Chapter 3

Anton

"What the–"

I stared down at the ground. An urchin with dark hair was at my feet. On my feet, to be precise. She tilted her head back to look up at me and my heart stopped. It literally stopped.

An angel was staring up at me. Dark hair framed a face of indescribable beauty and purity. Huge crystal blue eyes pierced me, looking directly into my soul. Her perfect pink lips parted, revealing white teeth. Her skin was like porcelain, but finer. High cheekbones, a mischievous looking upturned nose, and a stubborn chin completed the picture.

But it was her eyes that captured me. Eyes that were… afraid, I realized after my initial shock started to fade.

Something inside me cracked open.

An urge to protect, conquer, and devour washed over me like a wave, changing me completely. Changing me forever. I'd never felt anything other than a bit of lust when looking at a woman before. In that moment, I felt everything.

Unfortunately for me, the beauty at my feet was barely more than a child. A teen, perhaps, just starting to ripen into womanhood. Sixteen at most. And far too young for me. I would be waiting years for her to be of age.

She blinked. Her father started speaking rapidly, apologizing for his daughter.

Daughter? His daughter was not a child, I realized with profound relief. I remembered how old I was when his wife had been pregnant and rapidly did the math in my brain.

She was twenty or twenty-one. Young. But definitely a woman.

I reached down to help her stand. She stared at me for a moment before taking my hand. A shock went through my body at the contact. From the look on her perfect, unimaginably lovely face, she felt it, too, I would have bet my life on it. But that was nothing compared to what I felt when she stood and I could see her.

Truly see her.

This was no child. This was a woman. She was in the first blush of womanhood, true, but her curves were sinful enough to make me harden instantly with lust.

I smiled at her, suddenly relieved. This overwhelming wave of feelings was an easy problem to solve. She was a woman. Women loved me. All of them. I would take her and this off kilter feeling would disappear. The world would right itself again.

"Mishka! Go in the back," her father said, practically wringing his hands. I liked the old man. But I was not ready to end this encounter. Not by a mile.

"Were you eavesdropping, little Mishka?" I asked, not releasing her hand. Her eyes widened, but she nodded. She was honest. Good girl. I liked that.

And for some reason, I was not surprised. I felt like I knew her already. Knew her through and through. That wasn't possible though, was it?

"Yes, I was afraid."

"Afraid?"

She looked down at our still connected hands then back up at me. Her beauty stunned me. As did her bravely spoken next words.

"I know who you are."

Her eyes were colder now. I would have to woo her carefully, I realized. She was not falling over her feet to impress me. She also had no idea of how incredibly gorgeous she was.

Or how gorgeous I am, I thought with a wry twist of my mouth. All she saw was a killer. I would have to change that, and soon.

It would not be that hard, since I had no plans to kill her father.

"Barlov, why didn't you just close the place? Sell it?" Andrei asked him.

"I wanted to leave something for Mishka."

"You are leaving her debt. Our father does not tolerate such things, as you know," Alexei said, sounding frustrated.

"I know. What I do not know is why I am still alive."

The girl standing in front of me gasped. She realized in that moment, as we all did, that the sweet, portly shop keeper had never intended to live this long. He had expected us to kill him.

"We are not here to kill you, candy man," Andrei muttered, looking annoyed. I checked Alexie's face. As usual, it was impassive, revealing nothing. But I knew he felt the same way we did.

"We could never kill you, Barlov," I said, watching the girls face. She sunk in relief. A strange emotion started circling in my chest. I wanted her to be happy, I realized. I needed to be the one to make her happy. I did not simply want to bed her. I wanted everything. "But our father will want something."

"I have nothing," the old man said, spreading his arms. I could see that he was ill. It was true. Other than the shop, he had nothing.

Other than his daughter.

"We will have to make a trade," I said. "You give over the running of the shop for now. And your daughter…"

"Nyet, not my Mishka. You cannot have her," he said bravely.

I stared at the man in consternation. Even though my intent was, in fact, to have her, I would never have said that openly. I wanted to keep her, not just tumble the girl. But I could say none of that.

"She will serve us as a maid. Nothing more," I said, trying to look innocent. I even smiled. Barlov did not look convinced.

"Yes, papa. I can work off your debt. And someone else can run the shop while you go get treatment."

She would have to work for a hundred years or longer to pay his debt, but she had no need to know that. My brothers both raised their eyebrows at me.

"I need to sell my violin. It will pay for your trip to that doctor in Switzerland. I am not going to argue with you papa!"

With that, the tempestuous beauty turned on her heel and walked away.

"You see who rules the roost."

"We do," Andrei said with a chuckle. He and Alexei looked at me. I nodded. They left the shop, leaving me alone with the father of my prey.

"She will work for me. I will protect her."

"You will keep her safe," he commanded me, as if he could read my thoughts. Who knew, perhaps he could. I wondered at his bravery. But I made the promise willingly.

"I will. I promise."

"And she must have her violin!"

I nodded, then took a wad of cash from my pocket. I shoved it at the old man.

"Tell her you found it in an old jar. It will pay for your expenses for the immediate future. You will do as she asks and go abroad. I will cover the treatment when you get there. She does not have to sell her instrument."

His eyes widened.

"Anton…" he said. He had not called me that since I was a boy. No one did, save my immediate family. Usually, I was simply Mr. Aslanov. Or sir. Or boss.

"This is between us. You will get the care she wants you to get. Text me the details. I will arrange the travel for you."

He nodded, looking bewildered as I gave him my private phone number.

"I thank you, son," he said and I stiffened. I wanted to run from the kindness, it felt so foreign to me. But I shook his hand instead.

"Tell her to pack. I will send a car in the morning. She will stay with us, and the shop will be minded. Think no more about it."

"I will."

"Until we meet again," I said, casting a glance back to see if the lovely Mishka was visible. Alas, she was not. I turned and left the shop to join my brothers waiting in the limo outside.