Chapter Two

Galya

Iknew he would be here tonight.

When Mikhail’s sister Polina let it slip in the Red Square over hot drinks that her brother was having a party, I used every method of persuasion I could think of to bring about this meeting tonight.

My brother protested. Said he hated the Romanovs.

I reminded him of our family tradition of a holiday ceasefire and managed to cajole him into suggesting such a tradition to Mikhail.

And it worked. I was successful. I didn’t even know at the time if Kolya would come, but it was worth the risk.

And now he’s here.

I hoped he would be here, but as our car pulled up to the Romanov estate in Moscow, I began to fear that he would be. What would I do in the presence of the only man who had ever made me feel alive?

I wanted to tell him off. I wanted to be haughty and dignified, to turn my head at him and show him what he lost.

Fifteen years my senior and forbidden when I was younger, my father would have killed me for coming anywhere near him. And yet, the fact that he was off-limits only made him more attractive to me. While the boys at my school played games and flirted, one look from Kolya, one hint of a growl, and I would come undone.

He was my first kiss. My first love. My first everything.

Then, my mother caught wind of what was happening, and in a flurry of events out of both our control, she arranged for me to be married. I was whisked from my family home, forced to move to another country, and when my fiancé died several months before our wedding, followed shortly by my father’s death, I was left alone.

The untouchable Vykov sister.

The Romanovs moved to the States.

They established themselves there, the Romanovs tucked into a cove in New York, and I never saw them return to Moscow.

Until now.

My brother isn’t like my father was; he knows things my father never did. My brother doesn’t like the idea of me being married and hasn’t involved me with anyone since.

My god, he’s only grown more dignified and sexier as he aged with silver in his hair and beard, slightly older than the others but undeniably fit and healthy. With sharp, refined features, he’s strong and powerful and commands the room – and me – with the mere hint of a look.

“You were supposed to be married,”

Kolya says, his voice taut with anger. My heart thrums.

"And you were supposed to be a mastermind," I throw back at him. “I thought you knew. I thought you knew what happened after you went to America.”

I give him a scathing look. All these years. “I thought you knew everything.”

“What are you talking about?”

he asks, the tone of our voices drawing the attention of people around us. I don’t talk back to him now; I don’t want my brother to overhear anything. Even though my brother isn’t as strict as my father was, we still have rules and traditions we must follow.

“It seems we have some catching up to do,”

he says, his eyes burning into me. No one has ever had the power to incinerate me with a look like he can.

My heart beats faster in my chest.

“I’m going into the hallway,”

Kolya says in a low voice. God, I’ve dreamt about that voice, held onto the memory for all these years. Even the sound of his voice is like a growl that sends a delicious shiver down my spine. I lick my lips and swallow.

“Don’t leave by the velvet curtain. The velvet curtain is meant for dramatic entrances. To the right of the fireplace is a bookshelf, and there’s a small exit. You don’t have to push any panels or anything. Just step into the hallway, and you’ll see what I mean. I’m going first, and I want you to follow me.”

His eyes meet mine, his voice a low rumble. My nipples harden and my breath catches. “Do you understand me?”

The truth? He could tell me to walk a plank to my death, and I would plunge into the icy depths. He could tell me to do anything, and I would ask him what was next. Why does he have a command over me that no one else ever has? He’s the master puppeteer, pulling my strings.

I smile at the people around me, masking my conversation with Romanov. I swallow hard and down the rest of my drink, craving liquid courage.

I’m in a dark room, the air heavy with the smell of tobacco and cinnamon, remnants of the festivities still lingering. His magnetic presence fills the space like heat, and I am drawn to him like a moth to flame. Why do I always want him? Why do I want to see him now?

“I want to see you,”

he says in a low voice. “I want to remember you before I have to leave.”

Everything in me tells me to resist, that this is dangerous territory, but I can’t seem to help myself. We sink onto a small loveseat in the corner of the room, hidden behind a large bookcase so no one could see us if they glanced into the room.

“Don’t worry,”

he says with a self-assured smile. “I’ve locked the door.” His eyes grow dark and his voice even darker. “Are telling me you’re single?”

Being alone with me if I’m not will sign his death sentence. I lick my lips and swallow. I nod.

“Yeah.”

“Jesus, Galya,”

he says, shaking his head.

Galya.

“All these years.”

He looks away, his face tortured. “You were with another man. I knew you were, and I knew I had to—”

In a rush, I let the words spill out with more emotion than I ever intended to allow. “My mother banished me. She arranged a marriage, and it didn’t work out. My father died shortly after, and my brother never wanted me with another man. I’ve been alone all these years, throwing myself into my studies, learning whatever I could to be of value to my family. I know that my marriageability was the best bargaining chip I had. I’m grateful my brother never married me to anyone else. But then…”

I whisper, “I’ve wondered if nobody wanted me all these years—the most eligible bachelorette in Moscow—and no one, not one single person, wanted my hand in marriage.”

Kolya is quiet, and his silence tells me all I need to know. My heart drops, my pulse racing.

“You did it, didn’t you?”

I ask, my voice barely audible. “You sabotaged every union.”

“No one deserved you,”

he says in a low voice. “No one but me.”

The room seems to close in around us, the sounds of the party muffled by thick walls and the dim light that hid us in shadows. For a moment, Kolya just stares at me, his expression hard and unreadable. The words I’d just revealed hang between us, thick as smoke, and I can see the storm of emotions churning behind his dark eyes.

“You sabotaged me,”

I whisper, my voice sharper than I intended, the bitterness I’d bottled up for years rushing to the surface. “Years, Kolya. I was a pawn, and you were the one pulling the strings all along.”

He shifts, his jaw tight. “Do you think I would let anyone else have you?”

His voice was a low growl, the same commanding edge that had once been a promise and a warning. “Not then. Not now.”

“I thought you left me,”

I reply, my voice breaking against my will. “I thought you didn’t want me. And I had to live with that—for years, Kolya.” I swallow, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice, but it’s no use. “I had to make myself believe that you had forgotten me.”

“Forgotten you?”

His hand snakes out, grabbing my wrist before I can pull away, his grip possessive. Fire shoots through my veins, and a low hum of need throbs between my legs. His touch electrifies me, and I’m helpless to stop myself from melting.

God, what he does to me.

“I wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you. And I watched every one of those men fall through my fingers, Galya. They were never good enough for you. They couldn’t be.”

He shakes his head.

“Good enough?”

I hiss, tugging against his hold, my pulse pounding with a mixture of anger and longing. “So, what? You decided to sabotage my life rather than let me go?” I lean closer, my lips a breath away from his, unable to hide the desire that simmers beneath my anger. “How many years did you waste playing puppeteer, Kolya? Years where I could have been—”

“Happy?”

His mouth twists in a mocking smile. “You think you would have been happy in another man’s arms, Galya? They wouldn’t have known you, wouldn’t have worshipped you the way I have from afar.”

Before I can answer, his hands sliding down my arms until his fingers rest at my waist, pinning me between him and the wall. His gaze burns into mine, a heat and intensity I’ve craved but never dared to admit.

And just like that… that quickly… the years are gone. He’s only gotten sexier, hotter, more daddy with every damn year. The man before me now doesn’t hold a candle to the boys I’ve met.

“You were always mine,”

he whispers, his voice fierce, roughened by years of buried desire. His lips are so close, as his eyes drop to my mouth. From here I can see the breadth of his shoulders, the corded muscles in his arms, the way the white tee he wears under his button-down shirt clings to his dark skin, a hint of ink on his neck. “And no one else deserves you.”

I swallow hard.

“Then prove it,”

I challenge, my voice barely above a whisper. My breath catches as his eyes flick up to meet mine, and for a moment, we’re locked in a silent battle of wills, neither willing to back down.

If my brother sees us…if his pakhan Mikhail does… if anyone does…

With a growl, Kolya closes the gap, his mouth crushing against mine in a kiss that’s all fire and fury, a brutal collision of desire long denied. I push against him, fighting him even as I return the kiss, my fingers tangling in his hair as he presses me harder against the wall. His grip tightens on my waist, pulling me close, and a shiver of need races through me. I’m deaf to all sounds but the rapid beating of my heart.

“You think I don’t feel it too?”

he murmurs against my lips, his voice thick with barely restrained passion. “Every time I saw you, every time I thought of you, it was like torture. Knowing I couldn’t have you.” His hand moves up, tangling in my hair, tipping my head back to expose the line of my throat. “Christ, I’ll be a dead man for touching you, Galya. Khristos.”

My body trembles under his touch, and I hate how easily he makes me lose control, how his mere presence can make me alive. His mouth trails down my neck, leaving a line of fire in its wake, and I gasp as he bites down, claiming me in a way that’s both possessive and primal. I’m instantly wet and throbbing. I want him to touch me everywhere.

I should stop this. I should push him away. But instead, I pull him closer, my body arching into his as his hands roam over my curves, as if committing me to memory.

As if he owns me. Maybe he does. Maybe he always has.

Voices sound outside the door. We pull away, breathing hard, when we hear the unmistakable the sound of someone’s hand on the doorknob.

“Down,”

he hisses, pulling me down. I instantly obey as he pulls us behind a sofa near a bookshelf.

“You said you locked it.”

“Sounds like someone has a key.”

A doorknob turns. I hold my breath. Footsteps enter the room. They come closer. If they see us here…

“She isn’t here,”

someone says. He gives me a quizzical look, so I only shake my head. No idea who that is.

We hold our collective breaths until footsteps retreat and the door closes again. His hands linger at my waist, and I let out a shaky breath, reality crashing down around me. Kolya’s gaze softens, just a fraction, and for a moment, I see the man I once loved—vulnerable, unguarded.

“You were a good girl listening, Galya,”

he says softly, before he kisses my cheek.

My insides liquify. Good girl.

We sit, our backs to the sofa, our legs tucked under us.

“Things could have been different,”

he murmurs, almost to himself. His fingers trace a line down my arm, and I can see the regret flicker in his eyes. “If I hadn’t pushed you away. If I hadn’t thought I could keep you safe by keeping you distant…”

I swallow hard, the weight of his words settling heavily between us. For a brief, fleeting moment, I allow myself to imagine what might have been. A life where he hadn’t been my family’s enemy, where we could have had a future together instead of a tangled web of deception and longing.

Things could have been different? My temper flares.

“But it’s too late for that now,”

I say, my voice barely a whisper, as if saying it out loud will make it real. “We chose our sides, Kolya. We belong to different worlds now.”

His gaze sharpens, and he pulls me closer, his fingers digging into my skin. “That doesn’t change anything, Galya,”

he says, his voice a low, dangerous promise. “You’re still mine.”

With one last lingering look, he releases me, his expression hardening as he steps back. The mask slips back into place, the ruthless mastermind of the Romanov Bratva once again, and the moment of vulnerability is gone as if it never existed.

My breath comes out ragged. “Then let’s not pretend this is anything more than what it is,”

I say, my voice steady despite the quaking inside. “An evening together. One. No more.”

He doesn’t respond, just watches me with that unreadable gaze as I slip out of the room, leaving him behind. But even as I walk away, I can feel his eyes on me.

Outside the window, snow falls heavier than before. I look curiously. What…what happened? What’s different?

The lights are out in Moscow…