and the marriage he’d arranged on my behalf—against my will.

He flashed me a devilish grin. “Good. I was hoping you’d say that.”

I tilted my head, waiting for him to elaborate, but he remained silent. So I stepped toward him, placing my left hand on his chest. “Why is that?”

He shrugged, a playful glint entering his eyes that I hadn’t seen since we were children. “We could play Roblox.”

I pursed my lips. He hated that game. “I think we outgrew that game.”

A deep chuckle vibrated in his chest, pushing against the palm of my hand.

“I think you’re right, zayka.” He bent his head and pressed a kiss to my forehead before signing, “We could try something else.”

I decided to go for it. No more tiptoeing around each other. “We could play a different kind of game.”

His eyebrows shot up at my boldness. “Oh, yeah? Elaborate.”

“We could play strip poker? Strip Jenga?” Nikola stroked his chin as if he were seriously considering it. “Or strip twister,” I suggested, my cheeks flushing. “Every time we fall, we remove an article of clothing until we’re completely naked and…”

“And fucking,” he finished for me.

“Making love,” I corrected him, so full of love and infatuation for this man it wasn’t even funny. “I’m a red-blooded woman with needs and desires, but I want more than just meaningless sex with you, Nikola.”

“Tell me exactly what you want, zayka.”

My heart lurched, urging me to go all in. He’d been my obsession for so long, I was terrified of doing something wrong.

“I want everything with you. I want to know what pleases you—” I paused. Over the years, I’d fallen in love with every piece of Nikola and I wasn’t afraid to show it, but he hadn’t echoed my sentiments. He said he wanted me, but did he love me? Suddenly, insecurity slithered through me. I tilted my chin up, adopting an indifferent expression, but my hands shook when I signed my next words. “I want to know how to please men in general.”

Yet, I knew the only person in my future was this pale-eyed devil. And there was no way in hell I would even attempt to please any other man, never mind Amadeo Marchetti.

“You won’t be pleasing any other men, so get that out of your head.” Nikola perched lazily on the doorframe and arched a light-blond eyebrow, but possessive heat burned brightly in his eyes. “Don’t you fucking dare even think those words, never mind say them, Skye.”

Relief settled in my chest at hearing the deepness and intensity in his voice while his gaze touched mine. The way he looked at me, the way he spoke to me, the way he wanted me… something about it all felt so undeniably right. It always did with Nikola.

My fingers didn’t shake when I signed my next words.

“Then touch me. Fuck me. Make love to me. Because I can’t live without you and I know—or at least I hope— you’ve been thinking about what happened between us as much as I have.”

My cheeks burned, but I refused to feel ashamed or intimidated. Ever since I’d gotten a taste of Nikola, it had been all I could think about. I wanted him to see me as a woman. His woman.

His silence made me even more reckless.

“Papa’s going to marry me off.” My hands signed the words before my brain could even process them, letting my despair bleed into every sign. “And I’m afraid this tattoo on my finger won’t be enough to stop anyone.”

“Over my dead body will you marry anyone else. I’ll never let anyone else touch you. Fucking ever.” His expression was cold, somewhat dousing my bravado. But then he ran a thumb across my cheek and my body melted. “I knew about the marriage contract from day one.”

My heart dropped. “What?”

“I’m not going to let it happen, Skye. You’re mine. I’ve tried talking to Uncle Sasha and your papa. I tried to convince them to let you marry me.” Hope flickered in my chest, but his next words extinguished them. “Both of them rejected the idea, but that won’t stop me. I’ve been trying to figure out a way to ensure that the marriage contract doesn’t happen.”

“So, you’ll help me, then?” It was hard to hide my hopeful expression; Nikola’s wry smile and knowing gaze told me as much.

“You’ll do exactly what I say, zayka.” I nodded enthusiastically while his gaze coasted down my body. “I’ll be gentle with your heart but rough with your body.”

“Exactly how I like it.”

And why I love you, I thought. But I couldn’t quite muster the courage to give him those words, because I knew myself. I would demand them in return. I wanted to give him my everything, but I also wanted his everything.

He pushed off the wall and crossed the room. “I have an idea on how to end this marriage contract.”

Oh, so did I, but I’d let him tell me his idea first. “I’m all ears.”

“Simple.” He flicked a glance behind me and I followed it to the blinking red lights surrounding the room. “We make a sex tape. Marchetti sees it and breaks things off.” He shrugged. “There’s no time like the present to make it happen.”

I considered his words. They should have shocked me, but I was thrilled. Buzzing with pent-up energy. Maybe it was the idea of taking matters into my own hands and refusing to let my papa decide who and when I should marry. Or maybe it was simply the fact that Nikola would touch me—own my body—again.

“I don’t know how I feel about anyone else seeing me naked,” I stated, a slow grin stretching my lips. “But I think I can make an exception for a worthy cause.”

“I’ll edit it so you’re not distinguishable, but I’ll make sure he knows what’s what when I send it to him. I wouldn’t let anyone see you naked. That’s only for me.”

My cheeks burned, yet the throbbing between my thighs intensified with the images his words conjured in my mind.

“Okay.”

“So you’re up for it?” He was asking for my permission, and if there was still a part of my heart that didn’t belong to him, it certainly did now.

“Yes.”

No hesitation. No dwelling. Just trust.

“Turn around,” he instructed and I obeyed, painfully aware he was checking out my ass. My thighs trembled and so did my heart as I glanced over my shoulder to find his expression unreadable.

“Lift your skirt for me,” he signed and mouthed at the same time. Again, I did as he asked, my heart racing so fast I feared it would leave my chest and run to him.

I caught him studying the bite tattoo on my ass.

“Do you like it?” I signed with one hand.

“Very much, although the idea that someone else touched your ass… not so much.” His gaze met mine as he said, “Did you forget to wear panties just to drive me crazy?”

I swallowed, tempted to lie, but my slow nod gave me away.

“Fuck, you’re going to ruin me.” I’d never seen such reverence in his eyes before. “Your papa is right. You’re a good girl.”

I turned around, my skirt still bunched around my waist. Brazenly, I reached between my legs and dragged my finger over my throbbing clit. When he didn’t say anything else, I lifted my hands and signed, “Maybe, but I want to be bad with you.”

His eyes flared and his big fingers wrapped around my wrist.

I bit down on my lower lip, watching as he brought my hand to his mouth, and our gazes locked as he sucked on my finger.

“That was the right answer, zayka.” His mouth moved and I read his lips. “I’m going to make you mine.” I smiled and he dropped my hand, signing as he continued, “Just remember that I’m just finishing what you started.”

I didn’t get to ask him what he meant by that because his lips came down on mine as he roughly grabbed my ass, hoisting my legs around his waist, our kiss never ceasing. My long brown hair fell all the way to my butt, brushing against my bare back as he angled my head to deepen the kiss with the need I felt in the pit of my stomach.

He bit my lip. Hard. Punishing.

I reared back, shooting him an undignified look.

He simply bared his teeth.

“That’s for fucking with my head for months.” Then he kissed me again. It was a kiss filled with hunger and passion. The kind I felt in the marrow of my bones. And while I glowed inside, he crossed the room and set me on his desk. The cool surface met my bare ass, and I moaned into his mouth.

I felt every touch, every breath, and every kiss in the cells of my skin.

He peered down at my face as he slid a finger into me in one go, and I groaned.

“Fuck, zayka…” His lips pressed against mine again and I edged toward him, bucking my hips, shamelessly begging for more. Dragging his finger over the wetness of my clit, he shoved two fingers inside of me this time, fanning them open and stretching me so I became unbearably full.

I shuddered violently with need and pleasure, my nails sinking into his muscled shoulders.

Our mouths moved together and I pushed my groin forward. I could feel his hard length poking my belly.

“I’m going to make love to you, Skye Leone. Fuck you.” Yes, fucking please. Finally he was coming around. “But most importantly, I’m going to own you.”

His tongue thrust into my mouth, swallowing my moan as I slid down his body, our bodies flush and fitting together like two jigsaw pieces.

A heartbeat later we were removing our clothes, movements frantic.

His bare, hard chest finally in plain sight, a sigh left my lips. I didn’t quite get to admire him the last time, but Nikola was a work of art. Strong, wide shoulders. Amazing abs. Big everywhere.

I reached for his sun-kissed skin, tracing his ink with my finger. As if impatient, he pushed his hard body against my soft one, skin on hot skin making my pussy clench greedily.

“I need you inside me.” I mouthed the words breathlessly.

His rough hands traveled the length of my body, almost as if he needed to mark me as his, leaving a sizzling hot sensation in their wake and me a panting mess.

We kissed feverishly, our tongues tangling as we tasted and explored. I hooked my leg around his waist, his hard cock notched against my entrance.

I had no sense of place and time as I clung to him like he was my anchor. He walked us over to a corner where my back hit the wall.

“Wh-what… Why are you moving?” I could barely string a sentence.

“Cameras,” he said and signed once he’d set me on his thighs, taking my weight as if it were a walk in the park. “They won’t see us, only our shadow.”

Then without a warning, he slammed inside me, filling me to the hilt. My head craned back in bliss, hitting the wall while a moan vibrated in my throat.

I watched through hooded eyelids as he reached a hand between us, his fingers finding my clit. He circled it slowly at first, but then he rubbed the sensitive spot faster and harder, nipping at the skin of my neck and driving me out of my mind.

My body arched into him, urging him to start fucking me, and he did. Closing my eyes, the heat built and my heart stilled for a fraction of a second before I burst into a million pieces. A languid heat swam through my bloodstream as my pussy clenched around his thick cock, taking everything he gave me.

His big hand came to my cheek, and I could barely peel my eyelids open.

“We’re only getting started.”

Then his hips pistoned into me, drawing another orgasm right behind the first.

He pounded into me like a ruthless beast, his fingers digging into my flesh, holding me up when I thought I’d slump over.

It wasn’t long before another orgasm burst through me with his name on my lips. My nails dug into his back, scratching and clawing as my pussy spasmed around his shaft. He thrust once, twice more, before he followed me right over the edge.

My breathing was harsh like I’d just run a marathon and it took a while for the thundering pulse in my skull to ease. As the haze lifted, my eyes locked on his mouth as he uttered the most beautiful words.

“I fucking love it when you say my name.” He peppered kisses all over my face before pulling back. “And I love it when you take me so confidently because you know I’m yours,” he said before kissing me hard again.

I’m yours. The words unlocked something inside my chest, caressing my soul.

Now that I had him, I’d never let him go. I’d fight tooth and nail to finally make him mine.

27

DANTE

My daughter still hadn’t returned, although considering my state, it might have been a good thing. The grandfather clock chimed, each dong ricocheting in my skull.

“Jesus, can the fucking dinging end already?” Sasha grumbled, slurring his words. I vowed never to drink his moonshine again.

Nix and Branka entered the room, wearing their disapproval like it was a fashion statement.

“I hope it teaches you both,” Branka spat.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I cleared my throat and tried again.

“What time is it?” Fuck, I wasn’t even sure if I asked the question in English or Italian.

“Five o’clock,” Vasili answered, refusing the glass that Sasha shoved his way. He must have known what poison Sasha was feeding me because he stopped drinking it hours ago.

Our wives had been in and out of the room all day, pointedly ignoring us.

“You two sure you want to keep on going like this?” the eldest Nikolaev asked, eyeing his brother disapprovingly. “You’re too old to behave like this, and you’re not going to make your wives happy.”

Great, now he was giving us advice. Just what I needed.

I pushed the full glass away, spilling some of its contents.

“I’m done. I need a clear head,” I said as a beep sounded. I glanced around, frowning. “Fuck, is that clock chiming again?”

Sasha glowered at his drink. “I think so. Time flies when you’re having fun.”

“It’s your phone, you idiot.” Another beep and Vasili fished out his cell phone.

“A message from—” He slid the screen open and shock splashed across his features. My phone dinged next, and I fumbled to reach it on the bar top. I squinted, and it took a few seconds for a name to come into focus.

It was a message from Nikola.

“What the fuck would he want?” I mumbled to myself, recalling our conversation earlier. I wasn’t in the mood for his shit, but I slid the message open and a video started playing. I stared and stared, the fuzziness in my brain refusing to process what I was seeing.

“Where is that little fucker?” I roared, jumping to my feet with the agility of a drunk man.

“Dante—” Vasili never got to finish whatever he was going to say because Sasha bellowed like a general running headfirst into battle.

“I’m going to fucking kill him.” He threw his phone across the room, letting it smash against the mirror in the back of the bar. Glass shattered all over the marble floor. “Where is he?”

Nix appeared next to me, her forehead marred with worry. “What happened?”

“This.” I put the phone in front of her. “Didn’t I say spending Thanksgiving here was a bad idea? The fucking holiday is a reunion shitshow of family members you never want to see,” I roared.

My wife stared at the screen, her mouth open in shock while Sasha’s voice grated on my last nerve.

“At least you consider us family. Even though you never want to see me.” He leaned forward, getting into my face.

I didn’t think twice before my fist flew through the air, connecting with his stupid Russian jaw.

Nix shoved my phone into my chest, glaring at me disapprovingly. “What is wrong with you, Dante?”

“Me?” I shouted, cursing the alcohol that clouded my senses. “My daughter is on film having sex with that shithead Russian.”

“Nikola is a good kid, and he’s always been protective of Skye,” Vasili interrupted. “There has to be some kind of misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding?” I roared so loud my own ears rang. “The video went to the Marchettis. If this fucker hadn’t poisoned me with his damned backcountry American alcohol, I’d take all of you motherfuckers down right now.”

Sasha stood up, swaying on his feet, and grabbed my shoulder. “I’ll help you kill those motherfucking Russians, starting with Nikola. I’ll bury him so deep that not even the devil will find him.”

Vasili shoved him. “You’re Russian too, you idiot. And Nikola is your nephew.”

Sasha blinked, then looked at his wife for confirmation. “I’m afraid so, moye serdtse,” she said.

He turned to face me, resigned to his fate. I squinted my eyes, seeing three images of his face shift back and forth.

“Can you leave me for last so I can help you kill all of them first?” he begged.

I attempted to nod my head but only managed to stumble as Nix caught me.

How in the fuck was I to murder them all if I couldn’t even stand up straight?

28

SKYE

After Nikola released our sex tape, we went back out for a stroll through the French Quarter. We admired a street performer playing the banjo and stopped to grab warm beignets from a food truck, and he never once let go of my hand.

The restlessness grew within me with every passing minute, knowing what awaited us when we got back to the Nikolaev manor.

We rounded the corner at St. Charles Avenue and I turned to face Nikola.

“Are you nervous?”

He chuckled. “Isn’t it a bit late for that?” When I remained quiet, he asked, “Are you regretting it?”

I shook my head and relief passed his expression. “I’m just worried about Papa’s and Sasha’s tempers.”

“Leave them to me,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“Just don’t get killed,” I signed. “I would never forgive you.”

He grinned like a shark. “I always knew you cared about me too much.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not exactly a secret.”

We passed a store, eyeing the paintings for sale. It was one of my favorite things about New Orleans. The Crescent City boasted an attitude unlike any other city I had ever visited. Its vibrant colors always made it seem like it was a carnival season.

The smell of jambalaya and a crawfish boil mixed with alcohol fragranced the air as we aimlessly wandered around, in and out of stores. The street painters filled the square. There were paintings of the French Quarter in a multitude of bright colors, the Garden District, and the New Orleans skyline.

My eye caught on a woman facing the St. Louis Cathedral, the oldest cathedral in North America, but her professional-looking Canon camera was aimed at us, which surprised me. I tripped, and Nikola caught me.

“You okay?”

My eyes darted back to the spot where the woman stood, but she was nowhere to be seen. My brow furrowed, glancing around, but there wasn’t any sign of her.

I waved my hand, dismissing my strange reaction. “Yeah, just daydreaming.”

“As long as it’s about me, you’re allowed. Because that’s all I’ve been doing lately, zayka.”

My stomach fluttered and I grinned happily. I couldn’t control how my heart raced around him or this longing for his touch and hushed whispers. He was the great epiphany of my life.

“I never pegged you for a daydreamer.”

“I’m not,” he grumbled. “Better keep that as our little secret.”

I mimed locking my lips and throwing away the key.

“Nobody will know.” As if drawn by a force, my eyes darted around in search of the photographer. “You’re going to think I’m crazy, but I think I saw a woman taking our picture.”

He stiffened, a somber alertness entering his expression. “What did she look like?”

I shrugged. “I couldn’t really see. The camera was covering her face and she was wearing a headscarf.”

He surveyed our surroundings, then gently urged me to turn around with a nudge on my lower back.

“Let’s get back home and deal with our parents.” I shot him a confused look. “Or I can throw you over my shoulder and carry you to the car.”

My cheeks heated and my heart fluttered. The sexual tension between us sizzled and the whole world faded away, leaving me with the world’s most intense male specimen.

“That would make quite the scene for the locals, don’t you think?”

He must have taken it as a challenge, because he picked me up and threw me over his shoulder as I squealed in surprise. I wanted to tell him I was joking, but as I wiggled, all I managed to earn was a slap on my ass.

And damn if it didn’t turn me on.

29

VASILI

Thanksgiving had gone to shit. What was my solution? Drugging my brother and Dante Leone.

Fuck, they might not wake up for days considering the amount of Ambien I sprinkled into their water.

“Will they die, Bella? That was an awful lot,” Alexei said as he returned from shooing Sasha and Dante into their respective rooms, along with their wives. When the two father figures started their bickering, their anger growing by the second, I called Alexei and had him join me.

Or maybe the better way to put it was: I had him help me drug them.

“They’ll be okay,” my wife assured him. “They’re both big men, so a little extra won’t hurt them.”

“At least we’ll have some peace and quiet for the remainder of the weekend,” he remarked.

“I love your positive outlook,” Bella teased, and his lips quirked.

“I’ll keep an eye out for Nikola and Skye,” Alexei stated, then as per his usual MO, he disappeared.

“Nikola is our only son, but I swear to God, malyshka, I’m tempted to murder him.” I shoved my hand through my hair, surprised there was any left from all the stress my family was putting me through.

“Maybe I should tell him not to come back home until you’ve calmed down,” she muttered.

I scoffed. “And is he supposed to take Dante’s daughter along? Maybe make another fucking sex tape?”

Bella glanced around the empty library room with wide eyes.

“Shhh, stop yelling before someone else hears you,” she warned.

“These children are going to send me to an early grave,” I gritted. “What have we done to deserve this? We were good parents, weren’t we?” I threw my arms out wide. “I like to think we were.”

“Vasili, you’re getting yourself worked up,” my wife said, her voice taking on a soothing quality. “Our children aren’t doing this to us. They’re just trying to find their place in the world, and it’s not for us to stop them. Nikola must have had his reasons for this… this… sex tape.”

“You don’t fucking say.” I shot her a dark look. “But was there a reason to send it to Skye’s papa, Sasha, and the Marchettis?”

“Well, maybe.” The hesitancy in her voice betrayed her. “Maybe he sent it to all of them by mistake.”

“A mistake,” I repeated wryly. “You don’t really believe that, do you, malyshka?”

She sighed. “No, unfortunately not. This seems like a rather calculated move.”

“For once, he acts with brains, and I can’t even be proud because he went and did”—I pointed at the cell phone seated on the counter—“this.”

My wife chuckled. “We have a thing or two to learn about kids these days.”

“Like what? You saying you want to make a sex tape?” I remarked wryly.

My wife wrapped her hands around my waist. “Why not? We wouldn’t need to share ours with the world.”

“I sure hope not,” I grumbled. “I’d be too busy digging out their eyeballs to kick my son’s ass.”

The door to the library swung open and my brother Sasha strode in, leaving the door wide open behind him. “Where is popcorn?”

“What the fuck are you doing up?”

Bella brought her hand up, clutching her forehead. “Shit, I should have given him a bigger dose.”

“I need to kill that fucker,” he slurred, stumbling over the chair. “Fuck, when did you move the furniture around?”

“It’s been there for years,” I said dryly, downing the drink that sat on the bookshelf, the bitter taste trickling down my throat.

“I’m going to teach my nephew a lesson.” He came around the bar cart, holding himself up. “Punch him in the face. Break his pretty nose that he was lucky enough to inherit from me.”

“Bella, drug him some more before I break his pretty nose.”

She shot me a humorless glance. “Not so worried about him overdosing now, are we?”

“Did you see it?” Sasha interrupted, slurring his words. “How dare he touch my kid.”

“Well, she’s technically Dante’s kid,” I pointed out unnecessarily.

“My daughter,” he shouted, ignoring me.

I remained silent, knowing it would only aggravate him further.

“Fuck. You.” Yep, there it was.

“Malyshka,” I said out the side of my mouth. “Drug this man before I lose my shit.”

She rushed toward the black medical bag she’d left on the couch and pulled out a needle.

“Why are you so violent, brat?” At least he still referred to me as a brother. “Why are you shoving me around?” I pushed him onto the couch and he sprawled sideways, tilting his face up to my wife who stood there with the needle ready. “Are you trying to kill me, sister-in-law?”

“Not today, Sasha.”

She pricked his neck with the needle, and it took two seconds for slumber to take him under. Just in time too, because Alexei appeared at the door of the library and announced, “Nikola and Skye are back, holding hands.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Take Nikola into my office. Drag him by his neck if you have to.”

My wife flicked me a glance. “Be gentle.”

I sighed. “Sure, darling. I’ll be gentle.”

She flashed me a warm smile, clearly missing my sarcastic tone. “I’ll go talk to Skye.”

30

NIKOLA

We’d barely set foot into my father’s house when my uncle Alexei cornered us.

“You fucked up, nephew.” His vocal cords were slightly damaged from his early youth days when he was tortured, so his words came out rougher.

“Is this about Kostya?” I asked, but his expression told me he had no idea what the fuck I was talking about. “Ah, so you must have all seen the video.”

Uncle Alexei shook his head in disapproval. “That was a bold move. A real dumb one too.”

“It’s an artistic movie,” I claimed, but Uncle Alexei’s expression said it was a stupid claim. “I mean, you couldn’t even see anything.”

“Yet we knew it was you and Skye,” he retorted wryly. “Imagine that.”

“Undoubtedly the Marchettis will know it too,” I deadpanned.

Uncle Alexei's expression was sullen when he said, “That’s not the way we treat women, Nikola.”

“It was consensual,” Skye signed, rushing to defend me. “We were just… experimenting.”

Alexei shrugged. “Maybe, but you’re engaged.”

She scoffed. “Not anymore. Not to Amadeo Marchetti anyhow.”

“Kids,” he mumbled. “Nikola, I’m taking you to see your father, and you, young lady”—Skye rolled her eyes and I couldn’t help but smile proudly—“better go see your parents. Or at least your mother.”

My mom appeared, and despite having seen the video, the smile she gave Skye and me didn’t dim.

“Hey, you two,” she greeted us. “How was your day?”

Skye blushed. “Ah, good, Mrs. Nikolaev.”

Mom waved her hand. “Just call me Bella. It’s high time, don’t you think?”

Skye shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably. “Okay, if you insist.”

“Is Marietta home?” I asked, taking the heat off Skye.

“Yes, she’s still sleeping off her buzz.” Mom pursed her lips in disapproval. Funny, a sex tape was totally okay, but clearly my sister’s drunkenness wasn’t.

“Okay, I’m going to bite the bullet and find my dad.” I pecked Skye’s cheek, then my mom’s. “If I die, make sure Skye’s still considered my widow.”

My mom smacked my forearm. “You’re not going to die.”

“He might,” Alexei deadpanned in a cold voice.

“He said to meet him in his office,” Mama called out after me as I stalked down the hallway and took a left turn. I entered, not even bothering to knock, but found the office empty.

“Might as well get comfortable,” I muttered as I took a seat in front of his desk, stretching out my legs.

The peace lasted merely a few seconds.

31

VASILI

“Are you out of your fucking mind, son?”

My firstborn didn’t even flinch. In fact, he was so relaxed his feet were propped up. It felt like déjà vu from decades ago when my brother had kidnapped Branka.

I slammed the office door behind me, causing every fucking glass window of our home to rattle from the force of it, then made my way to the desk to take a seat.

“I’m talking to you, Nikola,” I roared, bringing my fist down onto the wood. The last wooden desk splintered into nothing thanks to my brother’s shenanigans, and at this rate, this one wouldn’t last much longer.

“I hear you,” he said calmly, reaching into his pocket. He fished out a bubblegum, the crinkle of the wrapper loud against the somber silence, grating on my nerves.

He threw the gum into his mouth and started chewing obnoxiously.

“I’m your only son. Of course you’re talking to me, Vasili,” he continued. “I’m pretty sure the whole of New Orleans heard you. Besides, what’s done is done; it’s time to move on.”

I lost my fucking temper and I was fairly certain my blood pressure was in the danger zone.

“Her father saw the fucking tape,” I bellowed.

“It was discreetly done,” he stated matter-of-factly. “You can’t see anything scandalous.”

“You’re missing the point, which is that you are fucking Dante Leone’s only daughter!” Didn’t he realize that in Dante’s book that was enough to start murdering the entire Nikolaev family?

“Hmm, I thought she was Uncle Sasha’s daughter,” he snickered, and I shot him a dark look. I loved my son, but at this moment, I’d fucking love to strangle him. “Relax, it’s not incest. She was adopted, remember?”

“Incest is the least of your worries,” I roared.

For fuck’s sake, why didn’t I get a normal son? Instead, I got a mini replica of Sasha. And that devil of my brother ended up with a saint son. What had I done in my previous life to deserve this?

Nikola leaned back in the chair and picked up the magazine next to him. It was like being taken back to the days when Sasha did the same thing to me, only to egg me on. Were the two fuckers conspiring against me?

“Put the fucking magazine down,” I gritted, barely controlling the last bit of my fury that I was prepared to unleash. My pulse throbbed and my ears rang. At this rate, a heart attack was bound to follow, and I almost wished it’d happen before Dante Leone woke up from his drug-induced sleep.

“Relax, Dad.” He waved his hand nonchalantly. “Honestly, in today’s day and age, sex tapes are everywhere.”

Please, God, give me strength not to kill my only son, I prayed silently, but my prayers were a bit too little too late. The deed was done and out in the world. The war between families—Leones, Marchettis, and Nikolaevs—was bound to start.

Maybe I would keel over and be spared. One could only hope.

“Don’t fucking tell me to relax. This is like déjà vu.” I tugged on my hair, barely holding on to my sanity and temper. “My sister stopped her partying and lunacy. I was so fucking close to saying our family is full of normal human beings⁠—”

“There’s nothing normal about those two,” Nikola deadpanned, then popped a bubble as if he needed to emphasize it. “Besides, Uncle Sasha and Aunt Tatiana might be unchanged, but their spouses are handling it better than you did.”

“I could strangle you right now, Nikola.”

“Let’s not start the kinky incest talk now,” he drawled.

I gave my head a subtle shake, staring him down. Much like Sasha, my son loved to bait people into reactions. The more you gave him, the more he fought back.

Letting out a deep sigh, I tried to get my anger reined in before I said, “Why didn’t you come to me if there was something between you and Skye? I could have arranged⁠—”

He lifted his palm and stopped me with his next words. “After the shitstorm your friends Nico and Luciano created for Matteo… No, thank you.”

“It was a simple mistake, and neither you nor Skye have a twin,” I retorted patiently. Honestly, I couldn’t fucking believe I was being compared to those two.

“Maybe, but I wasn’t risking it. This is a sure deal, and now Skye will be mine. Besides, it’s not like our families’ methods in obtaining wives are exactly Jane Austen–worthy.”

“I asked your mother to marry me.”

“More or less,” he quipped. “And let’s not forget Uncle Sasha kidnapped his bride on the day of her wedding. In the church.”

“I just can’t catch a break with all of you.” He opened his mouth, ready to make a comment to that statement, and I shot him a dark look that told him he was on thin ice. Nikola knew when it was best to shut the fuck up. “Your uncle might have kidnapped a bride on her wedding day, but at least he never made a sex tape.”

He shrugged, unimpressed. “What can I say? I’m original.”

I shoved my hand through my hair, ready to rip it out right along with my sanity.

“Original,” I spat through gritted teeth. “Original would have been to go to your uncle Sasha and Dante Leone and ask to date Skye… marry her… or whatever the fuck kids do these days.”

He popped a bubble again, letting it fill the tense silence before he answered, “I asked Uncle Sasha about marrying her, and he said he’d blind me. Dante wasn’t much better.” Then he proceeded with a somber expression and the most idiotic Italian accent I’d ever heard. “Look her way, boy, and I’ll cut you into little pieces and feed your body and soul to the sharks. Honestly, I didn’t think the man was that poetic.”

I slammed my fist against my table again, rattling it. “And you didn’t think to heed the man’s advice?”

“Obviously not, considering I look her way all the time.”

“Are you trying to start a war?” I stood up, towering over him, but nothing rattled my son. It might have to do with the fact that he was as tall and broad as me. I was proud of him, but he drove me fucking insane.

“Why? What did you hear?”

The door to my office opened and my wife, Bella, appeared, rushing to me with a soft expression. “Vasili, keep it down. I think the whole city can hear you.”

It was all I needed for my pulse to ease.

“Of course, malyshka.” I’d fucking be a rug under her feet if she asked me. But then I turned my eyes back to my replica and my molars ground before I stated through clenched teeth, “And you, Nikola… you will marry her.”

“Of course,” he drawled lazily with a victorious expression.

“Plan on getting the beating of a lifetime by your uncle though, and I sure as fuck won’t stop him,” I continued.

My wife gasped as my son and I glared at each other. Then the little shit popped the gum again, watching me with a clear challenge in his eyes. Who ever said having children was a joyous affair? More like a constant state of tension, worries, and chest pains, with a sprinkle of occasional happiness.

“I find you cheating on Skye, I’ll cut your dick off myself,” I said, sitting back down. “You’ll treat that girl with reverence and worship the ground she walks on. You hear me?”

“It’s hard not to hear you.” He popped another bubble. My blood pressure spiked again, but my wife stroked my bicep, trying to soothe me. “You’re still shouting.”

Our eyes locked in a battle of wills while I recounted my son’s upbringing in my mind. Maybe I was too demanding? Or maybe not demanding enough? Where in the fuck did I go wrong?

My wife wedged herself onto my lap, causing my son to roll his eyes. Except he couldn’t possibly know it was only thanks to his mother that he had a much better life than my siblings and I had. She was what kept our family glued together.

The door to my office opened again—it was a grand central station today—and Marietta strolled in theatrically.

Fucking lovely. I’d never survive these two together.

It would seem her drunkenness had worn off and she was back to being perky and fresh, dressed in her favorite designer clothes. Physically, our daughter was a replica of my wife, but character-wise, she was just like my sister. God fucking help me.

I’d never prayed as much as I had today.

Marietta flunked herself next to her brother and winked. “I hear you got yourself into some serious fucking shit, brat?”

“Marietta! Language, please,” Bella scolded.

Marietta rolled her eyes. “We are a family of mobsters who kill people, but you’re worried about my vocabulary. Lovely.”

Nikola patted her on the head affectionately. “Right you are, sestra, but don’t add fucking fuel to the fire. You know if you say bad words, I’ll be to blame.”

She waved her hand. “I did learn most of them from you.”

I glared at my son while he shot her an exasperated look. “If this is you helping, please don’t.”

“Nikola,” I gritted.

“Yes?”

“Put a fucking shirt on,” I thundered.

Bella patted my hand, hoping to calm me down, as she asked, “What’s with that, Nikola? Do we need to order you⁠—”

Marietta cut her off. “He goes around shirtless because of Skye.”

What. The. Actual. Fuck?

“I’m sure there is some sense in that statement somewhere, but I don’t see it,” I muttered.

Bella sighed. “It must mean we’re getting old.”

“You two are old.” Marietta waved her hand as if she didn’t just insult us. “Skye made an offhand comment a few years ago that she prefers men in suits or no shirt at all. Nikola opted for the no-shirt option.”

“You’re a pain in my fucking ass,” Nikola hissed.

“But you love me.”

“God help me,” I grumbled, tempted to tell them they were both a major pain in the ass, but I was too tired. “I love you both and I’d kill for you both, but some days I’m tempted to strangle you myself.”

“Speaking of, I’m bored. Want me to help you kill someone?” Marietta reached up to her neck, clutching her pearls. “Not our parents, of course.”

Bella and I shared a look before shooting her an exasperated look. “Gee, thanks.”

32

VASILI

Iwatched as my children left my office, whispering to each other. Probably already scheming on how to give me more gray hairs. Too fucking late. I was pretty sure my head was full of them.

My entire life I’d been dealing with my family’s chaos. First my brother Sasha, and just as he settled, my own son started to act just like him. And then there was Marietta, who was almost just as bad.

Was the whole world conspiring against me?

At least Sasha wasn’t on Nikola’s side. Thank fucking God, because this world wasn’t ready for those two together. In fact, my dear brother had every intention of murdering his favorite nephew.

His earlier threat of burying Nikola “so deep not even the devil would find him” wouldn’t bode well for my son when Sasha eventually woke up. After seeing the shit my son had pulled, I couldn’t even blame him.

He thought of Skye as his own daughter. She had always been part of our family, a big sister to Sasha’s son, and an innocent, shy cousin to Alexei’s, Tatiana’s, and my children.

I honestly never fathomed Nikola would have any interest in her. They were polar opposites.

Fucking Christ, why couldn’t we just have a normal family? I thought again.

First I had an unhinged, slightly psychotic brother to raise. And I wasn’t talking about Alexei. He was a fucking saint compared to Sasha. But no matter, I happily stepped up and raised Sasha and my sister. Minus a few incidents where I wanted to murder them and become an only child, I’d done a pretty amazing job.

Yay fucking me.

But then I was rewarded with a son who came with his own slightly psychotic tendencies. Nikola thrived on stirring the pot and getting everyone worked up. Most of the time he acted first and faced the consequences second—if at all.

I wasn’t even sure when it all started. It just became glaringly obvious one day.

I stared at the video of my son with disbelief.

“There’s no disputing it,” Sasha indicated, pointing to the screen. “It’s clear as day that it was Nikola in that car.”

The street surveillance captured my sixteen-year-old son perfectly as he drove his Ferrari into the oncoming traffic of the French Quarter. He even damaged a few cabs, but thankfully nobody was hurt.

“Aurora pulled a few strings to make the charges go away, but Nikola’s getting way too reckless,” Alexei added in his usual calm tone.

The three of us were in my home office where we usually discussed business, not how to keep our children out of jail. Fuck.

“I don’t get it,” I muttered. “One day, he’s a good kid. The next, he’s off the rails.” Silence enveloped the room and I peeled my eyes off the screen to look up at my brothers. Both of them looked slightly uncomfortable. Or constipated. There was definitely more to all of this than just Nikola’s reckless driving.

“What?” I demanded. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

The two shared a glance, then Alexei shrugged, wordlessly letting Sasha take the lead and explain. “Don’t you think it would have been better to wait a few more years before putting that burden on his shoulders?”

My brows furrowed, clearly not following my brother’s line of thinking. “What burden?”

“Your plans to hand over the reins,” Alexei added.

I stared at them, dumbfounded. “I shared that news with him years ago. He’d known it since he was a little boy. What does that have to do with anything?”

Sasha shrugged. “Not sure, but it seems ever since you laid out your expectations, Nikola’s recklessness took a turn.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “Do you realize I’m fucking old? Much older than you two. I could fall over any day. Of course I want Nikola to be prepared. I was prepared.”

“But you didn’t have a choice,” Sasha interjected. “Our parents were blind and selfish assholes who put way too much on you. Should we do the same to our children?”

I glanced down at the screen, watching for the hundredth time as that fucking red Ferrari sped down the street full of people. It was a miracle he hadn’t killed anyone. Although Nikola was an exceptionally good driver, it took one drunken visitor to step out onto the street.

“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” Alexei continued. “If something does, Sasha and I can step in.”

Before I had a chance to answer, the doors to my office opened and my son walked in with a stupid fucking shark smile on his face. It was like being transported back to the past, to a younger Sasha.

“What’s up?” he drawled, throwing himself on the couch. He shifted sideways and propped his legs on the armrest and closed his eyes as if he was ready to go to sleep.

All the reason flew out and my temper flared. “What’s up?” I roared, turning the screen around 180 degrees. “This is what’s up. My son almost killed people in the French Quarter while driving recklessly.”

Nikola waved his hand nonchalantly, not even bothering to open his eyes. “All’s well that ends well.”

I had no idea how I found myself out of my chair and towering over him. “Fucking ends well! Are you out of your fucking mind, Nikola?”

He finally deigned me with a cracked eyelid, those pale blue eyes staring at me flatly. “No more or less than the rest of our family. It’s what makes us fucking special. That and our criminal empire.”

“Those were innocent fucking people on that street,” I roared so loud even my own ears rang.

“Duly noted,” he drawled, closing his eyes again. “Next time, I’ll ensure it’s exclusively criminals on the street.”

I was just about to shake some sense into my son when Bella entered the office and dragged me out, insisting we both needed to cool off.

The fact of the matter was that Nikola was way too cooled off. Any more cooling and he’d be a fucking ice cube.

“Vasili.” My wife’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “I know it sounds bad⁠—”

“Sounds? It’s bad, malyshka. Real fucking bad.” We remained sitting in my office after I properly scolded my son—although he deserved to have his ass kicked—because I wasn’t in the right headspace to go out there and not wring his neck.

“You saw the video?” she asked quietly.

“Enough of it.” The truth was there was nothing X-rated to actually see, but Dante Leone and Sasha didn’t see it that way. I couldn’t even blame them because if it were my daughter, I’d fucking rip the boy to shreds.

“That bad, huh?”

I pulled my wife against my chest. “It wasn’t explicit, but it sure did insinuate enough.”

“Oh my⁠—”

“If I was Dante, that boy wouldn’t be breathing right now.”

“Maybe the fact that Nikola is still breathing is a good sign,” she said hopefully.

“Dante’s unconscious upstairs, thanks to your drugs. Sasha too,” I reminded her, then let out a tired breath. “If he takes his wife back home and comes back alone, then we have to worry.” Isabella shot me a confused look, and I explained. “He would never allow his wife to see him kill someone.”

“Oh, shit.”

Oh, shit was right. The only time Dante Leone left his wife behind with his family was when he planned on getting his hands dirty. He didn’t like Phoenix seeing that side of him.

Not that I could blame him, because I left most of the corruption of our criminal world at the door before I entered my family home too.

33

SKYE

Icracked the door of my parents’ guest bedroom at the Nikolaevs’ manor and peeked in to find my mama seated on the couch, reading a magazine, and my papa passed out on the bed.

As if she sensed me, Mama lifted her head and our gazes locked.

“Is Papa okay?” I cocked my head toward where he lay, his arms sprawled, mouth parted, and a single shoe hanging on for dear life.

“He will be.” She put the magazine down, then waved me over. “He got drunk off moonshine and then sedatives did the rest.”

I winced. “Sedatives?”

She nodded. “He was ready to rip the Russians to shreds after getting that text from Nikola.”

“Isn’t combining moonshine and sedatives dangerous?”

“Isabella administered them, so it’s safe.”

I shut the door and made my way over to sit next to her, finding a spot on the wall to fix my gaze. My plan with Nikola had all seemed well and good until I had to face the consequences of my actions. Now, my shame and guilt enveloped me. Even though I knew they hadn’t seen anything too scandalous and that I wasn’t identifiable in any of the shots. That Nikola sent it to them and told them it was me though…? Well, that was enough to make me want to disappear.

She clutched my shoulder and forced me to look at her. “So you and Nikola, huh?” I nodded. “Is he the one you were referring to when you told me there’s someone you liked?”

“Yes.” I was scared back then that she would disapprove if I told her the truth, but right now, I regretted lying. Everything might have gone differently. “Mama, I don’t want to marry Amadeo Marchetti.”

“You don’t say,” she signed with a wry expression. “But there were other ways you could have gone about it rather than making that tape.”

I grimaced. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“Didn’t you promise Papa when you were a little girl that you’d always tell him what’s bothering you?”

The memory of our conversation long ago in my pink room came back to me, and my shoulders slumped.

“I tried.”

“Not very hard,” she pointed out, and rightfully so. “You should have sat us down and told us your heart’s already spoken for.”

“It was too late once I saw the signed marriage contract. It would have gotten you in trouble with the Marchettis,” I signed. “At least this way, it’s all on me.”

She shook her head. “First, you know better than to think that. Our family’s actions reflect on us all. And second, if Papa knew you loved Nikola, he would have done everything in his power to make it right for you. We want you to be happy. To have what we have.”

Okay, hindsight was a bitch, but the ship had sailed and there was no turning back time, so I did the only thing I could.

“I’m so sorry, Mama.” I sat up and hugged her tightly. We remained like that for a few minutes before I settled next to her once more.

“Are you terribly mad?” I hated seeing disappointment on her face. It gutted me harder than anything else, because I wasn’t used to being the cause of it.

“No, but your papa is furious. Especially under the influence, he was scheming how to slice up the poor boy.”

“He can’t kill Nikola.” Just the thought had me choking on my own breath.

“So you do love him? It’s not a temporary infatuation?”

“There's nothing temporary about it.” My cheeks burned, and Mama’s expression softened. “I’ve had a crush on him for years.”

“I wish you'd told me.”

“Well, I did ask Papa to marry me to Nikola before I bolted.”

She stroked my hair gently. “That was hardly telling us you’re in love with him.”

I sighed, then brought my palm to my forehead before I dared to say, “I didn’t think he would approve, and judging by how badly he took the sex tape, I was right.”

“Not necessarily.”

I extended my hand to the bed, then shot her a pointed look. “You want to tell me he didn’t take it badly?”

It was a dumb question since apparently he had to be sedated.

She shrugged. “He’ll get over it eventually.”

I grabbed her arm, my eyes boring into hers, searching. “You really think so?”

“I do, but it might be best for your boy to hide for a bit.” She smiled to soften the blow. “You’ll have to come home with us. You know that, right?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Why can’t I just marry him?”

“Because your papa will probably murder him if you do. He has to cool off for a bit and then we can work out the details.”

“But I don’t want to wait.” I sounded like a spoiled, petulant brat. But I didn’t want to be separated from him.

“Skye, are you pregnant?”

I blew an exasperated breath. “No, I’m too young for kids and I have the IUD. Remember?”

“I do, but you’re not acting like yourself. Rushing into marriage⁠—”

I raised my palm. “Now hold on a minute. Are we seriously talking about me rushing into anything when Papa arranged a marriage for me with a complete stranger?”

My throat vibrated, and I swallowed down a sob.

“Skye, sweetheart, breathe.” It wasn’t time to panic. Inhale. Exhale. I stilled my spine and she signed, “You’re right; this arranged marriage idea was thrown to him in a rush. Papa fought Enrico Marchetti to push the wedding out a year and buy him time to find an alternative.” I’d always loved how my parents were such a united front, but I wanted more than anything for her to take my side on this one. “Listen, I think it’s best if we take it slow. Nikola isn’t going anywhere. If you two love each other⁠—”

“We do.” Although, as soon as I signed those words, I realized neither one of us had talked about love. Passion, possession, obsession… yes. But nothing about love.

“If you two love each other, time will only do you good,” she finished pointedly. “In the meantime, we’re going to delete that sex tape from Papa’s phone. I’ll ask Branka to do the same from Sasha’s, and with some luck, it’ll all be ancient history.”

“Those two have the memory of elephants,” I signed, grumbling, but grinned as I looked back at my dad. “But I love you for helping. Let’s hope he wakes up feeling forgiving.”

With Branka in tow for extra reinforcement, we found Mr. Nikolaev sitting on the couch in the living room with his wife, Nikola, and Marietta. My future sister-in-law winked mischievously, giving me a thumbs-up, but I didn’t dare look her parents’ way.

Instead, I focused on Nikola, who jumped to his feet and strode over to me.

“Here is my future bride,” was his greeting as he pecked me right on the lips.

Mama shot him an uneasy smile and Branka grimaced, then said, “You’re really loving this, aren’t you?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Nikola retorted, beaming. “I’m about to marry Skye.”

Branka shook her head and tsked. “Yes, but you caused quite a havoc.”

Nikola shrugged. “Not my fault. I told those two idiots—” He shot Mama a sheepish smile, then corrected himself. “I told Uncle Sasha and my future father-in-law that Skye was mine. They refused to listen, so here we are.”

“Nikola, a woman isn’t yours just because you claim her,” Mama reprimanded him softly. “Both of you should have come to me and your parents. You knew Dante and Sasha are prone to over-the-top protectiveness.”

“Phoenix is right,” Mr. Nikolaev jumped in. “Asking us parents to negotiate the marriage contract would have been the right thing to do.”

Nikola scoffed. “Yeah, I remember how well that worked out for Matteo.”

“We aren’t them,” Mama protested.

“That’s right, we’re smarter,” Branka added.

“You two manipulated the situation a bit,” Mrs. Nikolaev chimed in, although there was no bite to her words. “I understand you weren’t taking chances with our refusal, but⁠—”

“Would you have refused?” Nikola cut her off.

“No.” There was no hesitance to Mrs. Nikolaev’s words, and when she smiled softly at me, I knew she meant those words. “I’m so happy for both of you. We’ll figure out how to manage Dante and Sasha, and eventually, they’ll accept this too.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Nikolaev,” I signed, choking up all over again.

“Remember, you have to call me Isabella,” she reminded me.

I nodded.

“And no more Mr. Nikolaev,” Nikola’s father interjected. “Call me Vasili. After all, you’ll be an even closer member of our family.”

I swallowed, glancing at Mama who was smiling, before I returned to lock eyes with him. “Thank you, Mr.… Vasili.”

He flashed me a reassuring smile, although his expression remained somber.

“Dad, maybe you can procure a priest so I can marry Skye before Dante and Sasha wake up from their drug-induced sleep?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but Mama was already shaking her head in stern denial.

“You don’t agree with that plan, Phoenix?” he asked her, his brows furrowed. “They might be easier to handle if the deed is done and behind us.”

“Oh, the deed is done,” Mama signed with a wry expression. “But Dante deserves to walk his only child down the aisle. We can’t, and won’t, take that away from him.”

“Or from Sasha,” Branka added. “It will break their hearts.”

“But what if those two never agree to this?” Vasili questioned. “They were scheming to kill Enrico Marchetti to get out of it.”

“This is where I draw the line,” Mama claimed. “Dante and Sasha will walk Skye down the aisle, and we’ll wait for as long as necessary for them to come to terms with Skye’s marriage to Nikola.”

I could see my mama’s point, but waiting for my papa and Sasha to come to terms with the idea of Nikola and me wasn’t exactly my dream scenario. On the other hand, I wouldn’t forgive myself if I hurt Papa and Sasha.

Nikola’s eyes zeroed in on me. “What do you want to do, Skye? You know I’m up for dragging that priest back and pointing a gun at him so he can marry us, but I don’t want to take away from your dreams of a perfect wedding.”

God, I loved this man so much. He might act crazy and unhinged at times, but he was the most wonderful man on this planet and I wouldn’t have him any other way.

“You two almost got married without us?” Isabella protested like she was ready to cry, almost as if the wedding had actually happened.

Nikola pecked his mom on the cheek. “But we didn’t.”

“Instead, you made a sex tape,” Vasili grumbled, causing my cheeks to flame. “We’re so freaking lucky.”

Mama, Branka, and Isabella shook their heads.

“I thought it was a great idea,” Marietta chimed in, speaking for the first time.

I winced, shooting her a warning glare, and she just laughed, putting her hands up in surrender.

“I’ll work on Papa and Sasha,” I announced. Mama and Branka were right; I couldn’t take the experience away from them. They were my heroes, and I was who I was thanks to them. “They’ll have no choice but to agree. I don’t want to rob Papa or Sasha from walking me down the aisle.” I sensed Nikola’s grumble and I took his hand in mine, gripping it. “They deserve at least that much. They’ve been such amazing father figures to me.”

“Skye, those two are your fathers, end of story,” Branka stated matter-of-factly.

And just like that, the tension eased and we got to talking about possible venues and floral arrangements. I knew we weren’t in the clear yet and that a storm was no doubt brewing, but sitting here, surrounded by so many people who loved me, I felt at ease.

34

SKYE

After we all agreed there wouldn’t be any half-assed, speedy weddings while Papa and Sasha were unconscious, Nikola packed a few belongings and went to stay at the club where we shared our first kiss.

Of course, nobody else knew that but the two of us.

Branka and Mama were deep in their wedding planning talks, and they were sure to get Isabella’s input on everything. Vasili dedicated his energy to the only thing he could control: business. His words, not mine.

Marietta, the fashion lover she was, was showing me wedding dress photos that she thought would be perfect for me. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I already had something in mind, and it was anything but traditional.

Because Nikola and I… we were anything but an ordinary couple.

Just as I was about to rip her phone, along with the Pinterest app, away from her, the doors and windows of Vasili’s office shook, and I knew Papa or Sasha must have risen from their slumber.

The door swung open with force, banging into the wall behind it.

“Where is that fucker?” I couldn’t hear Sasha’s roar, but I imagined it would have pierced my eardrums.

Branka shot to her feet and rushed to calm him down just as my papa showed up behind him, gun in hand.

“I’ll murder that little shit,” Papa signed. I was fairly certain he was shouting those words too.

“Dante!” Mama scolded, her expression full of disapproval. “He’s just a young man, and our daughter loves him.”

His expression darkened.

“He’s not good enough for her. Where is he?” I shot to my feet and joined my mother. “Don’t give me that look, princess. He’s not worthy of you. You’ll thank me one day.”

I pried the gun from his hand, then emptied the bullets before he did something stupid.

“I’ll never forgive you if you hurt him,” I signed calmly despite the turmoil churning inside me.

Papa shook his head. “He’s not right for you. Your husband should treat you like a queen.”

“And he will,” I signed firmly. “He does.”

“Skye, he’s a deviant. He’s all wrong for you. He’ll hurt you, disrespect you, and then I’ll truly have to kill him.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Sasha chimed in. “He is a deviant, there’s no disputing that one, but he’s never disrespected Skye.”

At least Sasha still had some sensibility left.

“Papa, do you really think I’d let Nikola treat me poorly? I can hold my own.” I tipped up my chin. “And you taught me how to kick a man’s ass.”

“He made a sex tape.”

“Papa, I know. I was there, remember?” My cheeks burned, and I couldn’t help but be annoyed at him. I loved him, but he could be so overbearing. “He asked me for my permission, so I’m to blame as much as he is for that tape.”

He gently cupped my cheeks. “Princess, he’s just not for you. Trust me on this.”

I blew out an exasperated breath. “And Amadeo Marchetti is? When did you meet him? Have you not heard the rumors about him? Even I know that he’s a total playboy.”

“He is?” Sasha straightened and had the decency to look slightly embarrassed. “News to me.”

I rolled my eyes.

“If Nikola cheats on you, I’ll kill him,” Papa said with a murderous expression, and hope flickered in my chest. He was coming around.

“I can handle him.” I touched his cheek. “Trust me on this.”

Papa kissed my forehead. “You’re strong and fierce, like your mama, but it’s my job to protect you for as long as I live.”

“I know, Papa, but you don’t have to protect me from Nikola.”

He didn’t look convinced. “Where is the little shit?”

I threw him an annoyed look. “Papa, why are you not listening to me?”

Sasha pinned me with a stare. “So what do you recommend, Skye? We just let Nikola get away with everything?”

I pursed my lips. “Didn’t you get away with kidnapping Branka on her wedding day?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Not the same. Nikola needs to be taught a lesson.”

I stared between the two most wonderful fathers a girl could ask for. “If you hurt him, you hurt me.” They sighed and I took advantage, doubling down. “Let who I marry be my choice.”

“Why are you making this so difficult?” Papa said with a steely expression and Sasha eagerly agreed.

“You’re too strong for your own good,” Sasha said. “It must be the Russian in you.”

“It’s the Italian in her,” Papa countered.

I let out a frustrated groan. “It really doesn’t matter. It’s having you both as parents that made me independent and strong. Now, let’s stay focused. I need your promise that you won’t hurt Nikola, because I want to marry him.” I let my hard stare set in before I continued. “Do you hear me? Want. I want to marry him. He’s the only one for me.”

“Meaning?” Sasha grumbled, and I rolled my eyes.

I really couldn’t have been clearer.

“Meaning I want your word that you won’t hurt him and that you will give us your blessing.”

They shared a glance, but neither conceded.

“Seriously, you two?” My gaze darted between them. “Couldn’t you take this opportunity to join forces and get along? You seem to get along when you want to murder someone, or when you both signed the marriage agreement.”

Papa kissed my forehead with another sigh. “You’re right, princess.”

Sasha nodded. “Of course she is. And no matter what, you’ll always be our little girl, and we’ll kill anyone who hurts you.”

Papa raised an expectant eyebrow. “Even though that someone might be your nephew?”

Sasha nodded somberly. “Even so.”

Papa grinned. “Then let’s go hunting.”

I flew my hands up in the air exasperatedly, but they ignored me. Instead, they high-fived each other and left me staring after them with my mouth parted, shock filling every bone in my body.

Figured it would take some fucked-up scenario like this for the two of them to start getting along.

35

DANTE

My daughter was in love with a Russian!

I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t. My princess sidekick was growing up, and I couldn’t even make Nikola hurt because hurting him would mean hurting my daughter.

How in the fuck did this fuckup of a Thanksgiving holiday get worse than I could have possibly imagined?

“Moye serdtse, you’re not going anywhere right now.” Branka’s voice reached us just as we were sliding into the car.

“I won’t be long, kotyonok.”

“Don’t you kotyonok me, Sasha. You get in that stupid sports car, and you’ll be sleeping on the couch for the foreseeable future. Maybe even until we die.”

He let out a heavy sigh. “Why is it always the couch?”

I shrugged. “She’s got you there.”

I flicked a glance to the manor and spotted my Nix at the window, where she signed, “She loves him. Be gentle.”

Despite the impulse I felt to kill him, I nodded. My daughter’s and wife’s happiness were everything to me.

“Why isn’t your wife threatening you with the couch?” Sasha muttered.

“We spent too many years apart to do the couch thing,” I answered.

I didn’t tell him that Nix knew me better than I knew myself sometimes. She probably already guessed that I would give the Nikolaev boy a piece of my mind, but I wouldn’t hurt him.

A sex tape was every father’s nightmare. True, I didn’t see anything but shadows after they kissed, but fuck… it was way too much, and there wasn’t enough soap in this world to scrub those images from my mind.

Okay, maybe I would kill him. Whatever. He deserved whatever punishment came his way.

I flicked a glance at Branka and Sasha who were still arguing, but it was clear who was winning this argument. What a fucking schmuck.

“I’ll let you know how it goes,” I shouted, then shut the car door and revved the engine before speeding out of the Nikolaev compound and onto the highway.

It took ten minutes to arrive at the club, and I was in a daze for most of it. Nikola was just pulling up on his motorcycle, parking it in the alley by the private entrance.

He slid the helmet off, hooking it on the handle.

“Ah, my future father-in-law,” he greeted, not even bothering to turn around. “Welcome. I didn’t expect you so soon.”

“Nikola, my maybe future son-in-law. I see you don’t listen very well.”

He turned around and rolled his motherfucking eyes. At me! “If you start with Italian sharks again, I swear to God…”

I shoved my hands into the pockets of my trousers, clenching them into fists to keep from beating him. But I wouldn’t do that because apparently my daughter loved him. Fuck’s sake.

“How about I record it?” I suggested in a cold tone. “Maybe I’ll create a YouTube channel and blast it off.”

“I’m impressed you’ve heard of YouTube, although I suspect you wouldn’t know how to use it.” The little prick actually grinned.

“You’d be shocked at how much you don’t know,” I retorted dryly.

He chuckled. “Well, not to worry, Papa Dante. I can show you the ropes.”

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

“Call you what?” He let out a sardonic breath. “You’re about to be my father-in-law. Don’t you love that, Papa Dante? Finally one big happy family.”

I gritted my teeth. “How in the fuck did I get stuck with such infuriating people in my life?”

The Nikolaev family was fucking crazy, and now one of them would be my son-in-law. Damn it.

Nikola took a step toward me, something maniacal in the pale blues of his eyes. “Are you talking about yourself or someone else?”

Thou shall not kill the boy your daughter loves. Thou shall not kill the boy your daughter loves.

I repeated the chant over and over again before I found the strength to grit out my next words. “If you’re going to marry my daughter, you better learn how to respect your elders.”

“Oh, come on, it was a valid question,” he claimed, refusing to erase that stupid smile off his face.

“You know very well I was talking about your fucking ass.”

“I thought you liked me.” He tsked, feigned disappointment marring his features.

He’s taunting me, I realized. Maybe he wanted me to shoot him so my daughter would take his side over mine. Ahhh. I think not.

“I came to discuss Skye and her future.” I took a deep breath and exhaled it before I gritted through clenched teeth, “With you.”

36

NIKOLA

It was obvious it killed him to say those words.

I never hesitated taunting people or taking what I wanted, but I knew how much Skye loved her papa, so I decided to give the man a break.

After all, it was important to get along with the man who—whether he liked it or not—would become part of my family. More than he already was.

“I’d like to marry Skye as soon as possible,” I announced.

His dark gaze met mine. “I didn’t say I agreed with it.”

“Yet,” I corrected him, watching the pulse in his jaw throb. “But be honest. You love your daughter, and she loves me. Do you really think you have a choice?”

“You’re awfully confident,” he remarked wryly, knowing I was right. I love being right. Still, I’d hear him out.

When I remained silent, he continued. “There are a few things I want to make clear.”

I nodded. “I’m listening.”

He eyed me suspiciously, almost as if he thought I was mocking him. I wasn’t, because making Skye my wife was the most important thing I would ever do, and I intended to do it right. But even more importantly, I wanted to make her happy.

“You cheat on her, I’ll cut your balls off. You disrespect her, I’ll cut your balls off. You make her cry, I’ll⁠—”

“Let me guess, cut my balls off?” I finished for him. There was no danger of me doing any of those things because Skye was the only one for me. I saw us growing a family together, growing old together. I respected her intelligence and knew she would be an asset to me and my business dealings, simply by being her. I would never jeopardize that.

He flashed me a dark grin. “No, I’ll claw your eyeballs out and cut your balls off before I feed you to the sharks.”

Not the fucking sharks again, I thought. “Fair enough,” I said.

He nodded, satisfied that I didn’t flinch. “Now, about visitations…”

My brows furrowed. “Huh?”

He rolled his eyes. “Vi-si-ta-tions,” he said slowly, like he was talking to an idiot.

“I know what visitations are. I hate to disappoint you, but Skye will be living with me. There’ll be no visitation schedule between me and my wife.”

Dante let out a huff. “I meant you two visiting us in Trieste.”

“Ahhh.”

“Skye and her mom are close. Nix has to see her often.” I bit the inside of my cheek to keep a straight face. Dante, for all his crazy ways, was such a softy for his daughter. This had nothing to do with his wife and everything to do with him. “She’s all we have.”

The tension in his shoulders and the lines on his face were unmistakable.

“How about we come to visit you in Italy once a month? Or you can come visit us?” I suggested. “My thesis is completed and my father wants me to take over the business. He’s been waiting a long time, and I owe him that much so he can enjoy his retirement. And if Skye is open to finishing her classes remotely, it’ll allow us longer weekends in Trieste.”

“Sì… sì,” he agreed, nodding profusely. “That will be good. Nix’ll be happy with that arrangement.”

“Good, I suspect so will Skye,” I murmured. “Now, let’s set that wedding date. I don’t want to risk anything getting in the way.”

Dante studied me like a hawk homing in on its prey.

“You love her, don’t you?” he finally said around a sigh. “You certainly went to great lengths to get me to agree, Nikola. Though your methods are less than admirable, I see you’re willing to do whatever it takes to make Skye happy. And God help me, marrying you seems like it’s going to make her happy.”

“Yes, sir. I am.”

He nodded approvingly, whether in response to my use of “sir” rather than “Papa Dante,” or to my commitment to making Skye happy.

“Good. So let’s not rush the wedding and do it the right way.”

I let out a grumble. “With all due respect, we can rush the wedding and do it the right way.”

I didn’t want to prolong this shit.

“Skye will have a proper Italian wedding.”

“It can be Italian, Chinese, French, or all three combined for all I care, as long as it happens soon.”

His gaze narrowed. “What’s the rush?”

“Do you really want me to spell it out for you, P—” Papa Dante was on my tongue, but I stopped myself and said instead, “Sir?”

“Spring wedding.”

“No, December wedding.”

He huffed a breath of hot air. “It’s the end of fucking November.”

I grinned. “Oh, is it? How convenient.”

“Spring.” He dug in stubbornly. “And the wedding will be at our castello. One day, it’ll go to your children, and I’d like to think they’ll keep the tradition going.”

Our children. Just the thought made me all mellow and mushy inside, something I wasn’t familiar with. And to prevent him from noticing, I would agree to anything.

37

SKYE

When Sasha returned to the manor, hand in hand with Branka, an unexplainable anguish tore through me. I counted on him being with Papa because I knew when it came down to it, Sasha would never allow Nikola to be hurt. Yes, he might rough him up a bit, but he wouldn’t allow it to go further than that.

But Papa…

There was nobody to hold him back.

So once again, I bolted out of the manor, jumped in the first car with keys on the dash, and drove off in the direction of the club. That place seemed to be the center of all our activities lately.

When I arrived, I parked and ran into the alley toward the private entrance. Papa and Nikola stood together, deep in conversation. They didn’t seem to be at each other’s throats, and I even spotted a hint of a smile on my papa’s face.

Hope sparked in my chest.

Everything would be all right. The people I loved the most were slowly but surely coming together, and I could already taste my happily ever after.

They hadn’t noticed me yet, and I approached them with a big smile on my face when a flicker of light caught in my periphery. I turned instinctively and my chest froze with terror at the sight.

A woman dressed in all black with silver-white hair stood at the top of the alley, her gun pointed at the two men.

I didn’t think as a vibration tore from my lips. “Nikola! Papa!”

I watched her pull the trigger, bullets slicing through the air and freezing time. In that suspended moment, Nikola reacted first, shoving my papa to the ground before rushing to push me behind him. I stumbled, falling to my knees, pain jolting through my thighs like a surge of electricity.

Nikola’s face contorted with agony as blood splattered onto the ground. His hand moved toward his gun, but time seemed to stretch out as another bullet struck him. Then another.

He dropped to his knees, then collapsed forward, shielding me with his broad body as chaos erupted around us.

I stared up at him, the grimace etched on his face sending a fresh wave of terror through me, my teeth chattering uncontrollably with fear.

“I’m okay, zayka,” he mouthed, but his lips struggled to move. His heavy exhale hit my cheeks, then his cheek came to rest on mine while my hands roamed all over him in a panic. My fingers brushed against something sticky and warm. Blood, I realized.

My breathing turned ragged, each gasp clawing its way out of my throat. My lips moved, desperately shaping his name, but I couldn’t tell if any sound escaped. The world around me blurred, muffled by the relentless pounding of my heartbeat. Tears spilled down my cheeks, hot and unchecked.

Panic clawed at my chest as I watched him shift, his lips parting to murmur something unintelligible. Relief flickered through the terror—he was still conscious. But then his body slumped forward, crushing me beneath his weight. The suffocating pressure pinned me down, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t think—until I felt it. The faint, warm caress of his breath against my cheek.

He was alive. He was still breathing.

I didn’t know how long we lay on the cold ground. I couldn’t see anything. For the first time in my life, I cursed the fates for making me deaf. I couldn’t see what was happening around me, making me feel blind as well as deaf.

I moved my hands, wincing at the stickiness coating my fingers. I found myself unable to move, so I gripped his body against mine, not daring to turn my face. Nikola’s breaths against my cheek were keeping me from mentally spiraling—nothing else.

Closing my eyes, all I could do was pray.

Pray that Papa was okay and he’d end whoever hurt Nikola. Pray that an ambulance would be here any moment. Pray that Nikola would live.

He had to. Nobody was allowed to steal the essence of such a larger-than-life man. Right?

Just when despair started to bubble in my throat, the heavy weight was lifted off of me and a strong hand pulled me by the arm. I stumbled and blinked, then my papa’s face came into focus and I was shoved into the car as I caught a glimpse of Nikola’s limp body.

I started fighting my papa, desperate to get to him. His brow was furrowed, but he didn’t loosen his grip.

“Let me go. Let me go.” I didn’t know whether I was mouthing the words or vocalizing them. Maybe I was signing them. “I have to⁠—”

Papa gripped my face harder than ever before, forcing me to look at him. “Princess, it’s not safe out here. We have to get him to the hospital.”

It was all I needed to hear. I went stock-still, letting him shove me into the car. In the next breath, Nikola’s unconscious body was deposited next to me, and I began crying, cradling his big body crammed in the back of the sports car.

It wasn’t until we pulled up to the hospital that I realized Alexei had been driving.

38

NIKOLA

Beep. Beep.

A hospital smell—bleach and disinfectant—invaded my nostrils.

I attempted to peel open my eyelids, but they were too heavy and refused to cooperate. Next, I tried to move my mouth.

“S-Skye?” I tried to ask, but even my lips couldn’t move.

Maybe this was all a dream.

Beep. Beep.

No, it couldn’t be. I focused on the sound, and slowly other hushed voices came into focus.

My father’s voice. “He’ll be okay, malyshka.”

“You can’t know for certain.” My mother sounded distressed, and regret hit me. I didn’t like to worry her.

Beep. Beep.

“Yes, I can. You’re a doctor. You hear his heartbeat. Strong and steady.”

Skye. I needed to know if she was okay, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t talk. Damn it, what was going on? Did someone drug me?

“How is he?” Another voice. It sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

Beep.

“He’ll live.” It had to be a friend, otherwise Dad wouldn’t allow him near me. “How is Skye?”

“Safe and alive, thanks to Nikola.” Relief flooded me, and recognition. Dante Leone was here too. Now I knew it was bad. “And his knees?”

“One shattered. The other⁠—”

Beep. Beep.

What did they just say? What about my knees?

“It’s too early to tell.” Uncle Alexei’s voice filtered in. Jesus Christ—I had to be missing a family reunion. “Sasha and I got the shooter.”

“Good, put her in the basement.”

Her?

Beep. Beep.

Then… silence.

Skye

This couldn’t be happening.

One minute, Papa and Nikola were talking. The next, I was slammed against the ground, Nikola’s body on top of mine. There was so much blood, although he was only grazed in the arm. But his legs… knees. She shot him in both knees, almost as if she was aiming for them.

Oh my gosh.

Nausea clogged my throat and I had to push the memory out of my mind.

Instead, I focused on the flashing lines on the screens of the machines keeping him alive.

The doctors said he’d be okay. He was alive.

That was the only thing that mattered right now.

Isabella was arguing with the doctors, but I tuned it all out. Branka and Sasha were here too, their anger completely forgotten. Mama was clutching Papa’s hand, the realization that she could have lost him rendering her completely immobile.

And I… I was unraveling, piece by piece, as I stared at Nikola’s lean, powerful body lying motionless on the stark white hospital sheets. His skin, usually vibrant and warm, looked pale and drawn, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. The sight of him like this—so vulnerable, so broken—gnawed at me, threatening to consume the fragile grip I had on my own composure.

I had never seen him like this—never imagined him as anything other than unbreakable—and that terrified me more than the gunshots, more than the blood. My fingers dug into the cold windowsill, trembling as I fought the urge to crumble to the floor.

Just hang in there, I pleaded silently, swallowing the sob clawing at my throat. Please, Nikola. Just hang in there.

Papa came to rest his hand on my shoulder, and I turned my tearstained face to him.

“He’ll live,” he vowed, his fingers trembling slightly as did his lips. “I can’t promise you that his legs will be intact, but he’ll be alive.”

My eyes flicked to Vasili and Isabella who stood with the doctor, the argument still ongoing. “Why is she still mad at the doctor?”

“She wants them to do reconstructive knee surgery, but the surgeon thinks it’s too soon.” My brows furrowed, and Papa explained. “He might never be able to use his left leg again.”

Whether he walked or not didn’t matter, as long as he woke up. I could endure anything, help him through anything, but only if we were together.

“I’m sorry.” Emotions knotted in my throat and choked me as I stared at my papa. “This is all my fault.”

“What kind of nonsense is that?” he demanded. But that was just it. Papa would never lay the blame at my feet. He always took my side, and if only I’d kept my promise, none of this would be happening. “Now tell me what is going on in your head, princess.”

But I couldn’t find the strength to say those words. Instead, a sob tore through me, and Papa pulled me close to his chest. I cried and cried, staining his three-piece suit, letting out all my tears until none remained. Until I felt like an empty shell with only a throbbing, dull pain left behind.

He took my chin between his fingers and forced me to meet his eyes. “Tell me why you are blaming yourself.”

I hiccupped, and then signed with my red-stained fingers. “I promised you I would always tell you when something is bothering me, and I didn’t.” His dark eyebrows scrunched, not following my jumbled thoughts. “Remember when I first came to live with you? You made me promise to always be honest.” Recognition flickered in his eyes. “I found that marriage contract on your desk while you were in Rome two weeks ago. Instead of telling you I wouldn’t stand for it, I just went ahead and made my own plans.”

Papa cupped my face, his killer hands gentle. That was the thing with men like Papa. He could be ruthless, but never to the ones he loved. Never to me.

“And you know what?” I shook my head with a hiccup. “I’m proud that you did.” Surprise washed over me, mixed with disbelief. “It shows me you’re strong enough to stand up to any man, including Nikola. Now, it’s my turn to confess my mistakes. Nikola suggested, more than once, that I let you marry him.”

I blinked. “But you refused.”

“Yes, I refused. I was blind, princess, and if anyone is to blame for this clusterfuck, it’s your papa.”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Yes, I am. I’ve noticed for a long time that you had a little crush on him.” My cheeks heated. “But I didn’t give my daughter enough credit. I should have known it was more than just a crush. You’re a strong, independent woman like your mama. You see, I was scared Nikola would hurt you, but I see now… My daughter would never allow any man to push her around.”

“I love you so much, Papa, and I promise you… Nikola treats me better than I could’ve ever hoped for myself.” My eyes darted to the window, seeing his reflection, his body still in the same position, but his heartbeat strong and steady on the monitor. “He’s always stood up for me, just like you do for Mama.”

“Then you have my approval,” he stated slowly. “It’s hard for me to see you love someone more than your papa, because to me, you’ll always be my little girl, and my job is to protect you. But I can see he makes you happy, and as long as he continues to do so, he has my approval.”

I slapped my palm to my mouth, the mixture of emotions—happiness to have my papa’s approval and sadness that it was while Nikola lay unconscious—making a mess out of me.

“But if he hurts you, Skye, he’s a dead man,” he added, only half joking.

“He won’t, Papa. Nikola would never hurt me.”

Papa nodded. “I already told Marchetti the contract is off. Apparently Amadeo gave him as much grief as you did me. You just beat him to the punch with your… tape.”

I shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t ideal to talk about something like that with your papa, but there was no going back, and ultimately, I brought it on myself.

Mama appeared carrying a tray of coffees for all of us, her hands trembling as she set it down. I shook my head and Papa drank mine before discarding the paper cup and taking his own.

“This is a nightmare,” she signed, her face a teary mess. “How could Grandma do this? After all these years.”

“The woman is pazza, Nix. We should have ended her the moment we learned what she’d done to separate us twenty years ago.”

I shook my head, fury unlike any I’d ever felt before burning in my chest and needing to lash out. But I didn’t know how, so the only thing I could find the words for was, “I didn’t even know that your grandma was alive.”

Mama sighed. “We parted on bad terms a long time ago, and I made your aunt Reina promise never to tell me anything about her. Honestly, I thought she died. She’s in her eighties.”

“And just out of the blue, the old woman decided to shoot someone?”

“Not someone. Your papa. Maybe she was trying to hurt you too—my daughter.”

“The boy shouldn’t have put himself in front of me and Skye,” Papa grumbled, his expression harsh, his fingers clenching and unclenching. “I was her target.”

My gaze flitted to him, his lips set in a grim line.

“How can you say that?” Mama signed, her cheeks wet and her nose dripping. Papa reached for a handkerchief and dabbed it dry. “If something happened to you⁠—”

Papa’s expression softened. “I’m here. Everything will be okay, and the boy will live. I promise you, Skye.”

I tapped my hand on my chest, the tightness in my lungs suffocating me. I almost lost Nikola and my papa, all because of a relative I didn’t even know existed.

“How could she do that?” My gaze flitted to the blood staining my papa’s shirt. Nikola’s blood. “Why would she do that?”

Papa shook his head. “I never thought she’d hold on to her grudge for this long. She didn’t want your mama to be with me.”

The explanation didn’t make sense, and Mama’s cold expression confirmed it.

“That’s not all of it. She’s the reason Papa forgot about me. She had him tortured while I was giving birth to you, so he wouldn’t come after me. She’s the reason we were deprived of the first five years of your life, Skye. That woman has no scruples.”

A memory probed through a fog, causing my heart to climb up my throat as my own darkness morphed into a nightmare I’d been trying to forget since I was five.

I couldn’t hear my screams, but I imagined them bouncing against the bare white walls. They were lonely, cold and unloved, just like me.

My knees at my chest and my back pressed against the wall, I felt my sobs and tasted my tears. I went to wipe them with my right hand, but a handcuff kept my wrist captive.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, using my free hand.

The woman was my foster parent, but all she did was keep me chained to the cold radiator in this bare room. She didn’t want me, that much was clear, but she’d taken me into her home anyway.

“Why?” I asked again.

I wished for a big family, warm hugs and affection that would keep me cocooned in safety. But I knew the chances of getting that were slim. The woman had told me so herself.

“Nobody wants a deaf handicap,” she spat when she brought me here.

I wasn’t a handicap. Couldn’t she see that I was a normal girl? I just used my hands instead of my mouth to speak, but I could do anything that any other girl could do.

The door opened and the tall figure wearing a golden robe appeared. She would be pretty if not for the cold eyes and disgusted curl to her lips when she looked at me. I watched her warily as she made her way over, strutting like a queen.

Her silver-white hair was wrapped in an elegant chignon, accenting her big diamond hoop earrings. She reminded me of rich, old ladies that I’d sometimes see in the old movies.

“Someone’s adopting you,” she spoke slowly, intended for me to understand her. “You speak a word of this, and I’ll ensure your adoption is null and void.”

My brows furrowed, not understanding her. She acted like she owned me, had power over me, but it was clear she hated having me in her home. She’d shoved me into this room the moment we arrived and kept me handcuffed so I couldn’t even move.

“I want to go now,” I signed with my free hand, my body stiff and achy,

“Such a disgrace on a family,” the woman muttered, oblivious to what I’d said. The woman couldn’t understand ASL.

I never used my voice. One of the kids I used to play with once told me my voice was broken and ugly and I never used it again. But today something urged me to make a stance. I wanted this woman to know I’d never think of her again. She wouldn’t define me.

“I’m not your family,” I signed again, and then because I wanted to make it clear, I pushed the words out, “No… Family.”

The slap across my face whipped my head to the side and stole the breath from my lungs. My eyes stung with tears while the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.

I turned my head back to look at the old woman defiantly, but her next words shocked me even more.

“Defiance doesn’t suit you, little Phoenix.”

Then she laughed and turned on her heel, carrying a mocking expression on her face.

I stared after her with a frozen and shattered heart, wondering if I was meant to be a little Phoenix, not Skye.

A tremor started in my hands as the memory lifted like a fog. The woman called me little Phoenix. Could Mama’s grandmother be the very same woman who⁠—

“She deserves whatever torture the Nikolaevs will put her through,” Mama signed, cutting off my thoughts as her eyes darted to the Nikolaev family. “She keeps hurting people, and it’s time she got hers.”

“Are they going to find her?” I asked.

“They already did,” Papa chimed in. “It didn’t take long for Alexei to locate her. She’s in their… basement now.”

Suddenly I knew exactly how to unleash my rage.

But first, I’d be here for Nikola when he woke up.

39

NIKOLA

My eyes burned when they finally opened, and it took several seconds for my vision to clear. The first thing I saw was Skye, her usually sparkling eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot and her cheeks puffy. She stared out the window with a thoughtful and determined expression.

I lifted my hand and put it over hers to get her attention, the gesture taking more out of me than it should.

“You better not have been crying.” My voice was hoarse and somewhat groggy.

She jolted upright, her wide eyes meeting mine, and then ran to the door, only to come back to the bed.

“You’re awake.” She signed so fast, her hands were a blur.

But it didn’t matter, because she kissed me. My lips, my cheeks, my nose. Her lips were all over my face, and I smiled.

“You better watch it, I see your papa glaring at me,” I warned her, but she didn’t care, and frankly, neither did I at this moment.

She flashed me a blinding smile as she signed, “Papa’s happy for us. He approves of us and has already told Marchetti to go to hell.”

I chuckled, not having the energy to tell her that we’d already come to a similar understanding before all hell broke loose. “I guess it only took me getting shot to get his approval.”

She winced but didn’t get to say anything else before my parents entered. She took a step back, allowing them space, but I snatched her hand and dragged her back.

“You’re not going anywhere,” I signed while rasping the words at the same time.

She settled in, and a myriad of emotions rippled through me along with a sense of peace I’d never felt before. It felt more right than anything else I’d ever experienced.

I scanned my body. I had a few bruises and scratches and my legs were wrapped in braces, but pain was absent, so it couldn’t be anything serious.

“How are you feeling, son?” Dad came around to my other side, Mom tucked under his arm protectively. He looked relieved, but she didn’t. There were unfamiliar emotions carved into her face, and they projected through the hospital room.

Maybe the drugs they’d pumped into my system were making me slow.

“I’m good,” I answered. “I’ll be up in no time.”

An emotion flickered in Dad’s eyes, but it was gone as fast as it appeared. “Good, good. That’s… good.”

I tried to sit up, but I barely moved when all three of them jumped to assist me. I chuckled, the sound coming out forced. “I can move, you know.”

“I know, son.” Mom’s eyes flitted to Dad before they locked on me. “Just let us help you.”

Once they helped me into an upright position, I glanced between the three of them, then to the window where more people lurked. Branka, Marietta, Skye’s mother—each of whom looked like they’d been crying a river—Uncle Sasha, and Dante Leone.

The expression in the latter two made me the most uneasy. There was an approval there, but also… pity?

“Okay, out with it,” I grumbled, pinning the three people in the hospital room with a hard stare. “What are you not telling me?”

Dad answered too quickly, “Nothing.”

“Nothing to worry about now,” Mom amended.

Skye didn’t move, her eyes filled with relief and adoration.

Something was wrong. Seriously wrong.

“Skye, you’ll tell me.” Her gaze flitted to my parents before returning to me. “We won’t start our life by lying to each other.”

She took her bottom lip between her lips, chewing on it, but she didn’t move.

“Mom, Dad,” I said sternly, “give us some privacy.”

“Umm, I don’t⁠—”

I didn’t let my mom finish. “Now, Mother.”

“Son—”

“Don’t, Vasili.” Dad glared at me, but before he could continue, Mom tugged at his arm. “Let’s give them privacy.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry for my sharp tone.”

“Don’t sweat it, sweetheart.”

“Can you draw the window curtains, please? I don’t need them all looking in here,” I asked her, my eyes locked on Skye, who was growing more uncomfortable with each passing second. “I kind of feel like an animal in a zoo.”

“Of course.”

I waited until the curtains were pulled and the door clicked shut, cocooning us in privacy. I tugged Skye onto the hospital bed and kissed her hard. She always smelled and tasted like the most delicious thing, but I could never pinpoint anything on earth to compare it to.

When I broke the kiss, she watched me through a half-lidded, lustful stare. My heartbeat sped up at the love staring at me from her deep blue eyes, and I couldn’t remember when I’d ever felt happier.

Despite the fact we were in the hospital and I was recovering from a bullet wound.

“Now, tell me. Why is everyone acting so strangely?”

Skye

Nikola’s gaze was locked on me, that familiar gleam in his eyes making my heart stutter, then come to a screeching halt with his next question.

“Now, tell me. Why is everyone acting so strangely?”

His hand held mine, allowing me to answer with my free hand. He laced his fingers with mine, and for several heartbeats, I watched his inked fingers holding my own, my name tattooed on his and his on mine. I could lie, but I didn’t want to. I needed him to know that it didn’t matter. So I shifted, then signed slowly, “The bullet hit your knee and shattered it.”

His eyes shifted down the length of his body, but half of his leg was hidden behind the cast and layers of blankets.

“Okay.” His gaze returned to me. “And?”

“I know just bits and pieces,” I admitted. “Your mom was talking to the doctors, but I wasn’t paying enough attention to read lips.”

“Tell me what you know.” I’d come to know Nikola as playful. A reckless boy turned into a slightly unhinged man. But the somber expression on his face was new to me.

I swallowed.

“You might not be able to walk on that leg. Your mom was exploring reconstructive knee options, but the surgeon disagreed.” I sensed him more than felt him withdrawing. “You’ll be in a wheelchair for a bit, maybe crutches eventually, until the doctors know more.”

He pulled his hand from mine, and in that agonizing moment, I felt a fissure split open inside me—sharp and brutal, like the crack of a mirror shattering. If I could hear it, I knew it would sound like splintering glass, each jagged piece slicing deeper into my chest. My breath hitched, a raw, wounded sound that barely escaped my lips, and I pressed my trembling fingers to the empty space where his touch had just been.

“What are you doing?” I asked, trying to take his hand back in mine, but he refused my touch.

“Did they say whether I’ll ever walk again?”

My eyebrows furrowed. “Of course you’ll walk. You have your other leg.”

“Will I ever run again?” I stared at him, but he must have thought he read the answer in my eyes, because he shook his head, pain erupting in his expression and staining his face. “Never?”

“I don’t…”

“I’ll never run again.” The words tumbled from his lips, matching the hollow expression on his face. He wasn’t even looking at me anymore. I couldn’t comprehend what had changed as I watched him stare at his leg, almost as if he was willing it to get better.

“Nikola!” My voice, his name on my lips, finally snatched his attention back to me, and I stroked his face. “You’ll get better. We just have to take it one step at a time. Your knee will heal, and your mom is exploring options.”

“I’m sorry.”

I shook my head. “Don’t be sorry. Everything will be okay. We’ll get through this.”

His expression didn’t change, etched with despair and something else I didn’t want to identify.

“What did the doctor say is the best-case scenario?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, unsure if I should answer that one. It was still too early, and Vasili was busy calling in the best specialists in the world.

“I don’t know,” I lied, but Nikola knew me too well. We’d known each other almost our whole lives, and while it was a great basis for our future together, it was detrimental when it came to deceit.

“Zayka, don’t lie. Not to me.”

Every fiber of my being warned against being honest, yet I opted for the truth. “Best-case scenario is needing crutches or a cane.”

“And worst case?”

He knew the answer, but like a masochist intent on self-inflicting pain, he needed to hear it. Or in my case, see it. “Wheelchair.”

“A wheelchair,” he repeated slowly.

“But that won’t happen,” I signed with more assurance than I had any business giving.

He watched me with a sardonic expression. “But crutches will.”

“So what?” He was looking at this all wrong. “You’re alive. Cane or crutches… it’ll just be an extension of you.”

I was willing to try anything and everything, as long as we were together.

“Can’t you see, Skye?”

“See what?” I demanded, panic slowly growing inside me. “There's nothing to see. You’re alive, and you’ll recover. That’s the only thing that matters here.”

“No, it’s not the only thing,” he claimed stubbornly. “I’ll be handicapped and will need constant help and care. What are you going to do? Lift me into the wheelchair every morning and then get me into bed every night?”

“Yes, if I must. But you’re exaggerating. You’ll walk again, and you’ll be able to do all those things yourself.”

He shook his head. “But I’ll always be handicapped.”

“For Christ’s sake, Nikola. Stop saying it that way. We’ll figure out what works and what doesn't, then go from there.”

He dragged in a heavy breath. I could see his mind flashing through various scenarios, none of which were good. I could actually sense him—mentally and physically—pulling away from me, and it both terrified and infuriated me. Finally, on a long exhale, he announced, “I can’t marry you. I would never forgive myself for trapping you into⁠—”

“No,” I cut him off with my voice. “No, Nikola.” There was something bittersweet about using my voice in this moment. “Don’t you fucking dare push me away.”

Fresh tears flowed out of my eyes and his hand reached out to cup my face. “Don’t cry, Skye.”

“How can I not?”

“I have to let you go.” I shook my head in disbelief. How could he cut me off, just like that? We’d finally gotten everyone’s approval.

“Why?”

“Can’t you see?”

“No, I can’t.” I closed my eyes for a moment before I opened them to find him staring at that fucking leg again. I forced him to look at me. “Explain it to me, because I don’t understand what’s preventing us from being together.”

Feeling enraged, adrenaline pumping through my veins, I couldn’t sit still anymore. So I jumped to my feet and put my hands on my hips, glaring at him and waiting for an explanation.

His lips curled in disgust. “How in the fuck will I protect you while in a wheelchair, zayka? Or stumbling around on crutches?”

“I don’t need your protection. In fact, I don’t want it.” I waved my hands like a lunatic, unable to get them to focus enough to finish my thought.

“Imagine the two of us being cornered by an enemy. Would I ask them to move slower so that I could shoot them first?” He practically sneered at me.

“You can beat them with the crutches,” I shot back. “Or shoot them. Hell, I’m a good shot. Maybe I’ll shoot them!”

He scoffed. “That would only put you in more danger.”

I shook my head frantically, hoping to get through to him. “I can protect myself. And I can protect you too.”

“No.”

“Don’t you say no to me, Nikola Nikolaev.”

“You’ll thank me one day.” His eyes hardened into blue diamonds. Was he insane? There wasn’t a single scenario in which I’d thank him for breaking off what we had. “Besides, fucking you vanilla doesn’t do it for me.”

His words had me reeling back. “What?”

“I tried to change myself, go easy on you since you freak out being handcuffed, but that’s not who I am. It’s best we end it now before we both make a mistake. Fucking you just doesn’t do it for me.”

I let out a shaky, frustrated breath, the pain slicing through my chest like a jagged blade, and tears burned hot behind my eyes. I loved him—God, I loved him so much that the mere thought of living without him felt like being stripped of air, drowning in a world that no longer made sense.

And yet, he spat hurtful words at me. He was ready to give me up—just like that. Like I was something he could walk away from, something disposable.

That hurt more than anything—more than any bullet tearing through flesh, more than the threat of any enemy lurking in the shadows. This betrayal, this willingness to let me go, carved deeper wounds than violence ever could.

“Remember when you told me you’d clip my wings?”

He exhaled a tired breath, and a sliver of guilt snaked through me. I should have waited to start this conversation; he was still so weak.

“How could I forget?”

“The part you didn’t know is that I let you clip my wings because I never wanted to fly away when it came to you. You’re my forever, Nikola, even if I’m no longer yours.”

Nikola looked more distraught than I’d ever seen him—like I was tearing him apart piece by piece, gutting him alive right there in the sterile hospital room. His hands curled and uncurled, knuckles turning white, the dark ink of his tattoos stark and striking against the crisp, pale sheets. His jaw clenched, muscles straining as if he were fighting to keep himself from shattering completely.

“Goodbye, Skye.” The words, uttered with a hard gleam in those pale blue eyes, were my undoing.

That’s it? Just like that?

I closed my eyes briefly before opening them again, focusing them on his face, his body. I would use the image of him lying there as fuel for the journey ahead. I wouldn’t give him up. “You haven’t seen or heard the last of me.”

I turned on my heel and strode out of his room, past our family, down the sterile hallway, and out into the bright sunlight, my head held high.

He didn’t get to decide our future, not when I could be strong enough for the both of us.

40

SKYE

Ididn’t know how we got back to the Nikolaev manor. Nor how I ended up smashed between Papa and Sasha, the two taking turns comforting me. When they seemed at a loss for words, Mama and Branka would take over.

The hours passed in a blur. Everything reminded me of him—Sasha’s ink covering his body. The Nikola tattooed on my finger. The framed photos of the Nikolaevs lining the wall.

His presence was overwhelming.

“He isn’t a burden.” I yanked on Sasha’s shirtsleeve, sobs racking my body. “Will you tell him?”

“I will, princess. Now calm down. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

I shook my head, another sob tearing from my throat.

“I want to murder him all over again.” Papa’s expression was harsh and dark. “How dare he make my Skye cry? And just as I was starting to like him.”

“You still like him,” Mama signed with a stern expression. “And he still loves Skye. He saved your lives. The least we can do is give him time to come to terms with everything.”

“What terms?” Papa wasn’t having it. “That he made my daughter cry?”

“No, Dante. That he might not be able to walk the same ever again.”

Those words shattered me and a sob tore from my throat—raw, aching, unstoppable. Sasha pulled me into his arms, my face colliding with his chest, but I barely registered the comfort. How could Nikola not see it? How could he not understand that I couldn’t live without him? I didn’t just love him—I needed him. I breathed him, not oxygen. Wasn’t I his oxygen too?

Mama tapped my shoulder and I met her soft expression. She cupped my face and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

“Give him time, baby. He’s dealing with a lot right now.”

“He doesn’t care about my disability. How could he think I would care for him less because of his?”

“Oh, honey, men are dumb sometimes,” Branka chimed in. I felt Sasha’s grumble, but he didn’t object to his wife. “This is just a bump in the road. Like your mama said, let’s give him time. He loves you; he went against Sasha and Dante for you. It isn’t over.”

When my tears and sobs turned into hiccups, Mama and Branka took me upstairs, rubbing my back and pressing their cool hands to my heated cheeks.

“Take a bath,” Mama urged while Branka turned on the faucet. She found an amber bottle and uncapped it, pouring the liquid into the steaming water. I climbed in, numb, and stared as the bubbles began to fill the tub. Soon, my body relaxed, and I couldn’t help but wish it were as easy to wash away my pain.

I touched her shoulder, my fingers trembling. “I just don’t understand, Mama. Why would he push me away when he needs me the most?”

She stroked my cheek, her touch patient and gentle.

“It’s his pride. His first thought upon hearing life-altering news was of you. To protect you. That tells me he loves you more than anything and—” She shrugged, shaking her head. “I don’t know, but don’t give up on him. He’ll come around, and if he doesn’t, I know my daughter.”

“You’ll make him come around,” Branka added, hugging me tightly, before she continued. “Nikola has the country’s best doctors caring for him. Now, it’s you we must look out for. Your mama and I will be in your bedroom while you take your bath. If you need us, press on this.” She handed me the vintage handbell she and Sasha always kept for me in my guest room here. I hadn’t used it in years, but the sight of it brought me comfort.

Branka and Mama didn’t leave my side all night or the next day.

41

NIKOLA

It was the right thing to do. The only thing to do. I repeated the words over and over, like a mantra meant to dull the ache. But no matter how many times I told myself, they felt hollow—fragile lies trying to mask the gaping wound spreading through my chest.

Yet, the image of her hurtful expression was etched into my memory and fuck had it hurt to say those words. The truth was that I didn’t need any handcuffs and gagging. To make love to her was a thousand times better than any kind of kinky fucking.

My parents had demanded to know what happened, but I shut them out. The bare white walls of the hospital for two straight weeks became the kind of prison that could send you into an asylum.

Skye hadn’t returned, but she called Marietta every day for updates. My sister ensured I knew about everything they talked about, relating to Skye’s distress and how much she wanted to be here for me.

I ignored her, just as I did everything else.

My mom turned to what she did best: making me her patient and demanding to see every single X-ray and test so she could work her magic. But the truth was, she couldn’t do anything. Firstly, she wasn’t an orthopedic doctor, and secondly, physical therapy wasn’t her forte.

There were tears—endless, raw—and desperate hugs that tried to hold the pieces of us together. But even though I was still breathing, I felt hollowed out, as if something inside me had died. Maybe I’d brought this on myself, but what kind of man would I be if I chained Skye to my broken, handicapped ass?

She deserved better.

“We’re flying in an orthopedic surgeon from Boston. He comes highly recommended and he specializes in knee reconstructions,” Dad repeated for the tenth time, almost as if he needed his own assurance. “If we can save one, all will be…”

Nothing would ever be well with just one knee. All my life, he claimed strength was everything, but rather than pointing out the obvious, I nodded. He needed reassurance more than I did.

I’d never seen my dad look so shaken up. It wasn’t a death sentence, but he knew, just as I did, that to survive in our world, you had to be invincible. Something that was hard to achieve while tied to a wheelchair.

“Mom, please stop,” Marietta, who seemed to be the only one keeping it together, scolded our mom. “Nikola is here. He’s breathing and recovering. The experts are on the way. You need to stop fussing.”

Dad and I shared a look but remained silent. That was Marietta’s way of coping with this shitstorm—absolute stoicism. I wasn’t even sure I’d seen her shed a tear, which I may never be able to properly thank her for.

“You just hang in there, Nikola,” Mom said with a sob. “We’ll fix it, and it’ll be like this never happened.”

“Sure thing, Mom,” I agreed, but deep down we both knew there was no fucking way that they could fix both my knees. Nobody got that lucky.

I thought back to what the last surgeon said. The best possible outcome in this case will be that he walks with a cane for the rest of his life.

A fucking cane, I thought to myself. No riding a bike. No running. But the worst part was that I was no longer the best person to protect Skye. It almost felt like a death sentence would have been more merciful than to feel like such a failure.

Emotions started slashing my insides like a razor-sharp knife as all my life’s deeds collided.

Marietta gripped my hand as if she could read my thoughts, and I patted it gently. I didn’t have any words to offer. I was physically, mentally, and emotionally worn out.

“Everything will be fine,” Dad said, his features straining with worry as he took a seat next to Mom. “I have faith in you, son. But I need you to promise me something.”

“What is it?”

“You can’t shut us all out.” The words were stern, which made Mom cry harder. “You shut out Skye, and we respect that decision⁠—”

“For now,” Marietta added, stroking my cheek. “I’ll give you another few weeks to come to your senses, but then—” Her eyes glittered with tears that she was so desperate to hold back, and I looked away. I couldn’t see her break too. “Then you’ll see that love is forever and living without her is worse than walking with a cane.”

“But you won’t be shutting your family out,” Dad finished his statement. “We’re here to help you get through this. Together.”

“Okay.”

But as I looked at their faces, I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of life that would be for us when I got back home to the compound.

I’d always enjoyed my freedom and independence, and in a way, so did my parents. My thesis was done and there was no reason to go back to Connecticut. Not that D’Arc and its campus was ever a home. I stayed for Skye, waiting for her to finish her own degree.

The plan was always to get back to New Orleans. I always envisioned myself taking over the Nikolaev compound—carrying on what my father had built, a place where family would gather, come and go as they pleased, bound by loyalty and strength.

Never in a million years did I imagine this kind of ending for myself. Broken. Defeated. Hollowed out and dragging a shadow of the man I used to be.

The man I thought I’d become felt like a stranger now, lost somewhere beneath the weight of my failures and regrets. How could I lead, protect, or love when I barely recognized myself?

I was caught between who I wanted to be and who I had become—and the gulf between the two threatened to swallow me whole.

The weight of that reality settled heavily on my shoulders, a crushing contrast to the vision I once held. Pride and independence—the pillars I’d always leaned on—were slipping through my fingers like sand.

Yet I’d suddenly become a man who would need assistance with some of the most basic tasks. Like reaching the top fucking shelf in the kitchen just to enjoy a simple cup of coffee.

Fuck!

42

DANTE

Ifound Vasili and Isabella in front of Nikola’s hospital room, deep in their thoughts and their attention on their son, who apparently didn’t want them in his hospital room during his examination. Nurses and doctors rushed up and down the hallway, oblivious to the fact that the family who ran this city was here.

“I feel so helpless.” Isabella didn’t seem to be taking her son’s injury well, but she’d remained a pillar of strength for the sake of Nikola and Marietta. It’d been three weeks, and she still hadn’t come to terms with it. Not that I could blame her. If it were my kid, I didn’t think I’d have it in me to sit still and not rip the hospital to shreds.

“Malyshka, you’ve done everything possible. Let the doctors do their jobs,” Vasili said, worry lacing his voice.

Isabella pushed her hands into her hair and tugged. “I should be able to do something.”

Regret hit me with the force of a sea storm meeting the rocky shorelines. Again, I wished that Nikola hadn’t been hurt in my stead, but I understood enough to know that he acted on instinct to protect Skye.

Isabella’s gaze was glued to the window of Nikola’s hospital room, almost as if willing the doctors to heal her son.

Nikola was seated, the doctor examining both legs, holding up X-rays and humming contemplatively, then returning to moving his legs this way and that again and performing a DTR exam. The doctor used the rubber hammer on one knee and then the other, the usual knee-jerk reflexes not happening.

“It’s too early, malyshka,” Vasili mumbled, whether to convince his wife or himself. “It’s only been a few weeks.”

I heard he would be released today, and I wanted to talk to him before he returned to the manor. Skye wanted to wait for him there, but we’d finally convinced her it would be best if we moved to a hotel. Instead, we found ourselves in Sasha’s New Orleans penthouse. He and Branka rarely used it, usually opting for the Nikolaev compound.

“Vasili. Isabella,” I greeted them and their gazes slid to me. “Any updates?”

“No, but they’re discharging him today,” Vasili answered while Isabella’s attention returned to the window. “Is Skye okay?”

He sounded calm and collected, but the worry in his eyes and the clench of his jaw were unmistakable.

“Yes, she’ll be fine. We’ve moved to Sasha’s penthouse and will be there until we leave for Italy.” I’d delayed our trip back for as long as I could, my brother covering for me, but I knew we couldn’t stay here indefinitely. Business was waiting, and it wasn’t fair for Amon to shoulder my responsibilities too.

“You didn’t have to leave the manor,” Isabella protested. “It might be good for Nikola to see Skye when we bring him home.”

“We’ll respect his wishes,” Vasili reasoned, and I agreed. “He’s an adult, and the fact of the matter is, he can cut us off completely if he so wishes.”

She released a long sigh. “Fine.”

“If it’s okay with both of you, I would like to talk to Nikola,” I said. “To thank him properly for what he did, and…” I hesitated, and they both watched me, their brows furrowed. “Well, and to tell him personally that no matter what, he has my approval.”

It fucking killed me to say it while my daughter was still crying her eyes out every day, but it was the truth. The need to lash out was because I felt helpless. I felt guilty for dismissing him when he came to me. If I hadn’t, all of this might have been prevented.

And there was the fucking guilt that ate at me. Nobody should have been caught in the Leone family drama with my wife’s grandmother who’d caused so much damage to our lives. I knew the Nikolaevs were keeping the old witch alive until Nikola was out of the hospital to exact his own revenge. It was up to Nikola to do with her as he saw fit.

It was one of the benefits of our world: an eye for an eye.

“Do you think it’s the right time to discuss that?” Isabella asked, the protectiveness clear in her voice. In that regard, she reminded me of my wife a lot.

“As good as any. I’m hoping to make him see that he isn’t any lesser of a man today than he was three weeks ago. If anything, he’s even more worthy.” I pushed my hand through my hair. “I want to apologize to him for getting caught up in our family drama and paying the price for it. That should have never happened.”

“It’s not your fault,” Vasili protested. “It could have easily been anything else.”

“Nikola didn’t hesitate to protect me or my daughter. I couldn’t ask for a better man for Skye. I just hope to make him see that.”

The doctor came out and Vasili slapped my shoulder. “Go on, Dante. We’ll talk to the specialist in the meantime.”

Isabella nodded. “I hope he listens to you, Dante. I really do.”

I stepped around them and entered the hospital room, finding Nikola with his head in his hands. His elbows rested on his thighs, tattoos marking most of his skin, but only one caught my eye. The one of my daughter’s name around his wedding finger.

Something about that defeated posture stirred something fierce inside me. I wanted to grab him, haul him up, and shake the stubborn fight back into him. But I knew that wouldn’t show him the respect he deserved—not the way I truly felt.

Instead, I swallowed the urge and steadied myself, ready to do whatever it took to help him find that fight again.

“Nikola,” I greeted. I wouldn’t insult him by asking how he was doing. It was clear he was struggling.

He sat up, slipping on his indifferent mask and raising a brow. “What can I do for you, Dante?”

“What happened to Papa Dante?”

“It doesn’t have the right ring to it.” The little shit just shrugged. “It turns out you were right when you claimed that Skye needed a good boy.”

“You’re suspiciously agreeable.”

“Is that sarcasm I detect?” He leaned back, like he was lounging on the beach and not in a hospital bed. “On that note, Dante, you’re being irritatingly disagreeable today.”

The little fucking shit really was as stubborn as his uncle.

I took a step toward the bed, deciding to ignore his snark. He certainly deserved to be let off the hook for the next century after what he’d been through.

“Nikola, I want to talk to you about Skye.” Not a single muscle on his face twitched, but his hands clenched into fists. “Firstly, let me say thank you. For saving my life and my daughter’s.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Secondly, I want to finish the conversation we started.” He remained silent and I sighed tiredly. He was going to make me work for it, wasn’t he? “I approve of your wedding taking place this month.” Still no reaction. “As soon as we can arrange a priest.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Nikola—”

“Skye will get over all of it eventually. There’ll be no wedding.”

It was my turn to clench my fists, but the thought of my daughter and how upset she’d been had me taking a breath to ease my temper.

“No, son.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “Skye won’t get over you. She loves you, and I believe you love her.”

“You’re wrong.” The crack in his voice betrayed him. “There’ll be no wedding.”

“Here we go,” I muttered. Phoenix made me promise to use blackmail if necessary. I didn’t like it, but fuck it. For her and Skye, I might as well make a fucking idiot out of all of us. “Nikola, you remember my wife, right?”

He scoffed with clear irritability on his face. “What does she have to do with anything?”

“Well, son, I want to make her happy. She blames me for denying you Skye when you came to me and asked me to let you marry her. She also blames herself for her grandmother hurting you. I believe it didn’t matter to Diana whether she shot me or Skye, because she knew Skye’s death would have finished me. Bottom line, you got wrapped into our drama and now you’re paying the price for Diana’s desire to finish me once and for all.”

“It could have been anyone,” Nikola stated flatly. “The fact that it was someone connected to you doesn’t matter.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. Next Ace to use.

“You and Skye made the sex tape. You sent it to Marchetti.” Nikola stiffened. “Marrying her off now and securing her protection will be… impossible.” He met my gaze, understanding dawning on him. Good. “So even if Skye, by some miracle, agrees to a marriage to another man”—which she made clear she wouldn’t in a million years—“you can see that finding another husband for Skye would be… problematic.”

He tilted his head, watching me pensively. “I’ll find her a husband.”

“The fuck you will,” I gritted. “You will go through with this wedding, and that’s that. Because there’s no fucking way in hell I’m going back to my wife to tell her you won’t marry our daughter.”

Before he could argue with me, I whipped around, striding past his parents bickering in the hallway, and left him to ponder those words.

43

NIKOLA

The weeks passed in a blur of X-rays, rehab, physical therapies, and then there was seeing the therapist that my mother had insisted on.

Tap… tap… tap… tap… tap.

Why did all therapists have that annoying habit? I thought to myself as I watched Dr. MaryAnn’s fingers twitching around the pen.

I didn’t like the woman and much preferred Dr. Freud to her, but Marietta had let it slip that Skye was seeing Dr. Freud, so using her as my therapist was out of the question. Besides, I found these sessions useless. I only agreed to them to make my parents happy.

The return to the Nikolaev compound proved to be challenging for all of us, and honestly, getting out of there for these therapy sessions was a small reprieve.

But clearly Dr. MaryAnn didn’t feel the same as her eyes narrowed on me with distaste.

It was only my second session, but I had to wonder why the woman agreed to take me on as a client. She clearly had something against me. Maybe she’d heard of my and my family’s reputation and our potential to cause harm.

As a slow, cruel smile tugged on my lips, she glanced away from me.

“Let’s talk about how being handicapped makes you feel.”

Whoever said seeing a therapist should fucking help? I cursed silently as my fists clenched. My family delicately called it disabled, but this damned woman went straight for the jugular.

However, I refused to be baited. Instead, I sat back in my wheelchair, seemingly unperturbed.

“Why don’t you tell me?” I drawled lazily. “I’m told therapists know everything.”

She inhaled a breath, frustration marring her face, along with something else that I couldn’t quite pinpoint. “You feel useless.”

Fuck, did I ever, but instead, I stated coldly, “Maybe.”

“You feel all the wrongs, your sins are catching up to you.”

Her words left me agitated and ready to rain fury on her. On the entire world. But I refused to react. Dr. MaryAnn reminded me of a cougar who was always watching, ready to pounce.

As if she could sense weakness, a determination entered her posture and she straightened her shoulders. “Do you believe in karma, Nikola? What goes around, comes around?”

I chuckled, the sound harsh and cold, and said, “Maybe.”

Hesitation flickered across her expression, but she refused to stop.

“I think you realize that those you love will always be in harm’s way whenever around you,” she stated matter-of-factly. “The only way to protect those around you is to keep your distance. Especially now that you’re handicapped.”

Handicapped. I fucking hated that word. I would have killed anyone in a heartbeat whenever they called Skye that filthy word, yet now as I heard it… I wondered if maybe this woman was right.

I was handicapped and nothing would ever be the same.

I grabbed the handles of my wheelchair and rolled out of there while my chest hurt like I’d taken another bullet, shattering my whole heart and soul into tiny little pieces.

“Until next time, Doctor.”

44

SKYE

Nikola had been home for a while now, but he hadn’t asked for me.

My pride held me back from going to him. His words still hurt, and if there was one thing I’d learned from my parents, it was that when an apology was due, you should never cave in.

So I didn’t, but it split my heart in two.

It was the worst kind of feeling. The kind I felt when I was that five-year-old helpless girl, handcuffed to the radiator.

Ever since my memory had resurfaced, I suspected it was Mama’s grandmother who starred in my nightmares, but I didn’t voice that thought. I couldn’t bring myself to bring any more pain to my parents. Besides, I still hadn’t confirmed it was indeed that very same woman.

Papa, unfazed by the reality of the situation and ghosts of my past, had been full steam ahead with wedding preparations. He refused to take Nikola’s refusal seriously.

If I was a better person—a better woman—I would have told my parents to forget Nikola and this ridiculous marriage. But it turned out, I wasn’t a good, selfless woman.

“I like this penthouse,” Mama signed, desperate to talk about anything but what weighed on all of us. “We should stay here next time.”

Sasha and Branka’s penthouse was our temporary home while they were staying in the Nikolaev compound with Damien. Honestly, I never understood why they had a penthouse here when they spent the majority of their year in Siberia, and whenever they visited New Orleans, they stayed at the Nikolaev compound.

“Are you all packed up?” Mama asked for the hundredth time.

“Yes, Mama.” I shifted my legs, folding them under me.

The couch in this penthouse had sadly become my best friend. At least today I’d showered, which was a major accomplishment in my current state of depression.

I didn’t want to go back to Trieste, fearing that the physical distance would make matters worse. But that was ridiculous because it wouldn’t matter if we were five feet or five thousand miles apart, there couldn’t be a deeper wedge between Nikola and me.

My cell buzzed in my lap and a message flashed across the screen.

Penelope: So, Christmas wedding here I come. Might be a funeral too.

Amara: Ohh, two for one. Sounds like a perfect commercial ad.

Me: Have you gotten a dress yet?

I hated to admit it, but part of me was jealous. Penelope didn’t want a wedding yet she was getting one. I wanted one, and the man I loved refused to give me one. The most frustrating part was that I couldn’t wrap my head around his reasoning.

To me, he was still the same exact Nikola he’d always been: strong, protective, and loving.

Another message pulled me from my own misery to focus on my friends.

Penelope: I’m not wearing a white dress. I want Enzo to know I’m no longer a virgin.

Amara: Ohhh, love that. You going to go down wearing something risqué?

Penelope: I would walk down the aisle naked, but my family’s going to be there.

Me: Maybe give him a chance?

Penelope: Yeah, I’ll give him a chance to have a quick death.

Amara: face with rolling eyesface with rolling eyesface with rolling eyes I wouldn’t.

Penelope: Enough about me. How are you, Skye? Ready for your big day after that scandalous sex tape?

Fuck, the news of my broken engagement hadn’t made it out.

Me: Nikola dumped me. It was the shortest engagement—if you can call it that—in recorded history.

Amara: Fuck, what happened?

Penelope: Aside from the sex tape.

Amara: It’s hot from what I heard.

I winced, but before I could type a reply, Penelope’s came first.

Penelope: It was done discreetly so you couldn’t tell who it was.

Me: So how do you know it was me?

Penelope: My papa heard Marchetti raging. Nikola sent him a text with the video and specifically said it’s you with him. Fucking brilliant!

Me: Hindsight, not so much.

Amara: Want me to kill Nikola?

I sighed, unable to even imagine this world without him in it.

Me: No. He’s gone through enough.

Penelope: ???

Amara: ???

Jesus, it’d been weeks since the shooting. Hadn’t Nikola’s parents updated anyone?

Me: Long story. My great-grandma appeared from the shadows and tried to kill my papa. Nikola saved us, but she shattered his knees. He might never walk again.

Penelope: Fuck, I’m sorry.

Amara: Jesus, I take my assassination offer off the table. I’m so sorry.

Mama tapped my shoulder and I met her eyes, tabling the messages for now while my phone continued to buzz.

“It’ll be nice to be back home,” she signed nervously. “We can focus on Christmas plans and the wedding.”

“It’ll be a two-for-one,” Papa retorted wryly. “I sure hope wives’ tales of Christmas weddings are all bullshit.”

Mama slapped his forearm gently. “Christmas Day weddings are good luck.”

Papa’s eyebrows met his hairline. Clearly nobody had heard of that theory.

But instead of pointing it out, he settled for, “Well, he sure as fuck won’t ever forget his anniversary.”

“Penelope’s getting married on Christmas Day,” I signed, relating what I just learned. “So best not to go forward with plans for a Christmas wedding.”

“Ahh, maybe that’s why Vasili and Isabella are pushing for a spring wedding,” Papa stated with a hint of relief in his eyes. “Okay, no Christmas wedding. I’m sure somewhere along the way I heard it’s bad luck anyhow.” Mama stared at him, glanced at me, then back at him. “Another clusterfuck waiting to happen with Penelope DiMauro and Enzo Marchetti,” Papa continued. “Fucking disasters everywhere you turn.”

“Dante, weddings aren’t a disaster,” Mama scolded him, then turned to me. “What do you think about a spring wedding, Skye?”

“Yeah, whatever. Spring sounds just as good.”

Mama clapped her hands. “Wonderful. Aunt Reina can design your dream wedding dress. Everything will be just perfect.”

She was trying so hard to appear optimistic. So was Papa, and all I could do was grimace with the knowledge that our current situation wasn’t what I had in mind whenever I dreamed of a wedding and a future. I had to be the first woman in this fucked-up mobster world to insist on a wedding against the groom’s wishes. Talk about role reversal.

How low could I sink?

I pressed my hand to my forehead and inhaled a deep breath. Just the way Dr. Freud, the therapist Papa insisted I talk to, had taught me. God, how could things have gotten so bad? Happiness was within reach and then… poof.

My great-grandmother, of all people, destroyed it.

That familiar rage slithered through my veins and I steeled myself to ask the unfathomable.

“Papa?”

“Yes, princess?” Mama was scurrying around, cleaning and packing, not paying us any attention.

“Are you still going to… the basement?”

Surprise flickered in his eyes, but he waited until Mama was out of the room to answer. “Yes.”

“Can I go with you?”

“No, that is no place for you.”

I shrugged. “I’ve been there. So either you take me with you, or I’ll go alone.”

“The Nikolaevs have let you into that basement?”

I shook my head. “No, I ended up there alone once, by mistake.”

The memory of that Halloween night burned, hot and bright, making my cheeks turn pink. If only I’d known where it would lead us, maybe I wouldn’t have made my way into The Den of Sin.

Oh, who was I kidding?

I would have still gone down there, begging for Nikola’s attention.

“What do you think you’ll accomplish by going there?” Papa asked.

I shrugged.

“Don't know. Closure?” My gaze flitted to where Mama disappeared to. “How come Mama doesn’t want to see Grandma and demand answers?”

“Your mom closed the chapter on her grandma a long time ago.”

I swallowed. “So you’re going to the basement to… kill her?”

He shook his head.

“No, we’re leaving that for Nikola.” The name caused a painful throb in my chest, but I ignored it. “I’ve been going down there trying to retrieve your great-grandfather’s name from that woman.”

“He’s alive too?”

Papa shrugged. “It’s complicated, princess. He might be long dead, but it’s important for your mama and Aunt Reina to learn his name.”

“I understand.” Although truthfully, I didn’t.

Papa glanced at his watch, then back at me. “Fine, you can come along. It might be easier to get you to your therapy session with Dr. Freud afterward if I don’t have to run back anyhow.”

I jumped to my feet. “Give me five minutes to get dressed.”

When we got to the club, Kostya and his father greeted us. Judging by the state of Alexei’s clothes, they’d been there a while.

The scent of copper and death surrounded us, causing my steps to falter. My eyes locked on the slightly cracked door that led into the room where they kept my great-grandmother, a mere stranger.

“She’s still alive?” I finally signed, eyeing the old woman tied to the chair. Frail. Battered. As if sensing me, she lifted her head and our gazes clashed. I reeled back from memories.

It’s her!

The woman who’d starred in my memories long forgotten. The very same woman who’d handcuffed me to the radiator like I was less than an animal, keeping me trapped in a bare room for days.

The malice and hate I sensed rolling from her had me shaking my head frantically. I wanted to chase the dark fog away, right along with her.

Her mouth moved, but I couldn’t read her chapped, bloodied lips.

Papa stepped in front of me, blocking me from the woman’s view. His tense shoulders and alarmed posture zeroed in on me.

“Why is she saying you remember her?” Papa demanded to know, signing and mouthing the words at the same time. “Why would you remember her?”

Cold panic tore through my chest and my throat tightened. I tried to hide it, but it was like trying to hold back an avalanche. Impossible.

Papa took my face, my eyes darting around like a deer caught in headlights.

“Skye, look at me,” he demanded, but before I could sign a single word, Papa’s shoulders tensed. He whirled around and lunged at the woman.

I stood frozen as I watched Kostya and Alexei peel a raging Papa off the old woman while she was cackling with a crazed look in her eyes.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Papa signed, his hands shaking. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

For the first time in a very long time, I cursed my lack of hearing because I didn’t know what was said. I wanted to spare Papa any pain, but it seemed to be a moot point now. The ghosts hidden in the shadows of the past came to light, raking hell on everything.

“What did she say?” I asked, my hands surprisingly calm.

“That she had her filthy paws on you.” Papa’s expression was gutting me alive. “We failed to protect you.”

The words barely left his mouth when the door opened and Nikola came into view, wheeling himself into the room. For a heartbeat, the world stopped spinning and my poor, aching heart started beating again.

Sasha came up right behind him, both their pale eyes surveying the scene.

“What’s happening here?” Sasha demanded while I stared at Nikola, my heart pounding in my chest. The tremor moved up my body, creeping through every vein. My lungs tightened, every breath closing them a little more, and tears blurred my vision as images of Papa and the Nikolaev men swam all around me.

Nikola. Papa. Sasha.

Nikola. Papa. Sasha.

I shook with emotions as cold fingers touched my cheeks. They were Alexei’s.

“Kid, focus on your papa. Nikola. Sasha.” His expression burned with cold fury that I oddly found comfort in. “Focus on anything but the past.”

My eyes darted around. Black suit. Broad shoulders. Straight lines. Despite being in a wheelchair, he had never looked more like his father than today.

Nikola’s pale blue gaze locked on me and I inhaled slowly.

His eyes darkened, his jaw tightened, and his mouth moved. “I failed you.”

It was another self-inflicted reason to deny me.

“No, I failed you,” Papa claimed with a wretched expression.

“We should have found you earlier,” Sasha hissed.

“No,” I signed to all three. Scared of another rejection by Nikola, I took a step closer to my papa, shaking my head fiercely and speaking to all the men in the room. “You protected me. All the years outweigh those days I spent handcuffed to the radiator.” I glanced around Papa to find the woman staring at us with a curl to her lip. Despite her advanced age and frail state, she still had hate in her heart. “I want you to tell her that I forgot all about her. In all the years, I never thought of her once. She never mattered enough to think of her.”

A heartbeat passed, then another, and then Papa related my words.

The woman glared at him, then me.

I faced Nikola, struggling to find the right words to say. My heart squeezed in my chest, and somehow I felt small and vulnerable even as he sat in the wheelchair. I wanted to be his shield as much as he was mine. This woman hurt him, and while I wanted to make her pay, I knew Nikola probably needed this more than I did.

“You shouldn’t witness what comes next,” Nikola said.

“I can handle it,” I signed.

His jaw tightened as he watched me with the kind of longing I felt deep in my soul.

“I know, but you shouldn’t have to. I’ll take care of her.” He looked over to Kostya. “Don’t let her stay.”

My heart dropped, and I bit my cheek as I stared at the man who was my entire life. My oxygen. My nirvana.

Before I could say anything, Papa kissed my cheek. “It might be for the best.”

Sasha kissed my cheek next and I blinked, having missed him moving my way. “Princess, it is for the best. This witch doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you.”

Kostya took my hand and nodded to the men. “Sure, I’ll take her.”

Alexei and Papa escorted us out of the room, my heart dragging behind me on the ground. Once outside the room, Papa kissed my cheek again just as vibration crept up my legs.

The two men shared a look, then with grim expressions, they disappeared behind the closed doors.

I turned to Kostya. “What was that?”

He looked toward the shut door, conflicted, before replying, “Your great-grandmother’s torture has begun.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I have a therapy session today,” I signed, the color draining from my face.

“She deserves it.” There was no arguing that one. “I didn’t know you were seeing a therapist.”

I shrugged both shoulders. “It was Papa’s idea.”

“That surprises me even more. I’d expect that from my aunt Isabella, definitely, but Dante⁠—”

“It’s ironic, you know.”

“What is?”

“Nikola told me months ago that women who mess with him end up needing therapy. I guess his prediction came true.”

“It doesn’t hurt to talk to someone, especially if it’s a good therapist.” Kostya rolled his eyes. “Nikola definitely needs one.”

The throbbing ache that had become my constant since he got shot flared. It’d only been weeks, but it seemed like a lifetime. I made a point to push myself forward and act as if the world kept spinning as normal and nothing was amiss.

Yet everything was.

I yearned for Nikola like my lungs yearned for oxygen.

“How are his legs?” I dared to ask. “Any news on recovery?”

Kostya and Marietta were the only ones I felt comfortable asking that question. Damien would be the other one, but he was already back in Siberia. He preferred Russia to New Orleans and the States, and his classes started, so it was the perfect excuse to go back to what he considered his home.

“He’s started physical therapy, but that’s not the oddest thing.”

“What do you mean?” I questioned, not following his line of thinking.

“Strangely he’s been less crazy and more like his father. Reasonable, albeit more stubborn.” He pinned me with a knowing stare. “Aside from just now, is he still ignoring you?”

“Yes.”

“Seems dumb considering the wedding that’s bound to happen.”

I sighed, rubbing my forehead tiredly before I replied, “If it happens.”

Kostya chuckled. Not much got him rattled. “It’ll happen. Everyone knows it.”

“Well, everyone seems to be missing the point.”

Kostya’s light blond eyebrows pulled together. “What point?”

“He’s supposed to want to marry me. Honestly, at this point, I’m probably dreading this wedding as much as Nikola.”

“You could always not marry him,” Kostya suggested, the words enough to cause my eyes to burn with unshed tears. “You could marry me.”

It took several heartbeats for his words to sink in and my eyes widened. “What?”

“You could⁠—”

I waved my hand, shushing him. “I know what you said, but why would you say it?”

He shrugged. “Remember how jealous he got when he saw us in the restaurant?”

“As if I could forget.”

Kostya smiled smugly. “Well, just imagine what he’ll do if he thinks you’re marrying me.”

I tilted my head. “And if he doesn’t react?”

“Then we marry.”

“Kostya, I⁠—”

“It would just be a marriage of convenience, and we can dissolve it when my knucklehead cousin comes to his senses. But I don’t think it’ll come to that.”

“You can’t be sure.” I couldn’t believe we were even discussing it.

“Oh, I’m sure. As the wedding date approaches, we slip in a hint to his father and tell him we’ll do a switcheroo.”

“But—” I shook my head at the crazy idea, yet it sounded so tempting. “Nikola doesn’t want to marry me, so the groom switch could be exactly what he wants.”

Kostya rolled his eyes.

“I’d bet anything that Nikola won’t let the two of us get married if he gets wind of it.”

45

NIKOLA

After one solid week of torture, Diana Bergman’s expression finally turned fearful the moment she spotted me. She never even glanced Uncle Sasha’s or Alexei’s way.

It was only me she watched. After all, this was my revenge. My payback. Mine and Skye’s.

Her expression was filled with hate and malice, but it finally went through her head that nobody was coming to save her. Not the head of the Spanish mafia. Not the heirs of her long-dead lover and first husband. Not her granddaughters.

I wheeled over to her with a twisted grin, ignoring the stench of her body that smelled of copper, urine, and desperation. She was still in the same clothes that Alexei had found her in. The white Valentino tuxedo now yellow and sporting multiple rips.

“Merry Christmas,” was my greeting, watching the IV hooked to her vein drip, drip, drip. It was what had kept her alive for so long. “Or maybe not so merry after all, considering you’re tied up in a dark basement and there’re no hollies or cherry pies to go around.”

“You have no honor,” she spat.

“Funny, neither do you,” I scoffed. So did Sasha and Alexei, who stood a mere two feet behind me.

“Torturing an old woman is so beneath you,” she said tersely, her speech slightly slurred. A sure sign that her end was near, and today I might just be generous enough to give it to her. “What happened to no torturing women and children?”

“It still stands. But you’re neither a woman nor a child. You’re an evil piece of shit who manipulated her family. Who tried to kill her own great-granddaughter. Who hurt a five-year-old.”

It was what kept me coming back to this fucking basement and inflicting punishment on this old woman.

I hurt inside, and I needed this bitch’s screams to drown out the pain and voices of regret in my head. Skye out of my life hurt more than anything else. Deep down, I constantly fought the urge to go after her, but every time I sat in that fucking wheelchair, I knew I was doing right by her.

Fuck it all.

“She was never supposed to be born,” she hissed as she failed to push herself into a seated position. “One disability in a family is an accident, two is a stain on a family tree.”

I reached for my knife from the holster around my chest and stabbed her frail arm, twisting it with a gleam in my eyes and a cruel smile on my lips.

Her scream followed, and I waited for echoes of it to cease before I said, “Skye is the highlight of any family. A star shining so bright, she blinds everyone around her. You, on the other hand, may call yourself The Duchess, but you are the stain.”

I slashed a long cut across her abdomen, drawing another scream from her as she coughed up blood.

“It took you long enough to put it together,” she cackled.

“Why not let her be?” Sasha asked, leaning against the wall beside me. His posture was relaxed, but it was all a front. He was just as enraged as Dante and me, blaming themselves for failing Skye. The truth was, we all failed her. “Why come after her after all these years?”

She shrugged. “Revenge has a long memory, and that child and her bastard father ruined my family.”

Alexei narrowed his eyes, all too familiar with lunatics, and recognized Diana Bergman for one.

“Or maybe you should look in the mirror and own your fuckup,” Sasha said in a cold voice, adjusting her IV to ensure she didn’t die prematurely. “Now for the last time, was the Spanish mafia aware of your plans?”

Lo and behold, the first husband to this woman held a soft spot for her and had a hand in Dante’s torture twenty-some years ago. He teamed up with cartel members who were now long dead, but we needed to know if the heirs were in on this. We suspected not, since those criminals were usually involved in sea raidings and kept to themselves.

When she didn’t answer, I twisted the knife inside her abdomen, inflicting pain that wouldn’t kill her.

“No,” she finally answered in a hoarse voice, her beady eyes on me. “But I know everything about them. I could be of use to you.”

I smiled cruelly at the disgusting woman, but I didn’t shut her down. I needed more answers. “How did you know that Skye would be at Revelation?”

Uncle Sasha shot me a curious look, but I ignored it, keeping my attention zeroed in on the old woman for any telltales of a lie.

Diana laughed, although the sound was dead. She’d given up. “My last husband was a member. I retained the access and sent an exclusive invite to Enzo Marchetti.”

I stiffened. “The Marchettis are working with you?”

She shrugged, the stench rolling off of her in waves.

“He found me. I knew his crazy mother once upon a time.” I shared a glance with Sasha, but neither one of us said anything. “I guess he wanted answers.”

“What kind of answers?” I demanded.

“Who and what she was.” She coughed, then continued. “I saw an opportunity and offered him an exclusive invite to Revelation. How he used it was up to him.”

“In exchange for what?” I demanded.

“A small favor.” She coughed again, spitting up blood. Death was coming for her steady and fast. “That he used his newest software he sold to the FBI. It tops the one by Nico Morrelli and erases any search results typed in from certain IP addresses.”

“That’s why I couldn’t find you,” I hissed. “That’s why search results related to Skye’s foster care records kept coming up blank.”

“Smart, ha!” She smiled, most of her teeth missing. Over the last week, the woman had forgone her dental implants.

“That doesn’t answer how you knew that Skye would be in the club that night,” I insisted. “Unless⁠—”

“I demanded he use it to bait his fiancée’s friends to the club as well. I spun a tale of a long-lost great-granddaughter.”

I shook my head.

The lengths she went to end Skye terrified me, so when she locked her beady eyes on me, I felt no regret pulling out a gun and pointing it at her forehead.

Bang.

Ding dong! The witch was dead.

I gritted my teeth, silence enveloping my uncle Sasha’s Land Rover as I watched him drive me home. It made me feel like a useless, dependent schmuck. I had started physical therapy, but driving myself was still off-limits. I couldn’t use my knees even if I wanted to. Trust me, I’d tried.

He pulled up in front of my father’s home but didn’t move.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. “Jesus, are you going to start too?”

He looked at me. “Start what?”

I shook my head. “Nothing. Just say what you want to say so I can get back to work.”

He shot me a disapproving look. “It’s Christmas Day, nephew.”

“Merry fucking Christmas,” I muttered. “Now, can we go?”

“I talked to Skye this morning,” he proceeded to say, ignoring my sarcasm. “When do you plan on calling her?”

My heart felt like a hollow gaping hole and my future a chessboard without its queen. I’d counted the days since I last kissed her: thirty-four painful days. It felt like years.

I needed her.

It was fucking pathetic how much I needed her. I missed her fire, her moans, her everything. As if she was my oxygen, and now that I’d tasted her, life without her was impossible. It was life without air. It was surviving, not living.

Funny how life worked.

Just as things fell into place, everything fell apart so hard and fast, leaving me staring at the rubble of what was left of my crippled life.

But something had shifted inside me since Skye left. The same way it shifted all those years ago as I tugged on her hair and kissed her accidentally. I knew even back then that I could never be her forever because of this life I was destined to.

I told Dante Leone I’d find her a husband, but the truth was that whenever I thought of it, vehemence crept through me with such violence that a cold sweat would break out beneath my skin and a tremble would start in my hands.

So I tabled it until I was… stronger.

“Nikola,” Uncle interrupted my thoughts. “I know you think you’re doing the right thing, but two broken hearts should tell you otherwise.”

“She’ll forget about me.”

“But will you forget about her?” Uncle asked.

I pinched the bridge of my nose again. “What’s with you? You didn’t want me with Skye to start with. You should be happy.”

He took a deep breath and then exhaled it.

“Truthfully, I didn’t mind the idea that much once I thought it through.” I shot him a surprised look. “It made me realize that marrying you would officially make Skye a Nikolaev again. Besides, it makes sense.”

“What does?”

“That she’d fall for you. She always saw you as her protector. Her knight. Even when you pulled on her hair like some love-stricken boy.” He pushed his hand through his hair. “I should have known you two would be it all those years ago when I made you apologize and you kissed her.”

“It was an accident,” I muttered.

“Sure it was,” he grumbled. “Listen, Nikola. I know your father’s expectations to take over the Nikolaev empire were a lot to put on anyone as young as you. The truth was, Vasili took over caring for your aunt and me along with the Nikolaev criminal activities when he was way too young, and he had no business carrying that burden.”

I shrugged. “I’m fine with taking over.”

He nodded. “I know, but my point is that sometimes we act out when demands are put on us, but psychotic behavior is just a façade we hide under. However, it can leave you alone. What you and Skye found, made you a better person. Yes, you fucked up making a tape, but the two of you… you bring the best out of each other.”

He exited the car, and as I waited for him to grab the wheelchair from the back of the SUV, I stared in front of me.

Could my uncle be right?

46

SKYE

Isat in my papa’s office, Dr. Freud right across from me. It was January and rare flurries fluttered outside the window as we watched each other. Despite coming all the way to Trieste to give me sessions, which seemed extravagant, she appeared fresh and ready for another long day.

Honestly, the whole therapy thing seemed silly and unnecessary.

But my papa had set some New Year’s resolutions, one of them being to make his family happy, and he thought this was part of it. I played along because I knew how much it’d hurt him to learn about that short, dark period of my life.

Dr. Freud was the kind of woman that we all strived to be: smart, intelligent, and took no shit from anyone. And I really meant anyone. When Papa suggested he should be my ASL translator, she flat-out refused him. It might have something to do with the fact that she’d treated criminals for most of her career and was married to one.

Either way, Papa couldn’t bully her into getting what he wanted.

Her intelligent gaze met mine, and she smiled reassuringly. “You find this pointless, don’t you?”

I shrugged, then leaned over my pad of paper and wrote,

Honestly, yes. A dumped woman hardly calls for a therapy session. It’s an everyday occurrence.

Dr. Freud didn’t know ASL, which made these sessions even longer, much to my dismay.

Once she read my scribbles, she lifted her head and stated, “I think these sessions are more to keep Dante’s sanity. He blames himself.”

I let out a frustrated breath, then got to writing again.

That incident was a mere passing dark moment in my life. Hardly something that could shatter a person. I forgot about it once I found a family with the Nikolaevs and my parents.

“Sometimes those dark moments linger in the shadows, waiting to strike.” My mind instantly flitted back to my panic attack when I snooped around Nikola’s dorm. “Ah, you remembered something.”

I waved my hand, then wrote,

It’s nothing.

“Let me be the judge of that,” she stated firmly.

My cheeks heated before I squared my shoulders proudly. I had nothing to be ashamed of. I focused on the words as I wrote them on the pad.

I got accidentally handcuffed, and instead of turning kinky, I panicked.

She read the words, but her expression remained unchanged.

“I’m not surprised,” she said, her words spoken slowly. “Sometimes it’s useful to replace those bad memories with the good ones, but the process has to happen gradually and with someone you trust explicitly.” Nikola immediately came to mind, if only he’d look past the physical and focus on what we had. “Also, if you find that person, you want to be honest with them so as you get… kinky, they can look after you. Take care of you.”

Okay, maybe Dr. Freud was as good as my papa claimed.

I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.

She read my note and flashed me a kind smile.

Did you help my papa with his own memories of torture?

She glanced at my question before answering. “I can’t answer that. All I can tell you is that your papa’s only concern is you, and he’ll gladly ignore all his demons to ensure your happiness.”

I didn’t need her to tell me that because I already knew it. I saw it every day.

Maybe you should have sessions with him, not me.

She chuckled after reading it. “He’s just worried about you and wants to make sure you’re alright.”

I am fine, or I will be once I come up with a plan.

She read my sentence and her eyebrow rose in surprise.

“Plan?” I nodded and she questioned, “To get your man back?” I nodded my answer, causing her to chuckle. “You’re your father’s daughter, that’s for sure.”

I started writing again.

Thank you…?

She smiled. “It’s definitely a compliment.”

I always wondered how my papa knew Dr. Freud. When I questioned him about it, he just said she helped him once, and since she was married into another mob family now, she could be trusted not to yap to the authorities.

“I think it’s good you’re not giving up,” Dr. Freud continued. “Although, I would caution you not to project your emotions and feelings onto the man.”

Anger flared inside my chest and I wrote my next words with a harsher press of the pen.

He loves me too.

“Sometimes love isn’t enough,” she said slowly, and my eyes turned into slits.

Love is enough,

I wrote, underlining “is” multiple times.

Nikola thinks he isn’t good enough now that he can’t run, but that’s bullshit. It’s like me saying I’m not enough because I can’t hear.

She scanned the words and tilted her head pensively. “Yes, I see your point.”

But did she really? Or was this just another one of those vague therapist comments that led you to come to your own conclusion?

NIKOLA

It was a new year, but my legs were still just as useless, and so was my mind sometimes.

I’d been bound to a wheelchair for two months now, the lowest point in more ways than one. I continued seeing the therapist that my mother had insisted on and it was my own personal hell these days, although I wasn’t sure that I didn’t deserve it.

“The best thing one can do when handicapped is to know our limits.” Dr. MaryAnn’s words were slowly but surely killing me. “And don’t put others in a position where they have to do something out of pity for you.”

As we sat in her office in downtown New Orleans, her expression was a mixture of pity, disgust, and… was it shame? Either way, it was working like the worst kind of poison.

“I see,” I gritted out with so much pent-up energy rolling off my Brioni three-piece suit, I was surprised I didn’t perish right then and there. Over the holidays, my uncle’s words had kept playing on repeat in my mind and I’d started to consider them, but now… yeah, fuck that.

I didn’t want anyone’s pity, least of all Skye’s.

My therapist’s black eyes zeroed in on me, almost as if waiting for the moment to strike. But I wouldn’t let her.

“Do you have any useful suggestions?” I drawled. “Or are you done for the day?”

“All the wrongdoings have a way of getting their payback,” she stated.

Triumph oozed from her dead eyes while chaos reigned in my own. Irritation flared through every fiber of me, rising higher and higher until it was suffocating me. Yet I couldn’t help but wonder whether the woman was right. The consequences of my actions had caught up to me after years of stupid shenanigans and reckless behavior.

It was time I cut that shit out. Maybe this was payback to teach me some fucked-up humility. Though I didn’t see much sense in it.

“So therapists believe in karma, huh?” I retorted wryly.

Her eyes locked on my wheelchair in answer. Fuck this bitch.

“Bad men are selfish and think only of themselves,” she continued in a taunting voice. “Are you a bad man, Mr. Nikolaev?”

“I sure fucking am,” I stated matter-of-factly, meeting her gaze head-on with cold indifference while my insides shredded to pieces.

But I’d be damned if I let her—or anyone—see that.

47

NIKOLA

The days came and went. It was February, and guess what… my legs were still just as useless, and my wheelchair was my best fucking friend. Reconstructive surgery, rehab, physical therapy… all for naught. The doctors insisted it would take time, yet I’d seen no improvements with the weeks and months that had passed.

My father claimed that when he helped me in and out of the wheelchair, I used my legs more. My mother had insisted on the therapist, clinging to it like a life raft. In her mind, it was the only thing she could contribute to my healing process.

I would have argued, but I couldn’t find the will or strength to fight against it, because I’d lost the most important person in my life. The essence of my being.

In fact, nothing seemed to matter anymore. My life was filled with sorrowful and pitiful looks. With meaningless, needless conversations.

Like the one I was having now with Gabriel Santos. Putting up with constant visits from Uncle Sasha and Alexei and enduring their enlightening conversations was bad enough, now I had to put up with Gabriel’s annoying ass.

While he yapped about one thing or another, I focused on the numbers on the laptop screen. I did some quick mental math, then leaned back in my wheelchair while Gabriel stared at me from the opposite side of the desk.

“Arrange one more drug shipment, Gabriel.”

“Another one? But we’ve already done two more than usual.”

I sighed. “What’s your point?”

“You take the concept of killing yourself with work quite literally, Nikola. We have big fish to fry. Organ trafficking isn’t slowing down, and we need to focus all our efforts on that.”

“Can you do it or not?” I snapped. The whole organ trafficking was everyone’s priority, including mine, but there was little I could do from here.

“I’ll get it done. Whatever you want, buddy.”

Gabriel shook his head disapprovingly and pinned me with a stare I didn’t like. Not at all. “What? Why are you looking at me all weird?”

“I’m your uncle and friend. Listen to me when I tell you that you have to give it a rest.”

“I agreed to see you so we could talk business, not so you could start on the personal shit.” Work talk I could handle, but life lessons not so much.

“Nikola, you need a distraction, maybe a quick fuck, and⁠—”

The thought of touching anyone but Skye had bile rising in my throat. There was no fucking way I would ever touch another woman.

“Gabriel, if you speak again, I swear to God, I will kill you.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Fine, fine. I won’t go there.” He shifted uncomfortably, then looked somewhere behind me. “Skye is doing well,” he continued to blab, his white three-piece suit half blinding me. “Apparently she’s finishing up her exams early.”

“Don’t start with the Skye updates,” I grumbled. I got plenty of those from Dante. The man messaged me every fucking day. He even sent me photos of floral arrangements. The crazy motherfucker had taken it upon himself to head up the wedding plans and was driving his wife and my parents crazy in the process.

Dante Leone. A wedding planner.

I scoffed. If someone would have suggested that mere months ago, I would have laughed my ass off.

“Are you feeling lonely?” Gabriel asked off-handedly.

“I’m feeling too far away from her,” I answered honestly, caught off guard.

“Then go get her, you blind idiot.” I shook my head. I was a selfish bastard, but could I be that fucking selfish to tie her to me in this state? “Did you know she’s been taking her classes remotely from Italy? Word on the street is that she’ll finish up without coming back to the States.”

I didn’t ask why. I’d had two months’ worth of practice successfully avoiding the topic of Skye Leone. Despite my parents and hers bombarding me with unsolicited updates.

If only I could forget her. That woman lived rent free in my head.

I kept telling myself if I maintained my distance, then maybe, just maybe, Skye would forget all about me and move on. But I was a slave to this love for her. During the day, it was easier not to think about her, but at night, I remembered everything. Every smile, every word, and every moment we’d ever shared.

Fuck.

Growing up and seeing my parents and my aunts and uncles in loving marriages, I thought falling in love was great. Nobody ever said it hurt like a motherfucker.

“Nikola, are you listening?” Gabriel asked. “You must be quite unwell to be acting so fucking tame.”

“You know who won’t be doing well?” I asked casually, and Gabriel flicked me a curious look.

“Who?”

“You, because I’m about to shoot your Colombian ass if you don’t get out of here.” Unfortunately, my words didn’t have the desired effect because he remained sitting.

“Trust me and my Latin roots, nephew,” he continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “Stop trying to be a martyr or whatever the hell you’re trying to be, and just work shit out with Skye. You love her, she loves you… it’s quite simple.”

“Yes, it would be if I could protect her,” I hissed. “I couldn’t even protect her from her great-grandmother. I’d been digging for the identity of The Duchess and then boom… Skye almost got killed.” I pointed to my lap. “Imagine how efficient I would be with these useless legs.”

“Hire extra bodyguards,” he argued back.

“I don’t want her to settle with me,” I admitted. “To pity me because of my… disability.”

He rolled his eyes.

“She loves you, not your legs.” That was Gabriel for you. A fucking comedian. “I’m sure they’re great legs, but your heart is probably even greater.” He shifted, pushing his hand through his hair uncomfortably. We usually steered clear from discussing emotions. “Or maybe it’s just your dick she wants. Whatever.”

I narrowed my eyes on my friend. “This conversation is over. If you don’t get the fuck out of here, I’m going to⁠—”

He stood up, brushing the nonexistent wrinkles off his suit.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re going to shoot me because I brought up one name that nobody dares to utter around you despite your impending marriage.” He made his way to the door and then flicked me a glance over his shoulder. “The wedding is happening, you know. With or without you.”

“The wedding won’t happen,” I hissed, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“She won’t wait forever.”

“That’s the point,” I grumbled, just as the door to the office opened and my father appeared. The two shared a glance, and Gabriel gave him a subtle shake of the head. I should have known. Why couldn’t anyone mind their own fucking business?

“See you at the wedding, Nikola.”

I didn’t get to ask whose before he disappeared and my father took his previously occupied seat.

“Remind me to change the locks on that door,” I muttered, turning to my laptop screen.

“Nikola, we have to talk.” Jesus Christ. I felt like I’d aged twenty years since November. “You know your mother and I love you.”

“Of course. I love you guys too.”

“And I don’t say this enough, because you always manage to somehow drive me crazy beforehand, but I am proud of you, son. I’ve always been proud of you.”

“If Mom shows up now and starts fawning over me, I’m going to lock you both out of this office.”

A smile twitched on Dad’s lips. “She’s actually standing outside now. Probably eavesdropping as we speak.”

And sure as shit, the door opened and Mom sauntered in, wearing a simple cream dress while carrying a tray of sandwiches and cookies. She looked like she’d just stepped out of a homemaking magazine.

I groaned, but before I could utter a single word, she said, “I promise I didn’t make these.”

My mom was a brilliant doctor, but we all knew she couldn’t cook for shit. She used to get Bianca Morrelli to come over when we were children and give her lessons. It was a complete waste of time.

After she placed the tray on the desk, not bothering to keep my carefully arranged files in order, she sat on my father’s lap. My dad had always been the protective shield that my mom could count on to shelter her from every threat in the world. He’d lay his life down for her. They had the kind of love that fairy tales were written about.

I’d never wanted it for myself, but now that I got a taste of something similar with Skye, I couldn’t help but feel envious. It was so damn stupid.

“Like Vasili was saying, we’re so proud of you, Nikola.” Her chin and bottom lip trembled, tears glistening in her dark eyes. “We love you and want to see you happy.”

“I’m happy.” Enough. “I’m fine.”

I’d said those words so many times, I hoped I would eventually believe them. The stupid organ in my chest wasn’t fine; in fact, it was in worse condition than my legs.

“Son, we have to talk about Skye.”

“God, not you too.”

I put my head between my hands and held it when I felt a soft stroke of my mom’s hand, offering her support.

“Sweetheart, she loves you. It’s obvious you love her too. Why are you resisting it?”

“I can’t protect her, Mom. How can I protect her like this?” I lifted my head and pointed to my legs. At this point, I sounded like a broken record. “I’d be more of a liability than anything.”

“Slowly but surely, your leg is healing,” Dad claimed. “You’ll regain some use of it.”

“But we don’t know how much,” I said. “Crutches could be my best-case scenario.”

“Or cane,” Dad corrected.

“We’re talking about at least six months of physical therapy,” I pointed out. “Probably longer. Whether it’s a cane or crutches, I’d still be useless when it comes to protecting Skye or our family.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it, Nikola,” Dad argued.

“I don’t need her pity, or anyone’s for that matter,” I spat. “I won’t marry her and risk failing to protect her. Dad, you’ve pounded into me since I was a kid that dangers lurk everywhere.”

“Hasn’t your therapist explained to you that there are different kinds of protection?” Mom tried.

Truthfully, Dr. MaryAnn made me feel worse, not fucking better.

“Fuck the therapist and her enlightening words right now,” Dad grumbled. “Dante is going ahead with the wedding plans for fuck’s sake, and he’s running out of patience.”

“That man really doesn’t understand the meaning of a canceled wedding.” And he dared to call me stubborn. My parents shared a glance and an alarm shot up my spine.

“What?” I questioned, and when they both remained silent, I asked again, “What is it?”

Mom shifted uncomfortably and Dad avoided looking at me as he uttered the next words.

“If you don’t marry her, Kostya will.”

48

NIKOLA

It was my uncle Alexei who opened the door when I showed up at their penthouse. Unlike Uncle Sasha and his family, they preferred the privacy of their own penthouse.

“He insisted,” my father grumbled behind me as I wheeled myself inside. It was annoying—to both of us—that he had to drive me over, but I pressed upon hearing the news.

The thought of Kostya with Skye, his hands on her… it had me seeing red. I recalled their lunch date and how they were laughing, and suddenly I could practically see them having a life together. It flipped a switch inside me.

It had nothing to do with “you don’t know what you had until you lost it” and everything to do with the fact that I couldn’t—wouldn’t—live this life without her.

Skye deserved the best, and I knew I wasn’t it, but I would try to be. She made me want to be a better man. She was the essence of my being, the reason I was put on this earth. She was my life, and without her, it would be a slow, painful kind of death.

“I need to talk to Kostya about Skye,” I breathed out, her name the sweetest kind of torment on my lips.

“Where do you want to do this?” my cousin answered, appearing at the doorway of his bedroom at the end of the hallway.

“Your room,” I said.

“No fighting,” Uncle Alexei warned and I rolled my eyes, pointing wordlessly to my legs.

Kostya disappeared inside his bedroom and I wheeled myself in, pushing the door, but it didn’t click shut. He perched himself against the desk. His bedroom was stuck in some in-between stage of young adult and grown-ass man.

I wasted no time with small talk.

“You can’t marry Skye.”

His eyebrows met his hairline. “Come again?”

“You. Won’t. Marry. My. Skye.”

Strained silence followed as we eyed each other. It stretched on and on until his fingers started tapping against the surface of the desk. I hadn’t twitched a single muscle. There was too much on the line, and while I loved and respected my family and cousins, I loved and needed Skye more. For her, I’d wage a war against my own family.

“It took you long enough,” he finally said.

A breath I didn’t know I was holding swished out of my lungs. “Did she put you up to it?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I suggested it back when you broke it off, but she decided against it. She insisted on giving you time and then coming after you herself. She didn’t want to manipulate you by putting us against each other.”

My lips curled into the first smile since the accident. “That’s so Skye.”

He nodded. “I’m not sure you deserve her, Nikola.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I know.”

“Then fucking apologize.” It was a simple, no-nonsense answer. “You know what Skye asked me the other day?”

“What?”

“She wanted to know how men get through shit without crying.”

The corners of my lips twitched. “Did you tell her we bottle it all up until we die of stress and heart failure like real men?”

“Something like that,” he drawled. “Then she called me a dumbass and said she won’t come to my funeral if I die a real”—he made quotation marks around the last word—“man.”

“You shouldn't have pushed her away.” He pinned me with a hard stare. “You owe her a big apology.”

“And you better worship the ground she walks on,” a female voice came from behind and I whipped my head around to find my aunt Aurora and Skye’s mother in the doorway.

Seeing my flabbergasted expression, Mrs. Leone walked over, kissed my cheek, and patted my hand. “Skye refused to force you into this, but I didn’t. When I heard Kostya’s suggestion, I flew right over. You and I… We need to have a talk before you do anything with my daughter.”

Kostya strode over to me and put his hand on my shoulder, then left soundlessly with his mom.

Once the door clicked behind them, I signed while saying the words out loud because I needed to hear them too.

“I don’t deserve Skye, but I’m going to take her anyhow.” Despite the pity, my fucking legs, and everything else. Mrs. Leone said nothing, so I continued. “And I’m going to work my fucking hardest to deserve her every day for the rest of our lives.”

“I know.” She nodded as she took a seat on the edge of Kostya’s bed, her eyes landing on my legs. “I’m sorry you paid for my family’s fuckup.” I waved it off, but she shook her head. “Don’t discount it, Nikola. You saved the two most important people to me, and life without them—” She swallowed. “I’ve lived once without Dante, and I don’t want to do it again. So thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Mrs. Leone.”

“Phoenix,” she signed. “Call me Phoenix. After all, we’re family. We've been a family for a very long time.”

Hope swirled in my chest. “Phoenix, then.”

“Now, I want to share something with you.” She crossed her legs as if getting comfortable for a long conversation. “When I was young, you know Dante and I were separated. But what nobody knows is that I thought Dante left me because of my disability. My hearing impairment. I was lucky to have a father and sister who never made me feel lacking, but it was my own self-worth that doubted anyone else.”

“You aren’t lacking,” I said, noting she didn’t mention her grandmother.

She smiled softly.

“I’m glad you see it that way. I raised Skye with that sentiment too, but the fact of the matter is that we’ve been living with that feeling all our lives. But this…” She pointed to her ears, then my legs. “Doesn’t make us any less. It takes a fighter and a quite remarkable person, if I may say so, to continue to live. You hear me, Nikola… you have to live and love fully. Despite your legs. Despite Skye’s hearing impairment, and any other obstacles thrown your way.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

It was like something in my chest shifted and clicked into place. Maybe those were the words I needed to hear all along, and it took a person like Phoenix and Skye to make me realize it.

“If I gave up, I wouldn’t have Dante. If Skye had given up, she would have never experienced this love she has for you. And if you give up, Nikola… you’ll give up on Skye. Keep an open mind and the world is yours. You have something that most people search for their entire lives. You love each other.”

I was such a fucking idiot. Such a fool.

“I’m not giving up. Not anymore, not ever again.” I straightened my shoulders and locked eyes with my future mother-in-law. “I love her. I’ve loved her for far longer than I realized, and this time I’m keeping her forever, because I can’t live without her.”

Now it was up to me to make it up to Skye.

49

SKYE

Christmas had come and gone, then New Year’s, and then the whole months of January and February. I’d never understood how anyone could hate the holidays, but now I certainly did. Family gathered around, happy and joyful, making my own mood only gloomier.

Physically I was perfect. Emotionally not so much.

It was the longest I’d gone without seeing Nikola since Sasha and Branka adopted me. In fact, it was the longest I’d gone without going to New Orleans, and it almost felt like I’d lost a limb. That city was my home as much as Trieste and I was feeling homesick.

It also didn’t help that I hadn’t seen my girlfriends in months. Penelope was married and in her own hell—or heaven, none of us were quite sure. Arianna was getting her brains fucked out by her husband. Amara was being secretive about whatever she was doing. And then there was me.

My plan to get Nikola back started and ended with Kostya, who I finally flat-out refused. I couldn’t do that to Nikola, even though he’d hurt me more than anyone else ever had. So I dealt with it like most of Generation Alpha: by talking to a therapist.

My therapy sessions with Dr. Freud continued, although we both agreed my papa needed them even more than me. She claimed I was dealing with everything in a healthy way; my papa not so much.

All the Italian cookies I’d devoured would attest otherwise, but I took the win nonetheless.

I let out a heavy sigh and eyed the cookie assortment on the coffee table while debating whether I should eat another or not. I’d already eaten half a dozen cream puffs. Mini tiramisus. Amaretti and ricotta cookies. You name it, I’d devoured it.

Apparently, it was my thing to eat my feelings.

I was just about to say fuck it and go for another cookie when my phone’s vibration yanked my attention away.

With a heavy sigh, I reached for it and my eyes widened. No, it couldn’t be. I blinked several times, but the name still stared back at me.

Nikola.

Was it a prank? Maybe Papa had threatened him with bodily harm if he didn’t message me. I glanced around the empty room. My parents were on the terrace, cuddled in a blanket and watching the sunset. Mama went on an impromptu trip with Aunt Reina and Papa just about lost his marbles, so she was making it up to him.

I slid the message open and read it.

Nikola: Why does playing the piano make you melancholy?

Huh?

I stared at the words with a furrowed brow, trying and failing to decipher them. I typed my reply with quivering fingers and a palpitating heart.

Me: Because I can’t hear the notes, only feel them.

My fingers hovered over the sent message, staring at the bubbles on the other end. Start; stop. Start; stop.

Nikola: You and Kostya… never gonna happen.

Me: ???

Nikola: You’re mine and you’ve always been mine. I’m a jackass.

The first smile in months spread on my face. If Kostya were here, I would have hugged him to death. He must have taken matters into his own hands and slipped a little hint to Vasili.

Me: Yes, you are.

But he was my jackass.

Nikola: Your papa agreed you can visit me in New Orleans. He insisted you stay at the Nikolaev manor.

My eyebrows furrowed. It seemed unlike my papa to let me stay away from home for very long, but there was no freaking way I’d question it.

I typed a reply and deleted it. Tried again, then deleted it again. Then settled for a simple one-word message.

Me: Okay.

Nikola: Good, I’ll see you tomorrow, then.

I shot to my feet and caught a glimpse of myself in the window. Oh no, how could I meet him looking like this? I’d let myself go. My hair was frizzy, my nails chewed up, and my eyebrows… No, no, no.

I started pacing in circles, so many thoughts whirling in my mind, when I noticed two sets of eyes staring at me.

“What are you doing?” Papa asked, eyeing me like I’d lost my mind.

“Thinking.”

Mama shook her head. “About what?”

“Nikola texted me. I have to pack. Find some cute stuff. I need a haircut. Manicure. Eyebrow wax. More pink stuff.” I tugged on my messy, knotted hair. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Papa rolled his eyes. “You have nothing to worry about. He’s lucky to have my beautiful daughter.”

I pursed my lips.

“You’re my papa, of course you’d say that.”

“So he wants you back, huh?” Papa asked and my brows furrowed. “About fucking time. I should make it harder on him and⁠—”

“You don’t want me to go?” I asked.

“As if I could stop you,” Papa scoffed. “Don’t worry, Nikola called me and we came to an agreement.”

“What kind of agreement?”

He waved his hand nonchalantly. “More visitations.”

I had no idea what that meant.

“So you’re okay with me being gone for a while?” I signed hesitantly.

He winced. “Not exactly okay, but I know Nikola and you need some time alone to work things out. I want you to be happy.”

“And both of you need to be open-minded,” Mama chimed in. “Happiness needs work.”

“You two make it look so effortless,” I noted.

Mama smiled. “It’s not. There’s always an obstacle waiting, but as long as you stick together, nothing else matters.”

“I’m going to see him.”

I clapped my hands excitedly and started circling the room again.

“I’m glad you’ve finally got your spunk back, but I sure am going to miss you.”

Mama grabbed my hand and forced me to still. “We need to get you packed before your papa changes his mind.”

50

SKYE

Idescended the stairs of the Nikolaev private jet, expecting to see Sasha waiting for me. To my surprise, it was Nikola.

My steps faltered, and I froze mid-descent as our eyes met. It had been ages since I’d seen him, and suddenly, all the feelings I’d been keeping at bay came crashing down.

I blinked twice, but he was still there.

He wore black loafers, black trousers, and a white dress shirt. No tie. Under the warm Louisiana sun, his hair seemed lighter than usual and his eyes paler than the frozen glacier waters. But gone was that careless expression and in its place was a somber face that resembled his father’s more than ever before.

But it was still him. My Nikola.

I blinked profusely, trying to keep stupid tears at bay. It was pointless.

He wheeled himself forward, and before I knew what I was doing, I ran down the steps, discarding months of clinging to my pride and his hurtful words and actions. I ran all the way to him.

It wasn’t until my knees were on the ground and my hands wrapped around him, his cologne filling my lungs, that he finally felt real.

I leaned back, meeting Nikola’s scalding eyes, intense and full of emotions that burned in my chest.

When he pulled away, his expression, warm but somewhat reserved, zeroed in on me.

For a few moments we just soaked in each other before he broke the silence. “I missed you so fucking much, zayka.”

One, two heartbeats.

“You let me down, Nikola,” I signed, my fingers shaking.

Shadows full of conflict flared across his face before he ran a hand across his face as we stared at each other silently. My heart trembled in my chest while feelings clogged my throat. Was it so easy to forgive? Deep in my soul I knew it was, but I wanted to hear more words from him. I needed his assurance that from now on, it’d be us against the world. I didn’t want to risk his shutdown when we reached another obstacle.

We needed to talk about the fact that he shut me down and pushed me away. How he hurt me. I understood that he hurt too, but his disability should have been something we tackled together.

I should have been here with him every step of the way, not across the ocean worrying about him and aching for him.

“Should we go to the compound?” he offered as if he could sense my conflicted thoughts. “I can see all the questions swirling in your head and we have lots to talk about. Let’s hold off until we get home. Okay?”

I nodded, and we made our way into the waiting car.

The ride home was spent in silence. There were so many things I wanted to tell him, but I simply couldn’t find the words. Could we tackle whatever life threw our way or would he push me away again when we faced troubles?

Oblivious to my internal turmoil, the car pulled up in front of the Nikolaev compound.

Once he opened the car door, without thinking, I offered, “Let me help you.”

His body tensed and he faced me with a dark expression. “I’m capable.”

I flinched as if I’d been struck, but I forced myself to stay calm as I signed, “Of course you are.”

My lip trembled and my throat burned with hurt as I watched the dispassionate way he shifted his wheelchair over to a platform. He’d changed a lot, and I wasn’t quite sure whether it was for the better. I missed the old Nikola, the crazy and wild one. This one was too somber, too meticulous. Almost calculative.

I stared as he pressed a button, and then slowly his wheelchair was transported out of the car. I exited the car, letting my gaze lock on the Nikolaevs’ beautiful home while I waited, wondering where all this was going. Maybe coming here was a mistake. Maybe Nikola and I were never meant to be.

Then why does my heart ache so bad whenever I think of life without him?

I’d been so caught up in my thoughts that I was startled when a hand tugged on mine. My eyes lowered to Nikola’s inked fingers intertwined with mine, my name on his ring finger.

My gaze met his. “I’m sorry, Skye. That was uncalled for.”

“Yes, it was.”

“I have much to apologize for.” He pushed his other inked hand through his short pale hair. “And much to learn. For starters, I have to learn to accept help without a grudge.”

I folded my arms across my chest and nodded my head. “Yes, you do. Everyone’s hurting, Nikola, and we want to help.”

I could fall to my knees and tell him I forgive it all, but I didn’t think it would serve me in the long run. I didn’t want to have a repeat of the last several months. Nikola had to get it into his thick head that if we were to spend our life together, we would handle everything like a true team. True partners.

“Duly noted. Let’s go in, shall we?”

The moment we entered the manor, Vasili and Isabella were there waiting for us. I didn’t even have a chance to lift my arms before Isabella pulled me into a hug and her husband wrapped both of us in his big arms.

“Welcome,” she finally said. “We promised your parents we’d take good care of you.”

I smiled.

“You always do.” Then I gazed around the foyer until I met another set of eyes and a wide smile pulled on my lips. “Sasha!”

“You didn’t think I’d stay away when my princess is home.” Vasili and Isabella released me from their warm hug and I made my way toward him. “I’ve missed you.”

“We just saw each other over the holidays.”

He shot me a stern look.

“That was two months ago. Longest I’ve gone without a visit from you.” He pecked my forehead, then continued, “Branka and Damien wanted to come, but the little rascal had some school shit to catch up on. Apparently he’s been playing video games over the past few months and got behind on schoolwork.”

I chuckled, my eyes inadvertently finding Nikola’s in the shared memory. It seemed so long ago, a different lifetime, yet only yesterday.

“He’s much like his sister at that age,” Nikola stated.

Sasha’s pale gaze found Nikola and gave him a curt nod. “Good to see you, Nik.”

Nikola nodded somberly, then pinned them all with a look. “Skye and I will be eating dinner in the library. Alone.”

“Oh, can I get some cookies for you two?” Isabella offered eagerly.

I winced, exactly aware of how those cookies would taste. I’d had the misfortune of tasting Isabella’s cooking once. Sasha had to wash my mouth out with tons of milk and warn me never to eat anything she cooks again. It wasn’t a lesson I would have forgotten anyhow.

“Note that I said get some cookies, not make them,” she added as if reading my thoughts.

“No need, Mom,” Nikola answered. “I’d like to have dinner without any interruptions from you all. Can we get that?” Then he extended his hand and looked at me. “Do you want to freshen up first or get right to it?”

A part of me was relieved that he seemed intent on us talking. We needed to push this dark, hovering cloud out of the way before we could move on. I certainly wouldn’t be able to sleep peacefully without laying it all out on the table.

“I’m ready to eat.”

Three sets of eyes stared at our backs as we made our way into the library.

As the door shut behind us, my heart stilled with anticipation and the romantic setup waiting for us. An intimate round table with silverware set on the white lacy tablecloth with pink petals scattered around it.

He tugged on my arm and I looked at him. “Is this okay?”

I swallowed, his look grabbing ahold of my heart as it always did. “Yes, it’s beautiful.”

A smile touched his lips. “Let’s sit down, then.”

His side of the table didn’t have a chair, so he wheeled himself in as I took the seat opposite of him. Our gazes locked again, so many emotions twirling in his light blues. He looked immaculate, but there was nervousness and fatigue lingering behind his eyes.

“I missed you so much.” Conflict waged in his eyes. “I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for pushing you away. For not letting you help me. I was a stupid, blind bastard. I swore to protect you when we were kids and I failed. In more ways than one. I’m so fucking sorry for pushing you away when all I wanted to do was cling to you until my dying breath.”

“Why did you push me away?”

His jaw tightened. “Because I feel… less like this. Because I’m scared.”

My brows furrowed. “But you’re never scared of anything or anyone.”

“I’m afraid of failing you. Not being good enough—strong enough—to protect you. Maybe it was my stupid pride or stubbornness, but I got used to seeing admiration and stars in your eyes when I looked at you. I was drunk, addicted to you. When I finally had you… I wanted to be your hero, your everything. Yet, how could I be your everything if I can’t even walk?”

The pain etched on his face was my undoing. Nikola always wanted to do right by everyone. Even at his craziest, he always gave his all. His legs weren’t the thing that made him the hero, it was his heart. Always his heart.

I stood and moved around the table to kneel in front of him. “The only time you ever failed me, Nikola, was when you pushed me away. Your heart is all I’ve ever seen or wanted.” Confusion and uncertainty waged in his eyes, and I continued. “You’ve always been and always will be strong enough for me. You’re everything to me.”

His gaze dropped to search my face filled with satisfaction and so many emotions, making my chest tremble.

“Are you sure?” He cupped my face, running a thumb across my lips. “Because I don’t think I can be noble or selfless ever again when it comes to you. If you’ll have me again.”

I felt the intensity of his words and the slight shake of his hands on my skin. It made my throat tighten, and if I had a voice, I was sure it’d shake.

Instead, only my hands did as I signed with raw feelings in my heart, “I’d have you in every lifetime, Nikola. In any shape or form, as long as I live. For better or worse. I just want you.”

He pulled me up and set me on his lap, his uneven heartbeat thundering next to me. He brought his forehead to mine, enveloping me in his scent and strong arms, and I finally felt at home. He was my home. My safe haven.

“I don’t deserve you, zayka.” He kissed me. Soft and deep. So deep that it touched my heart and soul. “But I’ll spend the rest of my life repenting for the pain I’ve caused you.”

“Just be around,” I signed. “Because life without you… I don’t want it.”

Rough vibration rumbled in his chest and satisfaction filled his expression. “I love you, zayka. You know that, right?”

I leaned in and breathed against his lips, letting his oxygen fill my soul. I’d waited for so long to hear those words, but it was as if they’d been part of us all along. We’d loved each other in some shape or form since we were children.

“I love you, Nikola,” I said slowly, not caring if my voice was distorted or not perfect.

Because finally, I was back where I belonged. With him.

51

NIKOLA

Things were good, so fucking good.

Skye and I had been staying in separate rooms at the Nikolaev compound for a few weeks now. I’d purchased additional property and I planned to surprise her with it this afternoon. It was the first step to building our life together.

Skye and I had talked about the wedding and I couldn’t fucking wait to make her officially mine. We promised Dante we’d tell him the date as soon as we settled on it, and Skye had been working on her dress.

Yes, things were good. Life was good.

Since Skye had arrived, I did what I should have done the first time around.

I took my girl out on proper dates. She insisted that I didn’t need to court her since she was already mine, but I was determined to do things the right way. I continued running the business, and on the nights we stayed at the compound, the family would leave Skye and me alone.

We would find a movie to put on, but we hardly watched it because Skye would climb into my lap and distract me with her mouth and her exploring hands. However, that was where it usually ended.

I didn’t want to rush her, despite my eager cock which seemed to have revived with Skye back in my life. I wanted her to take the lead and tell me when she was ready. Yes, her body would cave in whenever I touched her and kissed her, but her heart was more important to me.

A gift I wouldn’t take for granted ever again.

“Did you ask her if she’s with you out of pity?” Dr. MaryAnn’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts, but I was still smiling as I met my therapist’s sharp expression. “You said you want to focus on your upcoming wedding and your fiancée, but you really owe it to her to ask that key question before she makes that final step. Pity can destroy a lot of things, including love and marriage, Mr. Nikolaev.”

My smile faltered as the sour taste of that word flooded my mouth. I could take anything but pity. Damn this woman and therapy.

I told my mother this morning that I didn’t need to waste my time or Dr. MaryAnn’s by visiting her. I had all I needed with Skye and my family, but this woman’s tongue… It was sharper than a sword’s blade and deadlier than a bullet.

Damn this fucking wheelchair and its slowness because before I could wheel myself out of her fucking office, she had to utter these goddamned words.

“That’s none of your concern,” I spat out. “You’re no longer my therapist.”

“I’ll take that as a no,” she continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “I always wondered if there was any decency in you, but I guess this is my answer. It’s cruel to tie an innocent woman to someone with such… limitations.”

“She doesn’t mind my condition,” I hissed, not bothering to tell her my rehab was slowly allowing me use of my legs.

“But she will once you have children.” Her eyes flashed victoriously, knowing she had me. “Or do you expect her to do everything while you’re watching her from your wheelchair?”

My chest tightened, a cold sweat broke out beneath my skin, and a tremble started in my hands. Jesus Christ. I never even thought about kids. What would I do if I never regained complete use of my legs?

I wheeled myself out of the office, but it was too late because Dr. MaryAnn’s words had already dug their sharp claws into my soul, leaving doubts and shadows in its wake.

I returned to the Nikolaev compound to find Skye in the library with an excited gleam in her eyes, waiting for me. She was dressed in a spaghetti-strap pink dress and white sandals.

“You said dress up, so…” She whirled around and expanded her hands at it. “Tada. Do you like it?”

Dr. MaryAnn’s poisonous words echoed in my ears over and over again. Pity can destroy a lot of things, including love and marriage.

“Do you want children?” I asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

Surprise flickered in Skye’s eyes before she brushed a hand down her hip subconsciously. “I know I gained some weight, but I’ll lose it.”

I frowned, letting my eyes roam over her body. “If you gained any weight, I didn’t notice it,” I admitted. “I think you’re perfect just the way you are and I don’t want you to lose anything.”

She exhaled a relieved breath. “Why ask me about children, then?”

I stiffened. “I was just wondering in general.”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure. I’ve never thought about it.” It wasn’t a good answer. “Nikola, what’s wrong?”

That therapist fucking with my head, that was what was wrong. But what if Dr. MaryAnn was right? If Skye’s love turned into hate and resentment for being tied to my handicapped ass, that would tear me apart. A bullet wouldn’t hurt, but losing Skye’s love absolutely would. It would finish me off for good.

Skye closed the distance and put her palm on my cheek, making me focus on her. “Where have you been anyhow? Your father said you asked him to cover for you at work.”

I waved my hand nonchalantly.

“Therapy.” She shot me a shocked look, and I couldn’t help but smile wryly. “Ironic, right? I told you that you’d need therapy after me and here I am⁠—”

Her brows furrowed. “You’re seeing a therapist because of me?”

Fuck. I was messing this all up.

“No, no. It was a bad joke. It was because of my legs. Forget about the therapist. In fact, forget I said anything.” I kissed her soft lips.

Cupping her cheek, I leaned my forehead and rested it on hers, breathing her in. Her oxygen. Her life. Her everything.

I was scared as fuck to let go.

52

SKYE

Aslightly desperate look in Nikola’s eyes was telling me he was holding something back. My instinct warned me it had something to do with his therapist, but instead of questioning him, I decided I’d leave it alone. For now.

“Do you still want to show me your… surprise?” I asked hesitantly.

“Of course. That’s all I’ve been thinking about all day.” Nikola pulled me closer, so close that our lips were a hair’s breadth apart, and kissed me with that familiar possession. His inked fingers came to rest on my hips and latched on to them. “And I mean it, Skye. Don’t you dare starve yourself. I love you just the way you are. Besides, this way I can hold on to something when…”

He never finished the sentence, but it was enough to set me alight.

But rather than caving into my desires, I signed with shaky fingers and lust in my veins, “Let’s go before you turn to filthy talk, Nikola, and we forget about whatever plans you have. You know how much I love surprises.”

He chuckled. “Don’t I know it.”

It’d been like this since I arrived. He’d surprise me with dates, dinners, or even frequenting Mardi Gras. And then there was my favorite: staying home. I loved cuddling up and making out while the movie played in the background, but we never went further than kissing and innocent petting.

It was as if he was waiting for something.

Once we were in the car, I expected the driver to take us to downtown New Orleans.

Instead, it was a short ride and we found ourselves in front of an exquisite white Italianate-Greek Revival home with historical charm but all the modern luxuries, such as surveillance cameras and an electric gated entry that surrounded lush gardens.

“Where are we?”

“Our home.” I shot him a surprised look. “My parents’ property borders this one in the southeast. I figured we’d want some privacy.”

“Oh.”

“Is that a good oh or bad oh?”

“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “Somehow I always pictured you—us—in your parents’ home.”

“Not me. They’ll be close enough for visits, but this is just for us.” I struggled to follow his words and moods. “We can raise our children here one day.”

“So we’re back to children, huh?”

Something was definitely wrong. This wasn’t like Nikola, and his sudden talk about children was setting me on edge.

“I don’t want you to miss out on anything.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded. I’d never thought about kids before today. Maybe I was terrified of passing on the gene Mama and I carried that would destine my children to a life without hearing. Or maybe because I was only twenty years old.

“What if I don’t want kids?”

Nikola tilted his head as if thinking about it. “But you could change your mind. Right?”

I sighed. This was not how I envisioned this afternoon going.

“I guess,” I answered vaguely, both of us still in the car while a potential new home waited for us. “Is this because you want kids? I just think we’re way too young to even think about kids.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose while shadows danced in his eyes. “You’re right. We aren’t even married yet.”

I smiled, slightly relieved. “Exactly. Let’s not rush things. Unlike our friends, let’s try to enjoy the process of planning a wedding and getting married.”

He chuckled.

“Thank God, then all my prior plans tanked. We’re breaking the tradition, you know.”

“How so?”

“The past several weddings occurred with a groom forcing the bride to say ‘I do’ or even holding a gun to her. We’re setting a high standard,” he stated, then winced, smiling sheepishly. “Well, aside from the sex tape.”

“Force of circumstance,” I offered up a reason.

He opened the car door and I did the same, then rushed around to help him. He used his arms to shift over to the wheelchair, his veins and muscles bulging, and I found my mouth part at the view. I swallowed, my pulse throbbing between my legs.

I ignored it, letting my gaze stray, and locked on the beautiful home while I waited, wondering where all this was going.

I’d been so caught up in my thoughts that I was startled when a hand tugged on mine. My eyes lowered to Nikola’s inked fingers intertwined with mine, my name on his ring finger.

My gaze met his.

“Are you ready to see our home?” I nodded. “Let me give you a tour and you can tell me whatever you want changed.”

Then, without a warning, he lifted me up and set me on his lap. A squeal escaped me and we laughed for the next few hours as I got a detailed tour of what would be the beginning of our future.

53

NIKOLA

Skye hadn’t said much about the house. We ate dinner in silence and then she excused herself, but instead of going to the master bedroom, she went to the guest room.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. Well, disappointed and somewhat relieved, because my legs were still a sore subject and a big part of me rebelled against Skye seeing too much of what was holding me back.

She’d always looked at me like I was her hero and there was no sense in lying to myself, I didn't feel like one anymore.

Our new house had a top-of-the-line gym connected to the master bedroom suite, equipped with machines that had been recommended by my physical therapist. I’d been working on the exercises diligently every morning and every night, and tonight was no exception.

Yet, my heart wasn’t in it right now.

Instead, it kept thinking about the lips and body of the girl I’d sworn to protect since I was that little boy who accidentally kissed her on the lips. Things were certainly more simple back then.

I wheeled myself back into the empty master bedroom, showered—which took longer these days—before I found myself sprawled on my back, letting my mind wander.

I wondered if Skye ever thought about that kiss and our childhood.

The day was warm and the breeze swept through her long, dark pigtails, tempting me every time they swung.

She was small, too small for her age. My dad said I was too big for mine, but he was wrong. Skye was definitely fragile, although when she glared at me, it didn’t seem so.

Skye jumped up in the air, almost as if she believed she’d fly away, and I finally gave in to temptation and tugged on her pigtail. Hard.

She winced, then put her hands on her hips and glared at me.

So I did it again, this time even harder, and she cried out. The sound did something to my chest, so I bolted.

Once I was a safe distance away, I turned around. Of course Branka and Sasha ran over to her, pampering the little princess. I grinned, but she didn’t find me amusing at all.

Her scolding glare was pinned on me, but that wasn’t what bothered me. It was the tears that rolled down her cheeks and the hurtful expression she wore.

I watched her sign to my uncle Sasha. “He’s always pulling on my hair. He’s mean.”

I am not, I wanted to yell, but what was the point? She wouldn’t hear me nor would she listen. I just wanted her… attention?

“Boys are dumb,” Branka signed to her in comfort and I shot my aunt a glare. “Might as well learn that now.”

Everyone fussed over Skye. Branka. Sasha. Even Alexei and my parents. I didn’t mind it.

“Sasha too?” Skye questioned.

“I’m not dumb,” I grumbled under my breath, but nobody paid attention to me.

“I see we’re teaching my daughter to rule over the boys, huh?” Uncle Sasha beamed lovingly at his adoptive daughter.

I narrowed my eyes. Why would he be okay with it? Boys rule, not girls. He’d said that so many times, yet suddenly he’d switched sides.

“Best to just stay away from them. And if any of them give you a hard time”—Uncle Sasha glared at me—“Daddy’s going to whoop their ass.”

Skye smiled through her tears and asked, “Are you going to whoop Nikola’s ass? I want you to.”

Branka said something, but I couldn’t hear it. Or maybe I was too focused on Skye’s tears that made me feel sad.

“Nikola, get your butt over here,” Uncle Sasha demanded.

I sauntered over, my hands tucked in my pockets and my head hanging low. “I’m going to whoop your ass.” Skye snickered, and I glared at my uncle. Suddenly, I didn’t feel sorry for tugging at her pigtails. I’d make it my mission to do it again. “Unless you apologize to Skye and start treating her the way a girl should be treated. Gently and with respect.”

“Sorry,” I signed, although I didn’t mean it. I actually liked tugging on Skye’s hair. At least she paid attention to me then.

“You always protect the family, and Skye is family. She’s your cousin,” Sasha continued talking, but I was good at ignoring him. My dad said I got that bad trait from Uncle Sasha. “So what’s it gonna be?”

I stomped over to Skye, then pulled her into my arms. She was so small and fragile. I swore I would protect her, not because Uncle demanded, but because she needed it. I bent my head to kiss the top of her head, but then she raised her face and… Smooch.

It was the first and last time I blushed.

The crack of the door yanked me from my memory, and as if she was pulled by the magnetic force of it, a head with long dark hair poked through.

“I can’t sleep,” she signed. “Strange house. Strange bed.”

“You were meant to sleep here.” I patted the spot next to me. “Come here.”

She padded across the room, wearing nothing but a pink babydoll nightgown. My cock stirred, but I ignored it. I needed her to be okay. I needed to fix what I’d broken with my pride, more than my cock needed her pussy. Although the poor organ was peculiarly close to turning blue.

Bottom line, I needed her to initiate it.

She slid into the bed, right next to me, and suddenly, everything seemed right again. My heart sped its rhythm in my chest, finally working again.

It only seemed to function properly around her.

She shifted up into a seated position, the strap falling down her creamy shoulder. “Why didn’t you ask me to sleep with you?”

I sighed. “I wanted to wait until you’re ready. I broke your heart, let you down⁠—”

Her hand covered my mouth, stopping my failures.

“Don’t do that, malysh.” She swallowed and my hand slid down her slim throat. My thumb ran down her beautiful lips.

“I’ve never been so wrong in my life, Skye. These doubts… they’re killing me. I doubted you. Us. Everything.”

She shook her head frantically. “No, malysh. You doubted yourself, but I’ll never let you do that again.”

My eyes and heart were opened when Kostya threw himself into the equation and I realized how fucking lucky I was that she was mine. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—survive watching her with someone else. But those therapist’s words still weighed me down.

“Nothing and nobody has ever felt more right than you. Not when we were children. Not now,” I signed with my free hand, the silent words louder and truer than anything else I’d ever spoken.

“We’re right for each other.” She watched me with conviction in her eyes, feeding my soul. “You protected me for years, always my shadow knight lurking to jump in. But from now on, we’ll protect each other. Just you and me forever, Nikola. That’s all I want.”

My hands reached for her soft hips and I pulled her over so she could straddle me. Then I showed her just how right we fit together.

54

SKYE

Nikola’s hand wrapped around my neck and he pulled me to him. His bare chest was hot against my own, our bodies fitting perfectly together.

I smelled his cologne, familiarity making my lungs pinch with every breath.

“I want to tell you something,” I signed, although I wanted nothing more than to kiss him. “I’ve been seeing a therapist.” He looked at me with an anguished expression. “She helped me. I… I know you like kinky stuff. You said vanilla stuff isn’t your thing, and I want to give you whatever you need. So if you⁠—”

“If you want to experiment, we can. If you don’t, that’s fine too. Can I? I just want you. Need you. Everything else, we’ll have the rest of our lives to figure out. Okay?”

I nodded. They were exactly the right words I wanted to hear. We would figure it all out together.

“Then kiss me, malysh. I’m aching for you.”

“Fuck, I missed you, zayka.”

Then he kissed me. It was teeth clashing together. Hard. Messy. Desperate.

My lips parted and his tongue thrust inside, claiming me savagely. We kissed without any reservations, claiming each other. Warmth erupted in my chest and I moaned, wrapping my arms around his neck.

He tasted so good. Just the way I remembered it.

The months without him had been lonely, eating at me, but all it took was two words—I’m sorry—for us to find our way to each other again. One kiss from Nikola and it was as if it never happened.

My breasts brushed against him, molding to his chest. His heart was thundering in sync with mine, hard and fast. He was the only one who could make me feel this alive. His mouth trailed down my throat, following the curve where my neck and shoulder met, then he sucked and nipped, and I felt it between my thighs.

I rubbed against him, needing him inside me.

As if he sensed my need, his hand yanked the nightgown from my body. He hooked his fingers on the waistband of my panties, and in the next breath, they were shredded too, leaving me completely naked. All I felt was his big warm hand as he traced my naked skin from my cheek down to my ribs, coming back up to cup my breast and squeeze.

He rubbed a thumb across my nipple, lifting his head and taking it between his teeth. The awareness captured my next breath, and pleasure blazed through me and straight to my core. My back arched with a steep exhale as he sucked on the sensitive flesh.

Stroking every inch of my breasts, he bent his head, taking the other nipple between his teeth. He tugged on my nipple with his teeth, using brutal force, then licked the sting of pain away. A vibration traveled from his lips to my skin and straight to my core.

His fingers fisted my strands and forced me to open my eyelids.

“Sit on my face,” he ordered.

I didn’t question his demand. I shifted, my fingers digging into his scalp and gripping his hair. In the next breath, Nikola’s mouth was on my inner thigh, kissing it and sucking on the sensitive flesh. He licked me from my entrance to my clit.

His tongue thrust inside me, and I felt his groan vibrate against me and deep in my core. I moaned, scraping my nails over his scalp, feeling the burn of his stubble against my heat, and I knew I needed more of him.

He ran a rough hand down my thighs, spreading them wide open. Then he thrust his tongue inside me. In and out. Again and again. Fisting a handful of his hair, I moved my hips as he worked me, desperate to find my release.

He sucked my clit, his hot, wet mouth setting every cell of me on fire. The sensation twisted and curled as he drew out my release. I let out a needy huff, grinding harder still into his mouth, trying to show him where I needed his attention. But he ignored me, taking his sweet time licking and sucking. He pinched a nipple and I arched into his touch.

The embers of my desire burned brighter. He continued to thrust his tongue inside my pussy. I was rocking my hips, chasing the orgasm, until I felt my muscles tighten. He nipped my clit, hard, then growled with some dark, sadistic satisfaction that I felt in the pressure of his fingers on my hips.

It was all I needed.

I squeezed my eyes shut as the pressure detonated.

My body trembled against his face as it washed over me.

It went on and on, the languid sensation pulling taut until I was nothing but a speck of dust floating in the air.

When my eyes finally fluttered open, it was to find his gaze on me with such reverence, it made my heart tremble. He kissed my inner thigh and then lifted me, his muscles bulging as he lowered me down his body, my arousal smearing over his muscled chest.

His hard length brushed against my oversensitive entrance and my skin sizzled again, an empty ache forming low in my stomach.

He pulled me to him, his mouth slamming against mine, and he groaned. He slipped his tongue in, and I could taste myself against his lips.

As he pulled my bottom lip between his teeth. I reached down, hooking my fingers on his pajama pants and pushing them down his legs, careful not to hurt his knees.

Once he was naked, I skimmed my mouth over the healing wounds of his knees. I felt him tense, but I kissed one, then the other, before trailing kisses higher. Then I took his hard length between my lips and his hips thrust up, hitting the back of my throat.

I moaned, my mouth full of him. I sucked, licked, and bobbed my head, loving the way his hips jerked up and down uncontrollably. But then, without a warning, he grabbed the nape of my neck and pulled me up.

“Straddle me again.” His demand was etched with tension and desire mirroring my own.

I did. I bit my lip as his fingers brushed against my clit, sending a shudder down my spine. Then he slid them inside me and my inner walls clenched around them, greedy for him. I was drenched, ready for him to take me.

“Will you scream my name while I fuck you?” I nodded, my mouth dry from excitement. “You’re going to be a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

I licked my lips. “Yes.”

His hands circled my waist while my shaky fingers hooked around his neck, tugging on the strands at his nape.

He touched me everywhere—my breasts, my neck, my mouth—leaving pleasure in his wake. His free hand wrapped around my neck, his hold firm, not hard enough to cut off my oxygen but just enough to exhibit control.

“You’re my oxygen to breathe, Skye, but I’ll be yours too,” Nikola grunted.

I placed a shaky hand on his chest, smoothing my fingers over his abdomen and sculpted muscles.

The stormy blues of his eyes turned a shade darker as he reached between us, positioning his length against my entrance. He rubbed his fingers and his erection against my pussy, driving me insane.

“I need you inside me,” I mouthed, my pussy dripping with arousal.

He thrust inside me in one ruthless go. My breath hitched as my insides clenched around him.

His fingers grabbed my chin and he forced me to meet his gaze. “Eyes on me when I fuck you.”

Thrust. “This is my pussy.” Thrust. “My woman.” Thrust. “Fucking mine.” A strangled gasp spilled from my throat as my core tipped toward release.

My eyes shot wide open, clashing with his.

The most intense pleasure pooled between my legs. We lowered both our gazes, watching as his cock covered with my arousal rammed into me from below, while his hands rocked my hips.

His intensity increased with each passing second. His strength made me quiver, the rocking of his hips harder with each thrust.

The erotic friction built higher and higher. Then he hit a secret spot once, twice. My mouth opened in a wordless cry before the world tumbled.

“Fuck,” he grunted, pounding into me through my orgasm, my walls clenching his cock.

The beat of my heart jumped and raced. I panted, trying to keep up with his rhythm. His hips jerked, then his cock was twitching and twitching, releasing inside of me, and I fell on top of him, my lips brushing against his.

He kissed me, lazy and sweet, with a burning passion that demanded my all but promised me everything too.

55

SKYE

Iwoke up with a foggy brain and hazy memory. My body ached and the exhaustion was heavy but sweet. I blinked against the sunlight streaming through the windows, reaching for Nikola but only finding cold sheets.

I sighed.

It had been the same for the past week. We’d make love all night, but I’d wake up alone.

It was getting old.

Sitting up, I pulled the sheet to my chest and glanced around the spacious master bedroom. Cream elegant walls filled with paintings of historical New Orleans buildings, a sophisticated leather sofa, a nightstand, rich Persian rugs.

Wrapping the sheet around me, I swung my feet onto the plush rugs and padded toward one of the two doors. One led into the master bathroom and the other into the gym, where I found Nikola.

My breath caught in my throat at the sight of him dressed in gym shorts and nothing else. Nikola’s body was a work of art. Renaissance artists would have given their souls away to sculpt his body to be gawked at for all eternity. Too bad I was too selfish to allow anyone else to see him like that.

My eyes traveled over his inked body, sculpted chest, and six-pack abs.

I always thought him the most beautiful man alive. The scars he wore didn’t take away from it, neither did his legs. He was always and would always be the most beautiful man to me. After the past month, more so than ever.

We’d settled on a wedding date. April 9th in Trieste.

Until then, we’d stay here.

We filled our days with work, preparations, and trips to the beach just to catch the sunset. Our evenings were filled with midnight swims and our nights with sweaty sheets, writhing bodies, and passion that could even burn the sun itself.

But there was something still bothering Nikola. It started and ended with his therapist, who had resorted to calling his cell phone now.

As if sensing my eyes on him, Nikola stopped his workout and lifted his head.

Our gazes met.

“Good morning.” I waved, clutching the sheet to my chest to cover my nakedness.

He lowered his weights, then used his upper body strength to shift himself into the wheelchair. The sight didn’t bother me, but the knowledge that he was in it because of me did. Nikola had always been so active that I couldn’t even fathom how painful this limitation was.

He wheeled himself over until he came to a stop in front of me. “Did I wake you up?”

I shook my head. “No.”

He tugged on my sheet and I bent my head. Nikola pressed his mouth to mine for a hard kiss. When he pulled back, I was panting.

“What do you want to do today?”

“Don’t know.” I lowered to my knees, used to craning my neck to look at him. “Nikola, why don’t you ever sleep in?”

A shadow passed his expression and he signed while uttering the words, “I have my routine.”

I released a deep breath. “I know, and your exercise is important, but couldn’t you sleep in one morning so we can wake up together?”

He cupped my face into his big palms. “I’ll sleep in every day during our honeymoon. I promise.”

We’d learned a lot about each other during the past few weeks, and despite the tragic way we ended up in this situation, I counted it as a blessing. It was good for both of us.

Funny, you could know a person your entire life, but then learn a whole new side of them when you lived together.

For example, I’d never realized—until now—how routine-driven Nikola was. He rose early, exercised, then showered, only to eat breakfast while he worked before breaking for lunch. He also attended his physical therapy sessions, and lastly, his and my least favorite, phone calls from his therapist. He didn’t want to talk to her, but she kept calling.

Unlike Dr. Freud who had helped me, this therapist, Dr. MaryAnn Spot, was totally unhelpful.

I made a mental note to talk to Isabella about it, because I didn’t think that woman was good for Nikola. Not that he talked to her much. From what I gathered, he only sat there and let her yap, and he did it only to keep his mom happy.

“Do you have physical therapy today?” I asked, although I already knew.

“Yes, at two p.m. Want to come with me?”

I smiled. “Sure, why not, but while you’re doing that, I’ll run a few errands if that’s okay.”

He nodded. “Make sure you carry the knife Sasha gifted you.”

Thirty minutes later, I was showered, dressed in jeans, a pink top, and pink pumps, ready to get the day going.

Dr. MaryAnn Spot.

I stared at the golden plate with the list of credentials.

It took me a bit to find this place, leaving me with fifteen minutes to spare before Nikola was scheduled for a session here right after his physical therapy, which meant I didn’t have much time.

I didn’t know what I thought I’d accomplish by coming here, but I hoped that maybe Dr. MaryAnn needed a chance to understand Nikola better. I didn’t like the toll the sessions took on him.

Every time he finished, he’d shut down and call himself a cripple. Unlike my sessions with Dr. Freud which helped me feel better, Nikola’s sessions with Dr. MaryAnn were making him feel worse.

And that just wouldn’t do.

I knocked and opened the door. It wasn’t as if I could hear if someone invited me in.

I found Dr. MaryAnn, a woman of maybe forty years old, standing by her window and watering her plants.

Our eyes met and her brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, I’m not taking any walk-ins.”

It was then I realized my rookie mistake. I was deaf. How in the fuck would I talk to this woman if she didn’t know ASL? I mentally slapped my forehead.

Instead, I shut the door behind me, fished out my phone, and pulled up my notes app, then started typing.

I’m here to talk to you about Nikola Nikolaev.

I showed her the message and her whole face scrunched with distaste.

Her thin lips moved and I read her lips. “That boy belongs in prison, or even better, six feet under.”

My jaw dropped while I stared at the woman.

Anger bubbled inside me, but I ignored it as I pounded hard on my phone, typing my next message.

Why don’t you refer him to another therapist? Or better yet, stop calling him?

I was tempted to shove the phone into her face, but I didn’t. Instead, I maintained my composure.

“I know better than to get on the wrong side of the Russian mafia.” I stared at the woman who seemed oblivious. “But I have a plan.”

My brows furrowed, then I typed: A plan?

She pinned me with a look. “Who are you, anyhow?”

My sixth sense flared and I opted for a vague answer. Mafia is dangerous and you don’t want to mess with them.

Her expression twisted. “They blinded my boy. My poor boy.”

Huh?

The woman wasn’t making any sense. I typed a message in my notes and showed it to her. Who are you talking about?

“My son. He hurt my boy. That devil beat my son in a club, rendering him blind,” she said, tugging on her hair while her expression was full of malice.

“Which club?” I signed, but her confused expression reminded me she couldn’t understand me, so I typed it up.

“At some exclusive club in Connecticut where my boy touched his girl.”

My brows furrowed before I jotted down the only club name I knew in that part of the country.

Revelation?

“Yes,” she cried. “It’s not my boy’s fault he needs that stuff. He didn’t mean to hurt girls. He was getting better.” It would seem Dr. MaryAnn should have been providing her therapy sessions to her own son, not Nikola. “My son was just doing what an old woman, The Duchess, asked of him. He needed help, but instead, that devil scorched my boy’s eyeballs.”

Understanding dawned on me. It was that man who kissed me forcefully at Revelation. Was he working with my great-grandmother? For fuck’s sake, would her malice follow us forever?

I needed to tell Isabella this woman was cuckoo and had to be removed from ever speaking with Nikola again. In fact, she shouldn’t be counseling anyone in her state.

“But mark my words, that gimp will die, and I hope whoever shot him gets another chance,” she continued, oblivious to my thoughts. “This world would be a better place without people like him and his family. Hell, I might do the world a favor and do it myself.”

Red misted my vision and I had to take a second to swallow down the burning rage that rushed through me, pulse drumming in my neck. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, but I couldn’t find the will to forgive or forget.

There are two types of sinners in this world: those who sin with their hearts and those who sin with the intent to destroy. This woman was the latter.

She was hurting Nikola instead of helping him. Letting her live would be a mistake. The kind that would come back to haunt us, and I couldn’t allow that.

I walked over to the door, locked it, and then headed toward her.

Oblivious to my fury, the woman continued. “That might keep the gimp away this time, but he’ll be back.”

She went to stand by her desk, opened a drawer, and I never saw her next move coming. She was gripping a gun barrel with shaky hands, waving it around like a madwoman.

I couldn’t latch on to her words. Red marred my vision and blood drummed in my veins. I blinked once, twice, until her next words registered. “I’ll kill the cripple Nikolaev.”

Reaching into the back pocket of my jeans for the knife, I opened the blade and threw it across the room.

Just the way I learned with Sasha.

56

NIKOLA

After my physiotherapy, I noted a text waiting for me from Skye.

Skye: I’m at Dr. MaryAnn’s office. Can you pick me up here, please?

I instructed my driver to break every fucking law while all the different scenarios ran through my head during that five-minute drive.

Nothing could have prepared me for what I would find when I entered Dr. MaryAnn’s office.

Skye seated on the couch with her pink pumps on the coffee table.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, wheeling into the office as I glanced around the space, noting splashes of crimson. It didn’t take long to find the cause of it. My therapist, MaryAnn, was sprawled on the floor, dead as a doorknob. A Swiss knife pierced her neck, blood gushing out of it and staining the carpet.

My eyebrows rose. “What happened here?”

“You don’t need her,” Skye signed slowly.

“I know that. That doesn’t answer my question, zayka.”

She waved her hand nonchalantly. “She pissed me off.”

“Meaning?”

When she didn’t elaborate, I closed the door behind me and sent a quick text to my uncle Alexei and Dad with a request for a cleanup.

Then I maneuvered the wheelchair over to her, my eyes traveling over her. She didn’t seem harmed, and there wasn’t a speck of blood on her.

I leaned over, took her face between my hands, and asked, “Care to tell me how she pissed you off?”

“She called you a gimp and a cripple and said the world would be better without people like us. Oh, and she threatened to kill you. So… yeah. She got what was coming her way.”

I wiped my mouth with my free hand, hiding my smile. “Obviously you disagreed with her evaluation.”

She shrugged. “Nobody gets to speak about you that way.”

“Ditto. If you hadn’t killed her, I would have once I learned she dared talk to my future wife like that.”

“I’m about to go to jail,” she huffed, her blue eyes flickering to mine. “I’m fucked.”

“I’ll die before I let that happen.”

She shot me a dry look. “I’ll still end up in jail.”

“If it comes to that, I’ll go to jail in your stead.”

“I don’t want to be separated again, Nikola.”

As if I’d ever let that happen. My girl deserved to be free as a bird, the only one that could cage her was me. “I guess we’ll have to go to jail together. Now tell me, why did you come here?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose before she signed, “I noticed your change in moods every time you talked to this woman. I always feel better after talking to Dr. Freud, and you seemed to be doing worse, so I wanted to check what the fuck was going on. I knew something was wrong, and I was right. This woman… She’s the mother of that guy who you attacked in Revelation.”

Surprise washed over me. “The prick who your great-grandmother hired?”

“Yes, and she was fucking with your mind because you blinded him.”

I’d known Skye to be a fighter, but I’d never realized she was as stubborn as a mule. She seemed so meek and eager to please. Until you pissed her off, then the gloves were off.

Her shoulders slumped, her gaze flicking to the dead woman. “I’m not sorry, but… the wedding. The dress is so beautiful, and now I’ll be jailed. I certainly can’t wear it there.”

She was really distraught, so I stifled a smile.

“Nobody is allowed to jail my zayka.” I was fucking lucky that she was mine. That she wanted to be mine and refused to give me up no matter how hard I’d pushed her away. “Come over here.”

She rolled her eyes but stood up and came to stand between my knees, unbothered by the wheelchair. She straddled me with her pink pumps while I brushed away some strands of wild hair on her forehead.

“You really want to be stuck with a cripple?” I asked her softly.

“You’re not a cripple, and with physical therapy, you’ll be walking in no time.”

“But I’ll never run.”

She shrugged. “Good, because I hate running.”

“People will peg you to be married to a disabled man. Make fun of you.” Although I knew better. Skye knew firsthand what it meant to be made fun of, and while I ensured to teach a lesson to any man or woman who dared to do that, I was fairly certain there were more. Skye was a survivor and a much better—and stronger—person than most men were, including me.

She cupped my face. “I’ll kill them for you. Or you can shoot them. I don’t give a shit.”

“You deserve better than a disabled man, zayka. Not that I could ever give you up now. I’m not strong enough to be so selfless.”

She looked up at me, the fire in her eyes burning wildly. “Do you think you deserve better than a disabled woman?”

I frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Nikola, I’ve been disabled my whole life, but did it stop you from being my protector? From loving me?”

“Fuck no. I love you, and you’re mine. I protect what’s mine. I think I have loved you since we were children.”

She opened her mouth and then reeled back, shock filling her expression. “What? All those years?”

I took her chin between my fingers and pulled her back to me. “Yes, for all those years. It was childish love, but then it grew with us. I love you, Skye Leone. I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. Fuck, I think I might be addicted to you.”

Life without her, not having her next to me, touching me and loving me, would feel like a slow death. I’d experienced it firsthand during those first months after the accident.

We stared at each other, the silence packed with emotions and promises of a future that wouldn’t be possible without my Skye. A future where I knew without a shred of doubt that I’d always have her back and she’d have mine.

“You and me, Nikola. Forever. No matter what.” She pressed her mouth against mine and my chest tightened, making it hard to breathe, but with every kiss, it felt like she was breathing oxygen back into my lungs.

Her arms circled my neck.

“Come rain or shine, it will be you and me, Skye. Forever.”

She rewarded me with a wide grin.

“I like the sound of that. God, I can’t wait to marry you,” she signed excitedly, stars in her beautiful blue eyes shining only for me. She slowly took my hand, then lightly traced my ring finger with her name tattooed on it.

“I like my name on you. The whole world knows you’re mine.”

“Yours,” I vowed, then took her left hand in mine, pressing a kiss on her ring finger. The door swung open, Alexei and Dad standing in the doorway with a few men behind them.

“Jesus Christ, why did you massacre your therapist?” Dad grumbled, glaring at me. “It seems your mental state is deteriorating, Nikola.”

“It runs in the family,” Alexei stated in a cold tone but was completely unbothered by the sight.

Skye straightened and glared at them. “She threatened to kill Nikola. Couldn’t have that, now could we?”

That shut them right up.

EPILOGUE

SKYE

One Month Later

Sunlight shone through the windows of the castello and sparkled against the crystal blue waves in the Gulf of Trieste while birds flew with the mild breeze and flowers attracted butterflies of all colors and sizes. The scent of the flowers and the sea was everywhere, a clear sign of spring.

Through the large windows, I could see our families laughing and guests chattering, waves crashing against the shoreline.

I stood in the same pink bedroom that had been mine when my parents first found me. The room that had seen so much love and happiness.

My eyes traveled over the vast blue sea. This was somewhere I’d found joy, but not where my journey began. My happiness started with the Nikolaev family and their acceptance. They were the first step, bringing me closer to my birth parents, and for that, I’d forever love them.

“Gosh, you’re going to make Nikola lose his mind.”

“You’re beautiful,” Mama signed while she and Branka watched with teary eyes on their smiling faces.

They’d helped with the wedding, much to my papa’s relief. He gave it his best shot, but he drew the line at centerpieces.

The door swung open, Papa and Sasha walking in with their suave strides and wide grins.

“A perfect day for my perfect daughter,” Papa announced, striding over to me with sure steps and pressing a kiss on my forehead.

“I’m not perfect,” I objected, lifting my head, and just as the sun hit his face, I swore I saw tears glistening in his dark eyes. “Not even close to it, but thank you for always having my back, Papa. You too, Sasha.”

“You’re perfect,” Sasha protested. “And it’s us who should be thanking you, Skye. You brought light into our lives.”

I blinked hard, my gaze traveling over my unusual family. My parents and my adoptive parents. I couldn’t imagine my life without them.

“I’m so grateful to have four such wonderful parents.”

I smiled, then pulled them all into a big hug.

A saying claims nobody could have it all, but these days, I was pretty damn close. The love of my life. A loving family. Wonderful friends.

My parents’ eyes traveled over me and my unusual wedding dress. A long sleeveless gown with a white bodice, covered in silk pastel flowers that stretched all the way to the ground.

“Are you nervous?” Sasha questioned. “Want to run away?”

Damien appeared, looking handsome and so grown up. “If you’re going, take me with you, because there’s a girl that keeps trying to hold my hand.”

“I think the groom will catch up to us,” Papa stated.

“I’m not nervous.” I couldn’t stop smiling. “Just incredibly happy, and I can’t wait to walk down the aisle.”

I couldn’t wait to have Nikola all to myself once the guests left. My parents would leave too, leaving us alone at Miramare for a blissful week before we left on our honeymoon.

“So tonight, you and Nikola are going to get jiggy, huh?” Damien winked, and Sasha smacked him on the head. “What the fuck, Dad?”

“Skye’s not getting jiggy with anyone,” Sasha grumbled, causing me to blush.

“Jesus Christ, get your mind out of the gutter, man. I was talking about dancing and having fun, not sex.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Yes, we’ll be sure to… dance.”

“You know you’re my favorite sister,” he started.

“Your only sister,” I corrected him. He waved his hand in the air, like that little piece of information was irrelevant.

“But if you make me an uncle before I’m twenty-one, you won’t be my favorite sister,” he continued as if I hadn’t spoken.

I patted his hand. “Don’t worry. I promise to wait.” Possibly for a very, very long time.

“But don’t wait too long.” Sasha grinned. “Dante and I have a bet going.”

I let out a groan. “Do I even want to know?”

“No, you don’t,” Branka stated matter-of-factly.

Mama shot Papa a reprimanding look. “Those two are acting like children.”

“What, Nix? You know we’ll be better grandparents than this Russian,” Papa grumbled with a guilty expression. “Any child would rather be in Italy than freeze-your-ass-off Russia.”

Sasha scoffed. “We also stay in New Orleans, you know.”

“Don’t let these two babies make you late for your own wedding,” Branka muttered, rolling her eyes at them, then she and Mama made themselves scarce.

“New Orleans doesn’t have tiramisu,” Papa reasoned.

“Well, Italy doesn’t have alligators,” Sasha snapped.

“I rest my case.” Papa grinned, then turned to me. “Are you ready to get this party started, princess?”

I lifted my long dress and stepped forward, closing the distance to the two men who had been my whole world for so long. Their bickering instantly ceased and they both offered me their arm.

There’d be no bouquet to hold since I was wearing the flowers, and besides, walking down the aisle holding on to these two men meant so much more.

I met Papa’s gaze, then Sasha’s, and leaned over to press a soft kiss on each of their cheeks.

“I love you both,” I mouthed with a trembling lip, locking eyes with theirs that glistened.

Inhaling deeply, Papa spoke first. “You’ve made me so proud, princess. Don’t forget your papa when that Russian boy spoils you rotten.”

I smiled softly. “Never. Besides, you both spoiled me rotten first.”

Sasha shook his head. “We better get going. I don’t want to ruin my makeup.”

I chuckled and my clammy hands gripped their strong arms. We made our way out of my room, down the stairs, and out onto the terrace, where all eyes were on us.

My heart fluttered fast and fierce as we took a step toward the terrace where a makeshift altar and priest waited for me. One step. Two. Three.

As we walked down, the entire world faded away as my eyes landed on a tall, strong man with the palest blue eyes. Nikola’s eyes on me were full of love, reverence, and obsession.

Then it sunk in and a sharp gasp left my lungs.

Nikola stood tall, gripping a wooden carved cane and waiting for me. His three-piece suit was immaculate, his Windsor tie knot just a bit off, and his smile just right.

My heart was too eager, my love overflowing as my steps sped up, dragging Papa and Sasha toward my future.

I didn’t wait for Papa and Sasha to give me to him. I closed the distance between us, wrapping my arms around Nikola’s towering frame.

“Surprise, zayka,” he murmured with the biggest smile I’d ever seen on his face while so many emotions and questions swirled in my chest.

“How… when… why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to surprise you.” He cupped my face. “I want to be the best version of myself for you, Skye. The strongest one.”

“You already are the best man on this planet, malysh. The best version. The best everything for me.” I kissed him on the mouth. “The only man for me.”

The priest tapped Nikola on the shoulder and we turned our heads to look at him, not letting go of each other.

The priest shifted uncomfortably. “We haven’t gotten to the vows yet.”

It didn’t matter, because Nikola refused to let me go. The ceremony began and ended with my hand in his and his in mine.

“You may kiss the bride.”

My husband kissed me, lazy and sweet, rough and possessive, sending shudders through me.

Then it was just the two of us. Husband and wife.

Forever.

THE END

WHAT’S NEXT?

Thank you so much for reading Nikola! If you liked it, please leave a review. Your support means the world to me.

If you’re thirsty for more discussions with other readers of the series, you can join the Facebook group, Eva’s Soulmates group (https://bit.ly/3gHEe0e).

Next up in the series is Enzo (https://amzn.to/43VIO5U).

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Curious about Eva’s other books? You can check them out here. Eva Winners’s Books https://bit.ly/3SMMsrN.

Eva Winners writes anything and everything romance, from enemies to lovers to books with all the feels. Her heroes are sometimes villains because they need love too. Right? Her books are sprinkled with a touch of suspense, mystery, a healthy dose of angst, a hint of violence and darkness, and lots of steamy passion.

When she’s not working and writing, she spends her days either in Croatia or Maryland daydreaming about the next story.

Find Eva below:

Visit www.evawinners.com & subscribe to my newsletter.

FB group: https://bit.ly/3gHEe0e

FB page: https://bit.ly/30DzP8Q

Insta: http://Instagram.com/evawinners

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/eva-winners

Amazon: http://amazon.com/author/evawinners

Goodreads: http://goodreads.com/evawinners

TikTok: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMeETK7pq/