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“It’s the least I can do to thank you for hauling her heavy butt up sixty stories.” The lights flick on in the kitchen, and glass clinks a moment later as he pulls two beers from the fridge.
The hiss of bottles being opened precedes Viktor entering the room once more. He slumps onto the couch next to me and puts his feet up on the coffee table before taking a big swig.
“You and your sister… you always at each other’s throat?” I ask, intrigued by their dynamic. My brother and I were more like the same person split into two bodies—one couldn’t survive without the other, or so it seemed. My brother spent his whole life keeping me alive. We never had room for squabbles or sibling rivalry.
Viktor chuckles. “Aren’t brothers supposed to give their sisters a hard time?”
I shrug. “Never had one, so I wouldn’t know.”
“Well, I would do anything for Alina. But if she knew that, she’d have me dressed in a tutu, running around in circles, singing The Star-Spangled Banner or some nonsense. So I try to keep the brotherly affection to a minimum.”
I glance toward her bedroom and wish I weren’t so curious about the girl. It’s an unhealthy interest—especially considering I intend to kill her father and as many Sakharov men as I can. My eyes trail back to Viktor, and I wonder if, when the time comes, I’ll have the backbone to kill him too. I’ve only known him a few days now, but the guy’s been nothing but good to me in that time. Treated me like a brother.
Guilt knots my stomach as the thought brings my conundrum directly before my face. Viktor’s not my brother. My brother is dead. Because of Viktor’s father. And that means even if I could have felt a kind of camaraderie with the Sakharov heir, when the time comes, I need to kill him too. Otherwise, the cycle is only bound to repeat itself. I’ll have cut the head off the snake only to have it grow back.
And there’s no doubt in my mind that Viktor would take up his father’s mantle.
Likely, with a thirst for vengeance.
“Well, I think I’m calling it a night,” he says, cutting through my reverie. He chugs the rest of his beer and slams the bottle down on the coffee table. “You’re welcome to the guest bedroom if you want. The door across the hall from Alina’s room.”
“Thanks, man.” I rise with Viktor, more than ready to crash for the night.
But as I lie awake, staring at the ceiling twenty minutes later, all I can think about is the beautiful girl passed out just two unlocked doors away.
5
ALINA
My head pounds and my mouth feels painfully dry as I rise slowly to consciousness. Sunlight filters in through my bedroom window—or the window in my brother’s penthouse. I groan as the night before comes back to me in a slow trickle.
What a mess.
Not only did I make a fool of myself flirting with my brother’s new friend when he’s clearly not into me, but like a toddler, when he tried to give me a clear “no, thank you,” I went and threw a tantrum, managed to get groped in the middle of the club, and then scolded said friend for coming to my rescue.
I almost hope I never have to face Mishka and the humiliation of my behavior again.
With another groan, I roll out of bed and pad to the ensuite bathroom, aware that I’m still wearing my club dress. But someone took off my shoes. I don’t even remember coming up to Viktor’s apartment last night, and I’m just grateful that he let me crash here. There’s no way in hell I would have been able to successfully sneak back into my parents’ house last night, and they would not have been pleased with me if they saw the state I was in.
My hair’s a mess as I scrutinize my reflection in the mirror, my makeup creating perfect raccoon eyes that reflect the haggard exhaustion I feel despite sleeping in. Never again. I’m never going to drink like that again in my life.
If this is the dreaded hangover my brother complains about almost every Saturday brunch, I’ll pass, thank you. Running some warm water in the sink, I wash my face clean of makeup, then do my best to finger-comb the knots out of my hair. It won’t stop Viktor from giving me a hard time, but at least I don’t look nearly as horrendous.
Stealing one of my brother’s oversized T-shirts, I trade out my club dress for something more comfortable. Then I pad out to the main room to accept the verbal punishment I know I’m owed for giving my brother a hard time last night.
The rich scent of coffee fills the air as the coffee maker gurgles and spits, and I could almost moan with gratitude. A strong shot of caffeine will go a long way toward easing my headache—at least I hope. It’s normally what raises me from the dead every morning.
But as I step into the kitchen, I stop short when I find a broad, muscular, tattoo-covered back standing before the sink. My heart skips a beat as I realize the shirtless man must be Mishka, and I can’t help but admire the colorful Eastern-inspired tapestry that covers every inch of exposed flesh.
A red Chinese dragon snakes across one whole shoulder blade, contrasting starkly with the bonsai tree and serene lake that extend across the other side. Beneath the water’s surface swim several koi. Together, the colorful art inspires an odd sense of excited calm.
The faucet turns off, making me feel instantly guilty for staring at the gorgeous man before me, and when Mishka brings his water glass to his lips, I swallow hard, preparing to announce my presence.
“Good morning,” I say, infusing my voice with a false sense of brightness. “Didn’t expect to see you here today.”
Averting my eyes as soon as Mishka’s deep blue ones turn to find mine, I busy myself with removing several mugs from Viktor’s cabinet—an unexpected challenge considering I have to reach for them and my brother’s T-shirt rises dangerously every time I lift my arm.
“Viktor let me crash in the spare bedroom,” Mishka says by way of explanation. Then he’s in my personal space, his muscular chest brushing against my shoulder as he snags three mugs and sets them on the counter before me.
