1. Alena

"Alena, it's your eighteenth birthday. Even the daughter of the Pakhan can't get away with just wearing a towel."

My best friend and maid, Katja Dmitrov, stands before me, holding two gorgeous dresses in either hand. Her striking blue eyes narrow at me, and when she tosses her head, her black curls threaten to escape the maid's cap nestled atop her head.

"My mother would kill me," I groan in agreement. With a soft huff, I sit up fully and clutch the edge of my towel.

Your eighteenth birthday party is supposed to be the best one yet. The one where you finally become an adult and step out into a whole world of possibilities, but not for me. As the only daughter of Pakhan Aleksander Orlova, and thus the only heir, my celebrations are limited to the confines of the gilded cage I've grown up in. There's a reason my best friend is the only maid in this entire household who's the same age as me.

"Exactly," Katja replies, shaking the dresses again. "Now, which one screams I'm eighteen and you can only tell me what to do on weekdays?"

I'm constantly drawn to the red silk ruffle bodycon dress. It's shorter than the black chiffon dress in Katja's other hand, and I can only imagine what she had to do in order to get a dress like that past my mother.

"I like the red." Crossing my arms, I run my fingers over skin still dewy from my bath. "No, I love the red, but I can already picture the look on my Mom's face. She'll go insane."

"Well, she can't do anything about it with a house full of guests downstairs." Katja smirks as she holds out the red one. "You're only eighteen once."

"You're a terrible influence," I mutter as if she's the bigger influence of the two of us. For years, I've tested the strength of my mother's ire, climbing the walls of this mansion in desperate attempts just to taste the outside world. But the cage runs high, and its bars are iron.

Every second of my life, from my education to my studies in the family business, has been spent in this mansion. My glimpses of the outside world were snatches from car windows on the way to my father's private jet or important parties where I was shown off like a prize mule. The danger is too high, she would tell me. You're too valuable to be unguarded.

How I prayed long into the night as a child for my parents to have another baby purely for the drop of freedom it would give me.

No such luck.

"Here, let me help." Katja offers her shoulder for balance as I step into the more sinful dress.

It caresses my skin as it slides up my body, and a shiver of anticipation sweeps down my spine when Katja pulls the zipper closed. The ruffled material near my hip pulls the dress up at an angle and gives an eyeful of my tanned thigh. Light silk sleeves brush across my upper arms, and Katja moves around me, ensuring every inch of the dress fits perfectly.

"I'm sure this will impress your godfather too."

"Katja!" A pulse of alarm rushes through me, and my cheeks flare. "I don't want to impress him!"

A beat of silence passes between us, and then we collapse into a fit of giggles while clutching at one another to try and keep our balance.

My Godfather, Kristof Lazarov, is the only person I've ever wanted to impress. He's tall and ruggedly handsome with grey eyes that I swear sparkle silver every time he looks at me. That might be wishful thinking. He's a treat that visits every few months, only because of business with my father. As I understand it, he's the underboss who keeps everything running smoothly and mops up the messes my father can't anticipate.

He's also drop-dead sexy, which I've noticed ever since I was old enough. He's everything my mother hates about the world. He's constantly traveling, covered in tattoos, and he's never been afraid to stand up to her. I'm pretty sure that's why I really became enamored with him.

He defended me once at some important party my mother was hosting. I was fourteen and absolutely exhausted from my studies and life. I'd spilled a glass of red wine on the Persian rug in the study. I'd thought she would end me there and then until Kristof had come to see what all the yelling was about and used some colorful words to get my mother to shut up.

Ever since then, I'd been obsessed.

My knight in a leather jacket.

"Okay," Katja says, cutting through my thoughts. "Which do you think he'd like best, the black or the silver?" She holds up two pairs of shoes, black pumps and strappy silver heels. Another giggle escapes me.

"Silver. Like his eyes."

Katja rolls hers with a smile, then crouches to help me into them.

"Do you think he's coming tonight?" I ask, glancing down at her. As a maid, she moves around this mansion like a ghost and is sometimes privy to more information than me.

"He wasn't on the list," Katja replies, and my heart sinks. "But when has he ever needed an invite?"

"God." I groan, and when Katja is finished, I drop onto the satin-covered stool at my large dressing table and stare at myself in the mirror. "Just a glimpse of him and tonight would be perfect."

"I don't think he would miss your eighteenth," Katja says, stroking her hands through my long, platinum-blonde hair. "He's always here for the important things."

"He's so handsome." I splay my hands out on the smooth surface as Katja begins to scoop my hair up on top of my head. "I wonder if he'll notice me. I'm eighteen now. Men always notice, right?"

"In that dress, he'd be a fool not to." Katja chuckles. "Although he always seems so…"

"Cold?"

"You said it, not me." She gently begins to pin my hair in place, brushing long sections and then coiling them up at the crest of my head.

"It's because he's older," I decide. "And he's important. Being in the Mafia isn't for the soft-hearted. I bet he's seen so much and done so much that being so cold is the only way he gets by."

"Careful, or you'll give me a crush on him too." Katja chuckles.

"Like you have eyes for anyone but Petar," I remark.

"Oi!" Katja pokes my shoulder with the end of my brush. "I do not!"

The slight flare of color in her cheeks tells me all I need to know about her quiet feelings for one of the house guards.

"If you say so. I'd give anything to see how far those tattoos go on his arms, the one with the swirls?" Sighing dreamily, Kristoff floats into my mind, and butterflies flutter through my stomach.

"I bet he's covered in tattoos," Katja murmurs, and she leans close to my ear, her eyes locking on mine in the mirror. "One for every kill."

I spin to face her, and a few curls escape her fingers. "Do you think so? It's so exciting to think about, isn't it?"

"It's what they do, isn't it? Commemorate with ink." Katja grasps my shoulders and turns me back to the mirror.

"Mm, true. God. I really hope he notices me tonight."

"Just be careful," Katja warns softly. "I don't want you to get into any trouble."

"It's my birthday," I reply. "I deserve at least one amazing present, and if I could just get him to… to…" Trailing off, I groan. "I don't know. Anyway, what is my mother going to do to punish me, ground me? They barely let me go anywhere as it is."

"Bars on your windows." Katja laughs.

"No pudding."

"Limited hot water."

"The chef forgetting all my favorite foods."

Katja chooses to leave the escaped curls loose, and a second later, I'm engulfed in a cloud of hairspray as we laugh.

Closing my eyes, I hold my breath, and Kristof floods my thoughts once more. Years ago, my favorite fantasy was being kidnapped away from the family and Kristof coming to rescue me. Seeing bad guys fall one by one at his hands and then being scooped into his strong arms was thrilling. Soaked in blood and sweat, he'd ask me if I was okay, and I'd try to answer, but being too scared, no sound would escape. Then he'd kiss?—

"Alena!"

A sharp rap of knuckles on my bedroom door abruptly ends that fantasy, and my eyes snap open.

"Alena!" My mother's bitter voice is followed by another loud knock.

"Yes, Mara?" I call, rolling my eyes at Katja, who grimaces and then cups my chin with red lipstick in hand.

"Stop primping and get down those stairs immediately. The important guests are arriving, and I don't need you showing us up!"

"I was just?—"

"Now, Alena!"

Ugh.