Chapter One

Kolya

Ibrush freshly fallen snow off my shoulders when I enter the Romanov estate. It’s been a while since I’ve been to Moscow.

Twinkling white lights adorn the banister, the scent of pine and cinnamon, and the warm glow of crystal chandeliers warm me immediately.

“Did you walk here, Kolya?”

Ekaterina Romanova, the Romanov family matriarch and wife of my late best friend, stands in the entrance to the living room, her silvery hair tucked in a regal bun at the nape of her neck, a dress of emerald velvet sweeping to the floor. “Why didn’t you tell us? We would’ve sent a car.”

I shake my head and shrug off my coat, handing it to nearby staff who stands beside me while another quickly mops up the puddle of water from melted snow.

“I like walking in the city this time of year,”

I tell her with a smile, while I lean in to kiss first her left then right cheek in greeting. “I get nostalgic.”

She squeezes my hand, her eyes growing soft. “I do, too. Moscow comes alive at Christmas, doesn’t it?”

I nod. I live for the outdoor markets and ice sculptures, elaborately decorated Christmas trees and performances. Red Square is famous for their holiday festivities, while couples ice skate and travelers enjoy views of the Kremlin and Saint Basil’s Cathedral. A holiday stroll alone amidst the twinkling lights brings me back to my childhood. Another lifetime ago, really.

“But the snow,”

she says with a smile, dusting off a few flakes that fell onto my shoulders. “I know you could never resist Moscow’s winter wonderland. I remember you taking my older boys ice skating when my husband was still here. Is the snow coming down harder now?”

I nod. “Yes. It wasn’t supposed to, but the winds were kicking up and the snow really started to accumulate. Has everyone arrived?”

Something I can’t quite identify flashes in her eyes before she schools her features. Ekaterina hasn’t quite mastered the poker face.

“Well,”

she says softly, almost apologetically. “Not everyone.”

I give her a sharp look as Mikhail Romanov, the eldest of the Romanov family and pakhan, steps into the room. “You forgot your red suit, Kolya,”

he says with a smile. Dressed in a charcoal gray suit and holding a drink in one hand, he gestures for me to follow him.

“You said there were no children tonight.”

It’s a late-night soirée, and all the children are either with their nannies or already put to bed. Mikhail and I did this on purpose because tonight, we’ve decided to bring rival families together under one roof … one can never quite predict how they will all behave.

“No children,”

Mikhail confirms with a nod as we walk toward the living room. He pushes aside heavy velvet curtains to the entrance of the room. “I just thought with the gray in your beard you look the part of Santa.”

“Fuck off, Romanov,”

I tell him, narrowing my eyes at him. I’m only ten years his senior and hardly the type to play Grandfather Frost, the Russian icon dressed in a coat of red, traversing the streets of Russia with his little granddaughter the Snow Maiden, who helps deliver gifts and winter magic.

He only chuckles and hands me a drink.

“How’s everyone behaving?”

I ask in a quiet voice. I look around the room and quickly note the different families present as well as every one of Mikhail’s brothers. Viktor, the largest of the bunch, stands by the fire with his arms crossed, like the personal bodyguard to remind everyone to be on their best behavior.

“So far so good,”

he says with a grimace. “Though the Vykov family hasn’t come yet.”

Heat flashes down my spine as a tendril of dread curls in my stomach.

Vkyov.

“You didn’t tell me they were coming.”

No wonder Ekaterina couldn’t meet my eyes.

Mikhail hides his wince behind another drink, not meeting my eyes. “It was Aria’s idea. She came across some interesting intel and thought it would be in my best interest to ask Arkady to elaborate personally.”

But he isn’t meeting my gaze. He’s hiding something for sure.

I blow out a breath. It may be nearing Christmas here, but I can’t let the ghosts of Christmas past haunt me. Not here. Not now. “This was supposed to be a holiday ceasefire,”

I remind him. Members of rival Bratva here in Moscow would normally be at each other’s throats, but all of us agreed it would be best to set aside our differences for the sake of the holidays.

It’s like asking a room of pit bulls to share a steak. I suppose we’ll see.

“It will be a ceasefire,”

Mikhail says, his jaw firm. “I promise.”

I nod, letting my gaze travel over the crystal chandeliers, the tree bedecked with ornaments and twinkling rainbow lights, the sound of laughter and clinking glasses mingled with strings of instrumental holiday music lending an air of peace.

Peace.

I’ve never been one to enjoy social festivities. I can’t help it. My mind never stops strategizing. I’m always calculating the next move, even here.

Especially here.

As the mastermind of the Romanov Bratva and Mikhail’s right hand and advisor, I keep my mind alert and sharp, like a finely-tuned machine. Every conversation here tonight will hint at a political maneuver, every smile calculated and direct.

Frankly? I love it. I fucking live for it.

But the Vykov family… Surely…she won’t come.

Would she?

I join Mikhail at the bar, already on my second drink with an appetizer in hand when voices sound outside the velvet curtain.

Mikhail is surrounded by powerful men, all jockeying for his attention and favor, but he meets my eyes and gives me a brief nod. I return the nod with a slight tilt of my head before my gaze drifts toward the velvet curtain—and freeze.

Arkady Vykov and his men step into the room as if they own it, fake smiles plastered onto their faces as if to challenge anyone to defy them. Maybe they came alone. Surely by now, his sister’s found a suitable mate, or he’s found one for her.

Though I normally keep abreast of the news, when it comes to Galina Vykov, I’ve kept myself intentionally ignorant.

I have my reasons.

The curtain shifts back into place and I let out a breath. Good. She hasn’t—female voices on the other side of the curtain catch my attention. The others talk amongst themselves and I’m vaguely aware of Mikhail fetching drinks for the new arrivals, when the curtain parts…and in walks Galina.

Galya, I called her. I was the only one who called her that.

The youngest sister of Arkady Vykov, her presence commands the room without her even trying.

Christ.

Dressed in a sleek, dark red gown that hugs her curves in all the right places, with a tantalizing low neckline that shows full breasts—my God, she’s come into her own.

Does she remember me?

She exudes elegance and danger in equal measure, seduction and queenly grace in a neat little package wrapped up in a bow. My jaw tightens as I look away, the memories of our past surfacing. I tried to escape the Ghost of Christmas past, and he’s come straight fucking for me.

She hasn’t seen me, not yet, as she chatters with Mikhail’s sister Polina. She places one small, well-manicured hand on Polina’s slender shoulder. I can still feel the heat of her hand pressed on my abdomen. The way her chest heaved when I—

No.

Her brother’s standing feet away from me.

We’ve called a holiday ceasefire.

That never happened.

It never will.

Still, I can’t look away. My gaze is drawn to her. I just want a glance. Just one more glance of those high cheekbones, those haughty blue eyes, her full mouth the color of ripe strawberries. That musical laugh and playful spark that ruined every other woman for me.

She’s still talking to Polina when she turns her head slightly, her gaze sweeping the room—and her eyes lock on mine.

Time freezes. Despite every instinct in me to remain detached and aloof, I feel my lips curl into a knowing smile.

I know at first glance. She remembers me. She remembers everything.

I can’t allow myself to be drawn back into her orbit. There was a time when I almost lost everything because of her, before I knew who she was. And yet…

She’s walking toward me. What is she doing? Her brother will kill me and then her, in that order, right here.

“Kolya,”

she purrs, her voice a low, dangerous melody I can’t ignore but must.

I swallow hard and hold her gaze. My voice is low and husky, on the verge of breaking. “Galya.”

A look of shock lights her ice blue eyes and she whispers, “Don’t call me that. No one but you ever called me that.”

I swallow my drink and hold her gaze. “Then it’s only fitting I continue.”

Her delicate fingers trace her bare neckline, as she speaks with her head held high. “Suit yourself, then.”

I can tell she’s secretly pleased. Up close, she’s even more breathtaking than I remembered, her eyes gleaming with mischief and challenge.

“Still the same Kolya, aren’t you? Always watching. Untouchable.”

She steps closer to me, her breath warm against my skin. “I used to wonder what it would take to make you melt.”

This.

Goddamn it.

Her.

That would make me melt.

“Oh?”

I ask cooly. It feels like we’re the only two people in the room. “It’s been a long time. Things change, Galya.”

I watch the delicate flutter of her pulse in her neck. She’s doing her best to stay calm, but I’m affecting her.

Good.

“Circumstances change, Kolya, yes. But do people ever change, really?”

My grip on my drink tightens. I should step away from her. I should pretend she doesn’t exist, move on, before I do something I regret, like fist her chestnut hair in my hand, pull her head back, and —

She steps closer to me and eyes my drink. “Oh, that looks delicious. May I?”

Reaching for my drink, she takes it out of my hand and sips.

I look sharply at her brother but his back is turned to us. We have superstitions here in Russia and she’s playing with fire. If her lips touch the same place on a drink mine did…

“Careful,”

I caution.

She laughs softly, handing me my drink back. “Afraid of what might happen?”

“I’m warning you.”

My voice drops. “Behave yourself.”

She isn’t intimidated. If anything, she’s excited. “Or what?”

She says in a low whisper. “You’ll finally make a move, Kolya? After all these years?” Wriggling her eyebrows at me, she licks her lips and leans in. “Will you punish me?”