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As if I’m zapped with 200 volts of electricity, my feet can’t move. I take a breath, and it doesn’t burn. What is this? I turn around, and Katya stares at me.
“Did you mean me, little one?” I ask.
“Who else would I mean?” She frowns. “Were you watching me?”
“Aye.” I never lie. Don’t have to.
“Why?”
A cool calmness spreads through me, and the rage sitting on the surface of my skin slowly fades. Underneath is the blessed peace I stopped feeling at eighteen. The kind of serenity I got serving the church. That joy was stolen, replaced with darkness.
“Because I do whatever I want. I saw you and wanted to keep looking.” My feet move toward her before I tell them to. “You dance beautifully.”
“Thank you. It’s the one thing I have that’s all mine.”
Mine…
Adrenaline powers through me with the urge to claim this delicate whisper of grace.
Getting closer, I see she’s more lovely than I remembered. Perhaps my eyesight is failing me, or I didn’t want to admit that such delicate beauty exists in the ugly world of her father’s ruthless brotherhood.
“Why are you here?” she asks me.
I doubt she’s interested in the gritty details behind my pursuit of vengeance for a family ally, but her fearlessness in asking intrigues me. “Business, little one.”
A smile lifts the corner of her upper lip. “That doesn’t interest me.”
Fuck, she’s sassy on top of being bloody adorable. Why do I sense she doesn’t show it to anyone? A chaos of crazy ideas sizzle in my head, one telling me to grab her, steal her, and bring her home.
No… A missing Russian princess will tear Astoria apart. I escaped one scandal. I can’t ignite another one.
“It’s cold out here. You should get inside.” I harden myself to turn away from her lovely face. “And forget you ever saw me, little one.”
CHAPTER TWO
Katya
Shoutingandadoorslamming across the hall breaks my concentration, and I tumble forward from a holding position. After rustling and banging keep me puzzled, I tiptoe out of my bedroom and cross the hall. Through a narrow sliver, I peek in on my sister to make sure she’s all right, but there’s a flurry of chaotic movement.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my brain not processing what’s happening.
“I’m leaving,” Stasia cries out, shoving clothes into a suitcase. “I hate him.”
“Who? Who do you hate?” I stand in the doorway.
She turns her back to me and her shoulders come up around her ears, like she’s choosing her words carefully. “Papa.”
“What did he do?” My gaze drifts to the yard where my father’s henchmen are finally breaking down her lavish 21stbirthday party tent from a week ago. A lingering reminder of the grand event.
If she’s mad about the royal treatment she gets, I should leave first. Papa has never, nor will he ever, worship me like Stasia.
I slip into her bedroom, a palace compared to mine. But she’s been living here longer than me. I was brought here seven years ago, when I was twelve. My bedroom is nice enough. Papa let me have whatever I wanted for it, but it was Yulia, the live-in housekeeper, who did all the work.
Stasia turns around with mascara running down her face and answers me. “He’s making me get married.”
I should look surprised, but I’ve learned a lot about this world in seven years. Our father leads the Bratva here in Astoria. Stasia is his only legitimate daughter. Of course, he’d arrange her marriage. The only true surprise is that she’s not already wedded to one of Papa’s allies with a few kids.
I gulp down a ball of fear in my throat. In two years, Papa might arrange my marriage. I snort to myself, dismissing that. He’s been telling lies about me since the day I got here. That my mother was his whore.
