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Alexei’s daughter is a wildcat, but she deserves a special night without bloodshed.
“I’ll leave, but remember this one, Sergei.” I hold out my hand to him.
Reluctantly, he shakes it. “I doubt you will let me forget.”
My oldest brother, Kieran, Gabe Parisi Jr., and Alexei Koslov workaroundeach other, not against. A provincial city outside Manhattan, Astoria is rich in opportunity. But it’s small and can’t survive a war between two powerful crime houses. Three would level the place.
My da, who retired and passed the crown to Kieran, worked his arse off to carve out a lucrative business model for us. I can’t fuck it all up in one night.
I turn to leave when the moonlight shines down on a gazebo in the distance. The silhouette of a lithe female glows against the reflection on the harbor.
Sergei’s radio crackles, and since I’m halfway between the guards’ booth by the gate and the main house with a party in full swing, when Sergei leaves, I’m out of visual range from both ends.
Something pulls me toward the woman. I saysomethingbecause I was programmed not to be distracted. I spent a year in Dunbar Valley, a camp where my da sent me to be ‘trained’ after I nearly upended his hold on power.
Trouble clings to me no matter what I do.
My size sixteen shoes crunch the grass blades, stiff from the falling temperature. I brace against the brisk March wind as I stroll toward the gazebo. I’m transfixed on the sight of this female and want to take her in without being noticed.
Women’s bodies get me off. They mean nothing to me. I mean nothing to them, except a thrill for those who actually know who they lured into their bed. It’s alwaystheir bedbecause no one knows where I live.
I’m the O’Rourke Enforcer for the Irish Mob. The elusive square on a bingo card that will make someone famous if they take me out. Only, it would have to be anonymous, or they’d be gunned down in the street within an hour. My men are that loyal. That’s howItrained them.
All the crime families—the Irish, the Italians, and the Russians—have businesses to protect. No one wants a war.
These thoughts sit in the back of my head as I approach the woman.
Wearing an opaque dress that shows off a thin frame, she stops in the center of the gazebo and lifts her arms. She bends one of her legs and spins elegantly.
She’s dancing. In the cold.
My throat tightens.
Katya…
Alexei’s daughter. Hisillegitimatedaughter. The ballet dancer.
She’s a star at East Side Performing Arts in Manhattan. Balor keeps meticulous tabs on everyone in powerandtheir family. He tracks the strengths and weaknesses of each house.
With both feet on the gazebo’s icy wooden floor, one arm raises, and the other lowers into a seductive side bend like her spine is made of rubber. Fucking impressive.
Katya straightens, and the line of her slender figure takes my breath away. A closer look reveals hard nipples from the cold, tender buds I want to taste and bite. A spark flickers in my chest, startling me. Not the way my heart rate shoots up when I end a man’s life. This kind of adrenaline surges differently through my veins, leaving a sweet taste on my tongue.
When you know, you know.
That ridiculous love proverb whispers through my brain, and I squash it. Love isn’t in the cards for me. I have no use for women other than to satisfy my body. I won’t gift my family with any offspring because my father took from me theonlything I ever wanted.
I should have been my family’s ticket to heaven. Now, I’m going straight to hell.
My gut twisting in confusion, I step back. But I keep my eyes on Katya Koslov gently spinning until she stops and hugs one of the carved posts.
The light shines on her face, and I track her gaze to the guests in her father’s garden, all whooping it up for her sister. Her half-sister, Stasia, basks in Alexei’s limelight.
It hits me how Katya is always in the shadows, like now. Like me.
I wonder if she knows how lucky she is not to be on her father’s pedestal. Anastasia is Alexei’s weapon, and he’ll use her mercilessly to make a lucrative deal. That’s how our world works.
I turn away when a sweet voice sails over my shoulder. “Don’t go.”
