CHAPTER ONE
Calina
Laughter spills out of me as Milana and I stumble through the club doors into the cool night air. The bass still throbs behind us, and I so badly want to go back in there and continue dancing but unfortunately, we have to leave.
I hook my arm through my sister’s. She stumbles a little in her heels as we make our way toward the valet stand.
Darn, it’s still so early. A long queue of people snakes down the sidewalk, dressed to kill, all of them eager to get inside.
I wish we could stay longer. But we really, really can’t. Milana leans into me, giggling. “Are you drunk?”
I grin. “No. I only had one drink a while ago. I’m fine.”
“Or should we just call a cab?” she teases.
“I can drive,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Unlike you.”
Milana chuckles, the sound light and carefree. “I’m not drunk. I only had two drinks.”
I look at her and something warm settles in my chest. It’s rare to see Milana like this. Loose. Happy. Laughing without any care in the world. Out of the two of us, she’s always been the more reserved one, the quiet observer who keeps her guard up, even at home. Tonight, for a few precious hours, she got to be twenty-three instead of a Morozov princess.
The valet finally pulls up with our car, the black Porsche 911 Carrera that Artyom gave me for my twenty-sixth birthday. I tip the valet quickly, snatch the keys, and slide into the driver’s seat. My sister drops into the passenger side, still smiling.
“I wish we didn’t have to go home,” she says wistfully as she buckles her seatbelt.
“Me too.” I start the engine and pull away from the curb. “But we have to get back before Artyom comes home and realizes we’re gone.”
Milana groans. “He’d be so pissed if he found out we snuck out.”
“That’s why he’s not going to find out,” I reply, keeping my voice light even as nerves twist in my stomach. Our brother’scontrol has only gotten tighter since everything that happened with our father. He means well, but sometimes it feels like we’re suffocating.
Milana leans her head back against the seat, staring at the passing lights. “It was fun though… dancing, being free for once.”
A small smile tugs at my lips. “I know. I enjoyed every second of it.” It was her first time ever stepping foot inside a club without a million guards, and God, it was great.
Milana turns to me, cheeks still flushed. “Do you think we can do this again?”
“Yeah,” I say, smiling. “We’ll just have to find another night when we can sneak out without Artyom finding out.”
She looks out the window for a moment, the city lights sliding across her face. Then her voice gets quieter. “We’ll really be in trouble if he finds out.”
I slow to a stop at a red light and turn to look at her. The carefree glow from the club is already fading, replaced by that familiar worried crease between her brows. I reach across the console and brush my hand over hers.
“Hey. Don’t worry. If he does find out, I’ll handle him.”
Milana’s lips twitch. “Imagine what he’ll say if he does.” She sits up straighter and drops her voice into a perfect imitation of Artyom’s cold, commanding tone. “I can’t believe you two, sneaking out like criminals. You will remain in this house until you are thirty.”
I burst out laughing. She keeps going, mimicking his stiff posture and icy glare, and soon we’re both cracking up, the sound filling the car until tears prick at the corners of my eyes.
For a short while, we feel like ordinary girls. Not Morozov daughters. Not sisters trapped inside a dangerous family name. Just two girls who snuck out for one night away from our brother’s iron control.
Artyom has always been protective of us. He rarely lets us out of his sight, and when he does, his men are never far behind. But ever since he became Pakhan, it’s gotten worse. He watches us too closely now, treating us like we cannot make a decision without his permission.
Not that I can blame him entirely. The past months have been brutal, between our father’s death, the attempts on Artyom’s wife Kira, and Irina, the wife of our other brother, Mikhail. I understand why he’s so concerned about keeping us safe.
Still… I wish he would let off sometimes. Stop treating us like fragile children.
We’ve been sheltered our entire lives. That’s why, at twenty-six, I still had to sneak out to go to a nightclub. The light turns green. I press the accelerator, still smiling.
