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Andrei lowers his window and says a few short words in Russian. They nod respectfully and wave us through.

The house that appears at the end of the long driveway is exactly what I would expect from a man like him: a sleek, modern fortress of dark stone and glass. It looks expensive, intimidating.

The Escalade stops in front of the entrance. Andrei steps out first and holds the door open for me.

“Welcome,” he says simply.

I swallow, legs feeling unsteady as I climb out and look around. The place is quiet, almost too quiet after the madness of the club.

He leads me inside. The interior is minimalist and masculine: high ceilings, dark wood floors, large windows that probably offer stunning views during the day, and furniture that looks both beautiful and comfortable.

We end up in a spacious living room. Andrei walks over to a wet bar, pours two glasses of vodka, and hands one to me.

Our fingers brush as I take it, and that same electric spark shoots up my arm. I quickly take a sip, needing the burn to ground me.

He watches me for a moment before speaking.

“Have you been hiding from me, or was my private investigator just shitty at his job?”

I nearly choke on the vodka. “You hired a private investigator to look for me?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” The word comes out sharper than I intend.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he tilts his head slightly. “What’s your name?”

The question throws me. I hesitate only a second before answering softly, “Rosie.”

He says it slowly, tasting each syllable. “Rosie.”

The way he says my name, low, rough, with that slight accent, does dangerous things to my insides. Heat curls low in my belly despite everything.

“Where have you been?”

His eyes are intense, telling me not to lie. Now that he knows my name, it’s only a matter of time before he finds out everything. There’s no point in hiding anymore.

I take another sip of vodka for courage and answer quietly, “New Jersey. I’ve been living in New Jersey.”

He doesn’t speak for a long moment, just studies me like he’s peeling back every layer I’ve tried to hide behind.

I grip the glass tighter, heart racing, wondering how much longer I can keep the biggest secret of my life from him.

He chuckles.

A low, disbelieving sound that rumbles deep in his chest.

“New Jersey,” he repeats, almost to himself, shaking his head. “All this time you’ve been right across the river while I’ve been tearing the city apart looking for you.” He lets out a slow breath. “Wow.”

I stare at him, my mind scrambling to make sense of what he’s saying.

“Why?” I think it over for a moment, then ask him softly. “Why have you been looking for me?”

Andrei walks toward me slowly, closing the distance until he’s standing right in front of me. He’s so tall I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.

“Because you, plamya,” he says, voice dropping lower, “have been living inside my head since the night we met. You’ve been under my skin. In my thoughts. In my bed, even when you weren’t there.”

His eyes burn into mine with frightening intensity. “And now that I’ve finally found you… I’m not letting you go.”