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  Because in the world we—that I—lived in, the Mafia, the soviet brotherhood, was paramount. No one fucked with us. No one threatened our slice of East Coast Americana. Brighton Beach may look like some rundown hell to most, but to the Volkov Bratva, this was the land we ruled. My father and Kirill Volkov were the kings of this fucked-up kingdom.

  Seeing the beach on my left, I pulled my car to a stop at the abandoned dark section Kisa and I had come to as kids, and cracked open the door. The icy wind whipped around my hair awarding me the jolt of reality I’d been searching for.

  Locking the car door, and leaving my now powered-off cell in the passenger seat, I walked onto the freezing sand in my Gucci boots and, almost meeting the tide, slumped down to the ground.

  I stared out at the vast sea of darkness, breathing in the salty air and tried not to think of what Savin and Ilya would be doing right now, finding me gone. And I was really trying not to think of the broken man I’d left on the cold basement floor.

  Hearing a cough behind me, I turned my head to see Kisa heading my way, wrapped up in a thick parka and clutching a large bottle in her hands.

  I smiled as she approached, her arms hugging her waist, her long brown hair whipping around her face. When her eyes met mine, she shook her head. “Talia Tolstaia, I love your crazy ass to pieces, but it’s freakin’ freezing out here!”

  Pushing myself off the ground, I walked to my best friend and wrapped my arms around her. “You’re the one that wouldn’t meet me at a bar, so technically, it’s your fault we’re freezing our asses off right now.”

  Smiling wide, Kisa linked her arm through mine and she guided me to a cluster of rocks, hunkering us down behind their shelter to escape the severe bite of the wind.

  Without breaking her hold on my arm, she passed me the sealed bottle of Grey Goose and watched with amusement as I cracked it open and took a long heavy swig. My chest burned as the alcohol ran down my throat, and all the air fled my lungs at the vodka’s strong taste.

  After a few more long sips, I immediately felt more relaxed. Screwing the cap back on, I tipped my head back to the full starry sky and sighed. “That feels better,” I said quietly. And it did. Away from the presence of 221 I could breathe, I could think more rationally.

  Kisa’s arm tightened in mine. Her beautiful face turned my way, and she asked, “What’s going on, Tal?”

  My eyes were fixed on the crashing of the waves, when 221’s beautifully stern face entered my head. I dropped my gaze, frustrated with myself when my stomach flipped and filled with butterflies.

  “Tal? You’re scaring me now. What’s wrong?”

  “I just needed to get away.”

  Kisa was too quiet in reply. I met her gaze to find her frowning. “But you went to the Hamptons to get away from everything here. To disconnect from Brooklyn for a while. Now you need to get away from the Hamptons, too? I don’t understand.”

  “I know,” I replied quietly, “I’m ridiculous.”

  Kisa’s gloved hand found mine and squeezed my fingers. “You’re not ridiculous. But what’s happened to make you need to leave?”

  My free hand sunk into the cold sand beside me and I filtered the grains though my fingers like a sieve. I wanted to tell someone.

  “Talia, please. You’ve never hidden anything from me before. I know you. I can tell something is on your mind.” Kisa’s blue eyes searched mine, then she added, “Just because I’m married to Luka doesn’t take away my loyalty to you.”

  I threw Kisa a watery, grateful smile. Kisa nudged her head in my direction urging me to divulge. Unscrewing the Grey Goose, I drank another few sips, and whispered, “It’s 221. I needed to get away from 221.”

  Kisa tensed and sorry spread over her face. “Shit, Talia. I didn’t even think.”

  I nodded my head then took another drink. I gripped the neck of the bottle and the laugh that tore through me was humorless. “He’s haunting me, Kisa. I can’t believe Luka brought him to the country house where I was staying. I just never expected to feel this strongly toward him. He’s all I can think about. He’s all I can concentrate on.” My hand subconsciously lifted to run over the “Tolstoi” engraving on my favorite gold necklace.

  My heart raced as Kisa said nothing. Finally, I turned to my best friend to see her watching me sympathetically. “I never even thought how hard it would be for you having him there.” My eyebrows pulled down and Kisa squeezed my hand. “Of course you don’t want him there. After all the family history, of course you don’t.”

  I opened my mouth to tell her she’d misunderstood me, but Kisa looked out over the sea, lost in her own thoughts. “It’s Luka, Tal. He’s got a one-track mind over saving that guy. It wouldn’t have even occurred to him that you’d detest the very sight of him. That it was disturbing your life to this extent.”

  Even surrounded by the freezing cold wind, my cheeks filled with heat. Kisa had it wrong. So wrong.

  I opened my mouth to explain that when Kisa laid her head on my shoulder. “I’m sorry you’re getting dragged into all this revenge business of your brother’s, Tal. But … but Luka needs it. He needs to help 221 more than you can understand, despite how offensive that is to your family. It’s healing him.”

  Kisa’s sad voice drifted on the wind to my ears and I stopped what I was about to say.

  This fascination, I would have to keep to myself. With a final sigh, I laid my head on top of Kisa’s. I was lost. Alone and lost.

  “Tal?” Kisa asked moments later.

  “Yeah?”

  “Where’s your byki?”

  I grimaced when I thought of the trouble I’d be in with Savin and Ilya when I was found. “Erm. I kind of left them at the Hampton house and came back to Brooklyn without informing them.”

  Kisa’s head whipped up, and an admonishing, but humored smile spread on her lips. “Talia! Seriously, girl. You are a rebel! Your father will flip if he finds out you sneaked off.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I know. Twenty-four and still have to answer to daddy dearest. How pathetic.”

  Kisa playfully slapped my arm. “With the rival threats of late it’s necessary. It’s for your protection, not punishment.”

  “I know,” I said indulgently, and patted Kisa’s hand. “Come on, dorogaya moya, time to get off this beach. It’s fucking freezing!”

  Kisa laughed as we walked back toward our cars. I suppressed my groan seeing Kisa’s byki standing dutifully by her Lincoln. She was going to be the perfect Bratva wife when Luka eventually took the pakhan mantle.

  “How you doing, Kisa?” I asked as we casually headed over the sand. “Have I missed anything since I’ve been away?”

  I felt Kisa’s arm tense for the briefest of moments within mine, but she shook her head in dismissal. “Nope, nothing new. Just the same old same Volkov life. Fighting, death, and extortion. You know, our honest family’s business.”

  Unable to hold back my laughter, I nudged my shoulder into Kisa’s and we both chuckled all the way back to the road.

  When we hit pavement, I saw Kisa’s byki eyeing me strangely. They knew I was alone without my guards. That clearly wasn’t going over well.

  Throwing the guards a wave and a huge smile, I greeted, “Evening, boys!”

  Kisa, laughing again, pulled me in for a hug. I went to move back, but she held on tighter. Frowning, I held her back until she pulled away. I went to ask her if she was truly okay, when she pressed a kiss to my cheek and whispered, “I miss not having you around, Tal. Brooklyn’s not the same without you.”

  My chest filled with warmth. “I’ll be back soon, Kisa. Can’t leave you in everyone’s favorite death-match ring alone. You need me to brighten your day.”

  “You joke, but it’s true,” she said meaningfully. Kisa stepped back toward her car, but asked, “You’re going back to the Hamptons, aren’t you?”

  I let my eyes drift into the distance and the empty, almost post-apocalyptic feeling of the Brighton Beach streets. “Yeah, I stil
l need a bit of time alone.” I met Kisa’s eyes and said, “You give that big brother of mine a kiss for me, okay?”

  Kisa’s face lit with pure love at the mention of Luka. “I will. He misses you, too, you know. Even if he doesn’t show it so much.” Kisa hesitated before she got in her car. “Are you okay to drive? You haven’t drunk too much, have you?”

  I waved my hand, dismissing her concern. “Nope. I’m good. I’ll take it easy, I swear.”

  Kisa nodded, but I could see she was still worried for me. “Okay. Call me when you get back.”

  “Will do!” I said cheerily.

  In minutes Kisa was gone. And I was still thinking of a six-foot-six, 250-pound Georgian.

  Shit.

  Screw this, I thought as I jumped behind the wheel. I needed a club. I needed a bit of normality. I needed to be the Talia of old for a while. I needed to see if another guy could make me forget 221’s face.

  Chapter Nine

  Talia

  Club Synz was teaming with hundreds of hot bodies, all dancing, kissing, brushing against one another—a promise of what would come as the night wound down and the comforts of home came calling.

  I sat at the bar nursing a mojito.

  Acid music pumped through the speakers so loudly I could feel the heavy bass vibrating through my chest. Staring into the clear liquid of my drink, I twirled the straw and watched the sprig of two mint leaves dance in the funnel I’d created. Then there was the lone lime segment chasing the paired and connected mint leaves down to the bottom of the glass. It never quite caught up, bobbing just above as if it were watching them have all the fun.

  I couldn’t help but think it was a metaphor for my life. Always watching other people fall in love. Always finding love out of my grasp.

  221’s face then appeared in my mind yet again. His long hair. His green eyes. That long black hair, his hand holding mine, the feel of his length under my palm …

  Shit!

  Suddenly, the chair moved beside me, making me jump. My hand flew to my chest and my heart skipped a beat. I glanced to the side to see a young dark-haired guy sporting black geek glasses and an expensive three-piece suit slip into the neighboring leather seat.

  Holding up his hand to signal the bartender, he flicked his blue-eyed gaze my way, a slow grin instantly pulling on his defined lips. Forcing myself to smile back, I watched in rapt attention as his eyes dropped to my bared shoulders, over my white strapless top and down to my skintight Armani jeans. His nostrils flared as he drank in my over-the-knee boots and my long blond hair that fell to the middle of my back.

  A few seconds later, his eyes once again met mine, and knowing he’d been caught, he quickly cleared his throat in embarrassment. The grin he was wearing immediately spread into a wide smile, which showcased his perfectly white teeth. He was pretty damn good to look at—tall, broad … attractive. He looked like a lawyer or someone who just got off work. Or a professor … yeah, a hot-ass professor.

  He was cute. My type before …

  Talia, you need to get 221 out of your mind! I admonished, making myself look over at Mr. Professor once again.

  “Hey,” he shouted over the music.

  “Hey,” I replied just as the bartender flicked his chin at Mr. Professor, clearly impatient to take his order.

  Turning, Mr. Professor placed his order of a double Grey Goose vodka on the rocks. Pausing, he flicked his gaze to my drink and, smiling, added, “And another mojito for this beautiful lady.”

  The bartender moved away to make the drinks and Mr. Professor turned to me. “I didn’t catch your name,” he shouted as the music switched to a heavy dance beat.

  Pushing myself to respond, I replied, “That’s because I never gave you it.”

  He nodded and pursed his lips. “Okay, point made.” He leaned in closer, his strong musky cologne filling my nose. “But don’t I deserve it after buying you a drink?”

  On cue, the bartender placed our drinks down on the counter and Mr. Professor passed him his credit card without taking his eyes off me. Reaching out to grasp his glass of Grey Goose, he raised it high, nudging his chin in the direction of my mojito.

  Sighing, I lifted my glass.

  Throwing me another heart-dropping grin, he leaned forward and said, “Cheers…?” His request for my name hung in the air.

  Shifting forward on my seat, I leaned slightly forward, and informed, “Talia.”

  Mr. Professor nodded. “Beautiful name for a beautiful lady.”

  Tilting my head to the side, I asked disinterestedly, “And yours?”

  “Brandon.”

  Brandon, I thought. Such a normal, bland American name.

  Bright lights from the dance floor reflected off the lenses of Brandon’s Tom Ford glasses. Clinking my cold glass against his, I toasted, “Cheers to you, too, Brandon.”

  I took a small sip and the ice-cold drink ran down my throat, the strong white rum adding to my already growing buzz. I coughed. This drink was strong.

  As I placed my glass down, I faced Brandon again, only to find him already watching me. “What?” I asked.

  His hand moved to stroke his stubbled cheek. “I haven’t seen you here before. Have you just moved to the city? Pretty girl like you could do well here.”

  Brushing back my hair from my shoulder, I shook my head. “Brooklyn born and bred.”

  “Really?” he asked, and took another drink. Swallowing, he asked, “And what is it you do here in Brooklyn, Talia?”

  My face adopted the same neutral expression I was used to displaying.

  Shrugging, I replied, “I help run the family business.” Brandon nodded, and I returned the question. “And you?”

  “Import and export, mostly.”

  “Sounds interesting,” I said sarcastically, and Brandon dismissively waved his hand.

  “Hmm … It pays well,” he said with finality, then his fingers found their way into the bottom of my hair.

  I remained still as he stared at the gold strands and I took a deep breath willing myself to find him attractive. His top lip hooked into a crooked, disbelieving smirk. Dropping my hair, his index finger then lifted to trace the edge of my jaw. I felt the need to push his hand away. Even as hot as he was, I found his touch repulsive.

  “You’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, Talia. Do you know that? Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are? All that long blond hair, your tanned skin, your dark brown eyes…” I stilled as his gaze turned hungry and stared predatorily at my lips.

  Pulling back, Brandon reached out for my drink, and brought it to my mouth, the sugar-coated rim kissing my bottom lip. “Drink, Talia. Drink this, then I’m going to taste it on your tongue.”

  His free hand dropped to my leg and drew lazy circles, traveling farther and farther north. I tried to be into it. I really did. But I felt like I was betraying 221.

  I felt like I was betraying myself.

  Brandon’s head dipped and his bright blue eyes met me over the rim of his glasses. “Drink.”

  Tipping my head forward, I opened my mouth to accept the drink. I took a small sip. I didn’t think I could stomach any more, and Brandon pulled the glass away and threw me a devastatingly handsome smile.

  His hand lifted to stroke my hair. “Do you feel more relaxed?”

  “Mmm…,” I mumbled, slightly jarred at how forward Brandon had suddenly become. His mouth approached my mouth and, to my shock, dusted a soft kiss on the corner. Pulling back, seemingly happy at my shocked-still state, he took my hands, and asked, “Dance with me?”

  Brandon pulled me from my seat. I grabbed my purse, throwing the strap over my shoulder. Brandon guided me through the heaving mass of hot bodies, the two of us immediately merging with the frenzied mob the club had morphed into.

  Brandon kept pulling me along, his pace picking up the deeper into the throng we penetrated.

  I frowned, wondering why we were headed to the other side of the dance floor. “Brandon?” I called,
but he obviously hadn’t heard me over the too-loud music.

  I tried to pull on Brandon’s hand but his grip tightened and he still didn’t look back. Fear immediately drenched my body as we fled the dance floor and headed for a darkened exit door.

  “Brandon! Stop!” I shouted, but my plea was drowned out by the sound of the heavy bass.

  Brandon pushed through the exit door, dragging me with him until I staggered into a dark and secluded alley. Hearing the exit door slam behind me, I swung around just in time to see Brandon loosen his tie and crack his neck.

  My heartbeats sounded like cracks of roaring thunder in my ears. I backed up, trying to get away, only to hit a wall. I froze, my eyes darting to Brandon … Brandon who was stalking … his expression no longer seductive and friendly, but cold and damn-right fucking insane.

  Quickly glancing to my left, I couldn’t see the entrance to the alley; a tall wall blocked me to my right. But as I turned and moved to run, a strong hand gripped my throat and rammed me back against the cold brick, the impact of the contact knocking the breath from my lungs.

  Brandon smiled, cold and sadistic. He shook his head at me, tutting. “You made that far too easy, Talia. Don’t you know you should be careful when talking to strangers?”

  All the blood drained from my face as he spoke, his hand tightening its grip. Brandon’s all-American accent had vanished, only to be replaced with a thick Eastern European accent. It wasn’t Russian, but close … Georgian?

  My stomach fell. Georgian.

  “You’re … Georgian?” I rasped out of my restricted throat and watched as Brandon’s head tilted to the side and his blue eyes narrowed behind his black glasses.

  He moved in closer to me and I lifted my hands to claw at his hands. “And how did you know that, Talia? How did you pick out that I’m Georgian?”

  Christ, was the city now teeming with Georgians!