1. Nina

1

NINA

Being a Bratva princess means your life is never your own.

I always dreamed of being a ballerina, of dancing for the American Ballet Company.

Of being free.

Part of it, at least, came true. But at a cost.

Truth is, my father only agreed to put me on a plane to the US to attend the New York Institute of Dance if I got some vital information on one of his many enemies in return.

So, I’m stuck being a ballerina by day and Russian Bratva spy by night.

I slide off my bar stool and straighten out my skirt, running my hands over the pleats before sauntering over to the bar, making sure to swish my hips with every step.

I spend hours and hours every day pushing my body to the absolute limit, so I want to show off the results.

At least while my father isn’t here to scold me for it.

But tonight, my outfit serves more than one purpose. Not only am I wearing a short skirt and skimpy low-cut sweater to feel great, but I’m also hoping it will help catch the eye of one particular patron who frequents this bar.

“What can I get for you?” the bartender asks, his eyes dipping down to my cleavage.

“Four vodka tonics.” I offer him a warm smile as I flick my bangs out of my eyes.

I glance around the room as I wait for the bartender to make the drinks, clocking eyes with a few men sitting at neighboring tables.

I’m no stranger to male attention, and it only gets worse when they learn that I’m a ballerina. It’s like I’m talking directly to their cocks, their minds instantly going to all the positions they could put me in while we fuck.

While I have put my flexibility to good use in the past, that’s not what I’m interested in tonight. There’s only one man I’m hoping to run into and from the looks of things, he’s yet to make an appearance.

Hopefully, he won’t be long now.

I’m on a very strict timeline. If I don’t deliver, my father will put me on a flight straight back to Russia, and I can kiss my dreams goodbye.

This is my one chance of escaping my old life for good, and I can’t afford to blow it.

I knew that moving to the United States from Russia would be a big change, but I never expected for New York to feel like home so quickly.

I’ve only been at the Institute of Dance for three weeks, but it’s even better than I imagined. Getting to spend all day doing what I love is a great privilege, and I’ve even managed to make a few friends in the process.

Those were a rarity back in Russia, but it wasn’t for a lack of trying.

When your father is the Bratva Pahkan, you’re destined for a lonely life filled with darkness and death.

I never had sleepovers or movie nights, my life was more about my father hosting late night meetings with his cronies while they polished their weapons and talked about illegal dealings.

That’s why I took to dancing from such a young age. It was a way for me to disappear for a while, to lose myself in the music and pretend that my real life didn’t exist. It’s probably why I became as good as I have, because I craved the escape. Always.

That, or because ballet reminds me of my mother. She took me to see the Nutcracker every Christmas until she died, and it’s where I first fell in love with ballet. Every time I slip on my pointe shoes, I feel closer to her.

I wish she could have watched me perform.

The thought often makes my eyes sting as I wonder what life could have been like if she was still alive. Perhaps my father would have been kinder toward me, or he might?—

“Cash or card?” The bartender’s voice snaps me back to the here and now.

“Card.” I reach into my clutch, pulling out the matte black card.

The bartender's eyes widen as I hand it over.

I understand his reaction. I would have laughed if using it didn’t come with the shackles that bound me to my father. Besides, he only gave me it for business purposes, but I’m considering this night out as important research.

“Could you open up a tab for me?”

“Of course.” The bartender swipes my card and hands it back to me.

His throat bobs as I flash him a smile. It doesn’t hurt to flirt a little, especially if my target decides not to show.

I’ve been informed that he frequents this bar, which is the only reason I’m here, and I’m not above bribing a naive bartender for information.

Whatever keeps me in my pointe shoes.

Tucking my clutch under my arm, I carefully carry the four drinks back to the table where my new friends are waiting.

“Thanks, Nina,” Emma says as I set the drinks down on our little round table.

“It’s no problem.” I slide onto the bar stool. I purposefully chose the table as it’s right in the center of the crowded bar, giving me the perfect view of the rest of the room.

I’m well aware of what my target looks like, but it seems dark hair and a black suit is the blueprint of every other man in New York.

This might be harder than I originally thought.

I sip my vodka, making sure not to drink it too quickly. If he does make an appearance, I need to make sure my head is clear.

“This place is so fancy.” Beatrice glances around nervously. “I’ve always wanted to come here.”

I smile at her. “Why haven’t you?”

“Honestly, by the time I’m done training, I just want to go home and put my sweats on.” She laughs, flicking her dark auburn hair over her shoulder.

Allie nudges Beatrice with her elbow. “I’m honestly surprised we managed to get you out. Setting the new year off right.”

Beatrice takes a long sip of her drink. “The next four years are going to be brutal.”

Emma nods. “But so worth it when we’re all dancing with the American Ballet Company.”

I smile as I glance around at the girls. They are all in their first year at the Institute too, so we bonded over audition stories and dreams of dancing professionally.

“Though I will say, the amount of hunky men here is a welcome bonus. They don’t make them like that in Iowa.” Beatrice sighs as she eyes a particularly buff finance bro at the next table.

She adjusts her dark green top that makes her skin seem even paler.

I have no doubt that she could pull any man in this room if she wanted.

I shake my head. “Be careful. These guys have egos the size of Russia.”

Emma leans forward. “And dicks to match.”

We all burst out laughing.

Out of the three girls, Emma is the one I’ve grown closest to. She’s a New York native and can handle her own, just like me.

Allie tucks her hair behind her ears. “Did you find this place, Emma?”

“Nope. This was all Nina’s doing. Which makes a change. It’s nice not to be used as a human encyclopedia for once.”

I smirk. “You love it, really. Besides, you know all the best places to eat and drink in the city.”

“True, though I will say I’m surprised I’ve never been here before. I’m almost disappointed in myself for not finding it sooner.”

I raise my glass. “Well, I think we should toast. To New York.”

Allie raises hers. “And to ballet.”

Beatrice’s hand follows as she grins at each of us in turn. “And to new friends!”

Emma grins, tilting her glass my way. “And to good fucking vodka.”

As we clink each other’s glasses, I glance over Allie’s shoulder, and my breath leaves my lungs as my eyes land on my target.

He’s walking over to a table on the other side of the bar, wearing a crisp black shirt which hugs his powerful body perfectly. Even from here, I can see the dimple in his cheek as he smiles at the waitress, adding some softness to his otherwise chiseled face.

It seems pictures don’t do this man justice.

I hate to admit it, but he’s breathtakingly handsome and sexy as hell. Perhaps under other circumstances, I would approach him with the sole purpose of wanting to spend the night in his bed, exploring every inch of his muscled physique with my tongue.

Unfortunately for me, I come from a world where beautiful men are often cold-blooded killers, and I know this one is just that.

“I need to use the ladies’ room.” I slide off my stool.

As much as I would love to just enjoy a girls’ night out, the longer I put this off, the angrier my father will get.

Focus, Nina. You have a job to do.

While he might be all dimpled smiles and smoldering looks, it doesn’t change the fact that he murdered my brother Maxim in cold blood.

My pulse quickens as I make my way through the sea of tables, my eyes locked on him .

He has his back to me as he lounges in his chair. Perfect.

He’ll never know what hit him.