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Chapter 1
Dimitri
It’s a perfectly calm, peaceful morning.
And then the bomb goes off.
My car explodes, the violent force sending shards of glass and metal careening dangerously past my head.
There’s a loud ringing in my ears. The heat of the fire engulfing my car is so hot and intense that if I were any closer, it would have burned me alive. I count my lucky stars the meeting ran late; otherwise, I likely would have been shredded to bits behind the wheel.
It’s chaos.
The blast was so powerful it shook the entire city block. Pedestrians scatter, practically tripping over one another in their blind panic. Windows of the local storefronts have been shattered; the vehicles I was parked beside totaled beyond recognition. Black plumes of smoke rise into the crisp morning air, distant sirens wailing over frantic screams.
“Are you okay, sir?” my bodyguard, Boris, asks me hurriedly.
I pick myself off the cold ground with a groan, brushing the dust off my suit. “That was one hell of an alarm clock.”
“I need to get you to a secure location. This could be the work of the Aminoffs.”
I shake my head. Now that the initial shock has faded, I’m surprisingly calm. Panic doesn’t serve me. “It’s not the Aminoffs. We just had a meeting with them last week. We’re on very good terms now.”
“Now,” Boris stresses. “If you hadn’t helped Mikhail broker peace—”
“Wait, what’s that?” I ask, squinting past the smoke to get a better look.
My eyes fall to the ground where a young woman lies still. A pedestrian caught in the blast? The only reason I know she’s still alive is because I manage to catch the shallow rise and fall of her chest.
Logic tells me to run. The police will be here any minute. My morals tell me to help.
Besides, I don’t run fromanything.
My legs carry me forward before my brain has a chance to kick in. I’m vaguely aware of Boris yelling at me to come back, screaming it isn’t safe. I don’t care. If this really is the start of a Bratva war, that means an innocent bystander was caught in the crossfire. I can’t stand idly by while a civilian suffers from a bomb meant for me.
Carefully, I check the young woman. Her pulse is strong and she’s breathing just fine. Probably just knocked out from the blast. Her hands and elbows have a few minor scrapes where she fell, but nothing appears to be broken. That’s not what captures my attention, though.
She’s gorgeous.
Here in my arms, Sleeping Beauty’s face is serene. Angelic, even. Her long blonde hair is so soft it very well could have been spun from starlight. Her lips are full and red, her lashes long and curling. A work of art. Now really isn’t the time or place to be so starstruck, but I can’t help but stare at her a while longer.
“Hey,” I say, trying to get her attention. “Hey, wake up.”
She stirs, her brows pinching into a frown as she groans. Her eyes flutter open, revealing crisp baby blues that put the skies above to shame. I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman more breathtaking. Maybe she reallyisan angel.
An angel who is desperately trying to push me away.
“L-let me go!” she shouts.
“Be still,” I say firmly. “You were close to the explosion. You might have suffered some internal trauma.”
The angel blinks at me, confusion washing over her soft features. “Explosion? What…” She looks around at the wreckage, growing more and more frantic. “What happened? No, this is—”
“Stay calm,” I urge gently. The poor woman’s clearly out of sorts. “Everything’s going to be fine. I’m going to take you over to that bench there, and then I’ll call an ambulance.”
She can barely get a word out, struggling to recover from her initial shock. With ease, I scoop her up in my arms and quickly make my way over to the nearest public bench. She clings to me in her disorientation, her eyes bleary with tears. I set her down gently before shrugging off my suit jacket, draping it over her shoulders to combat her trembling.
“Boris,” I snap.
