Chapter 2

POLINA

"Polina," my mother says softly. Even though her soft gray eyes twinkle at me, she can’t hide the fear that lies beneath layers of concern. She reaches across the table and holds my hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze before she lets it go. "You remember I told you as a child you could be anything, right?”

I groan. I know exactly what she's talking about and where she's going with this.

"I didn’t mean that you should actually try everything before you settle down," she finishes, her voice with barely contained laughter.

"I know," I say with a sigh. I should laugh along with her. I remind myself that she loves me and wants what’s best, but it stings being the butt of my family’s jokes. Sucks being the only daughter in a family of men. I mean, knowing that no one, literally no one, will ever harm a hair on my head without bringing down the wrath of the entire Romanov brotherhood is… kind of nice, but…

But I know my mother’s real fear. If my father were still alive, he’d be hard at work planning my arranged marriage. My eldest brother Mikhail, the head of our family, hasn’t taken those steps… yet. But changing plans to a fourth college major isn’t helping my case.

"I just don’t know… what I want to do next. None of it has felt right yet. I feel like I’m trying beds like Goldilocks, and none of them fit yet. Do you know what I mean?"

My mother’s eyes are soft but sad when she nods. With a sigh, she tucks a wisp of my platinum-blonde hair behind my ear. “I do know. But I also know that we don’t have all the time in the world, my love. You know that too.”

My mother was married at nineteen and knew her future before my parents even exchanged vows. She was destined to be the matriarch of the Romanov family, with no hope for a college education, a career, or anything more than being the wife of a Romanov. I know this, and I believe it’s probably more for her sake than even mine that I feel such a strong need to find my place.

In the past years, since my brother took over as the head of my family, I've tried midwifery, criminology—yes, the irony was not lost on me—and even women’s studies. None of them suited me or felt appropriate for the youngest daughter in a family of powerful, old-fashioned Russian men.

Maybe I should've studied finance.

"You do you, babe," my sister-in-law Harper says, winking at me from across the room. She lifts a decanter of amber liquid and pours some over a glass full of ice.

"Drink?" she says with a smile. I shake my head. I don’t like to drink. Since so much of my life whirls out of my grasp, I clutch at whatever modicum of control I can maintain.

"I’m good, thanks."

"Are you sure this one is really Russian?" Harper says, winking at my mother. "She doesn’t even drink vodka."

"Are you sure this one's really Italian?" I quip, rolling my eyes. "She doesn’t even eat cheese."

"You know that I love cheese," Harper whines. "It just doesn’t like me ," she adds sadly.

"I like you just fine," my brother Aleksandr says as he enters the room and walks up to his wife. He slides an arm around her waist, tugs her to his chest, and plants a soft kiss on her forehead.

"Ugh," I say sarcastically. "Get a room.”

"Jealous much?" Aleks says with a sly smile. Like my other brothers, he looks nothing like me. Unable to have children but determined to build a family legacy, my parents adopted. Whereas I’m fair and so blonde my hair is nearly white, my brother Aleks is classically tall, dark, and handsome. His gorgeous Italian bride, Harper, stares at him as if he hung the moon.

"I’m not jealous of you lovebirds," I lie. I am totally jealous of those two lovebirds. "I just think that sometimes?—"

The study door opens with a bang. Harper startles, and her glass crashes to the floor, but nobody moves. Mikhail, my oldest brother, stands in the doorway, and we all know instantly that something is terribly wrong.

My mother is on her feet, but her voice doesn’t waver. Ekaterina Romanova is never ruffled. I swallow and rethink my decision on the vodka.

"Misha," Mom says softly, the one word holding a world of questions. She only calls him his pet name— Misha —when she's afraid. We all know it could be anything. Over the past few years, as my family has risen to power, we’ve encountered formidable rivals and formed dangerous alliances.

We’ve also practiced self-defense when we were attacked.

I make a quick mental tally of the weapons I have on me.

But Mikhail doesn't look at my mother. He doesn't look at my brother Aleksandr or Harper. His eyes bore straight into mine.

Shit .

"Polina, you're in danger. You have to go."

The skin at the back of my neck crawls, and a shiver runs down my spine. It's obviously not the first time my family's been in danger. Hell, we've been in so many dangerous situations, I'm damn used to it by now. But it's the first time I've ever seen fear in Mikhail's eyes, and I've seen the man go through a lot. And it's definitely the first time his fear was for… me.

"What is it, Mikhail?" I ask, thankful that my voice doesn't waver either. I will face whatever this is head-on. I will not cower.

"You have to go away. Aria’s discovered something, and you're not safe here anymore." Mikhail’s wife Aria, a world-class hacker, misses nothing.

"Be more specific, please," I say. Outside the window, storm clouds rush in. The gray of early evening has turned dark, and a half-moon illuminates the garden outside my mother's family home. I almost expect a werewolf to howl. I shiver, clutching the ratty hoodie I’ve strewn over my shoulders closer around me.

"Manuel Soloto, head of the cartel in Colombia. He's after you. Remember that Isabella said you weren't safe here anymore?"

"Yes, but I thought she said?—"

Mikhail shakes his head. "You thought he changed his mind? That he got married and forgot about you? It was a lie. A ploy. He's not forgotten about you. He's coming after you."

I try to laugh it off, but I fail. "But you guys… You always protect me. We have a whole team of bodyguards. This house is practically a fortress. And you're telling me?—"

"Polina," Aleksandr snaps. He never raises his voice to me, but now he almost sounds like our father. I turn and stare at him. "Don’t you know that if Mikhail is telling you you're not safe, you can trust him? You know that he would do everything in his power to protect you. If he's telling you you're not safe, you have to go… quickly. This isn’t the time to talk back."

Jesus. I wrap an arm around my chest and squeeze my shoulder absently.

“I'm supposed to start my classes tomorrow.”

"Who cares about your classes?" Mikhail snaps. "This is what, the tenth time you’ve picked up a different study anyway?"

Tears burn at the back of my eyes, but I blink them away. It’s unlike him to be harsh with me like this. I know he’s afraid, but he doesn’t have to be a dick.

"You heard me," he says. "We have a bunker in Manhattan."

"A bunker?" I stare, and my mouth falls open. "Are you serious right now?"

I close my mouth because my mother is giving me that look . It’s very rare for her to put her foot down, but I can tell by the narrowness of her eyes and the tightness of her lips that she's on the cusp of it.

And right then, I hate my life. I hate it so hard. Yes, I have a family that loves me. Brothers, sisters-in-law, nieces, and nephews. I live in a beautiful, luxurious home. I belong here; I’m one of them, and still… I can’t… be myself. I can’t be normal .

I’d give anything to escape my brothers’ overbearing protection and the strict control of my family. I dream of finding freedom and love on my own terms, without being passed around and forced into something I don’t want. I want independence, a life where I can make my own choices. And yes, they might tease me for studying one thing after another, but I am so tired of being treated like a fragile object and kept in this gilded cage. I want to break free from the oppression so badly it hurts.

"No, Mikhail," my mother says quietly. She and Mikhail share a look. She never contradicts him. Nobody does. "She’ll be safer in Moscow. You know she will. I have contacts there. We both do.”

I expect him to refuse her, but instead, he runs a hand through his hair. Moscow is better than a bunker.

"How long do we have?" she asks.

"An hour," Mikhail says. "He’s already on his way."

I stare, my belly churning. I close my eyes and kiss my hopes and dreams goodbye. I’m not going to school tomorrow, that’s for sure.

"Polina Romanova, did you hear me?" Mikhail snaps at me.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. "You’re not my father!" I yell at him.

My mother gasps. "Polina…"

"No," I say, holding my ground. "He doesn’t get to talk to me that way."

"This is not the time for you to pull this bullshit," Mikhail growls, his golden skin turning a faint shade of red. He’s barely holding onto his anger.

God, I love my brothers, but you can absolutely hate and love somebody at the same time.

I clench my teeth. "Don’t talk to me that way."

He throws his hands up in the air. "I'm going to secure the border. I'm going to make sure that we're safe. Talk some damn sense into her," he snaps at my mother before he storms away.

Harper stares at me, her eyes wide. "What will Soloto do if he gets you?" she says in a small voice. She was married to my brother in an arranged marriage, sight unseen. And that worked out… well. Eventually. Maybe this man…

"We won't talk about that," Aleksandr says quietly. "He has no interest in marrying her, Harper.” His voice lowers. “He has no interest in doing anything that we would ever allow anybody to do to her."

The chilling sound of his voice sobers me. I have to escape, whether I want to or not. Today is not the day I will break free from my brothers' domineering ways.

"Mikhail told me to get you ready," my mother says quietly as she lays a hand on my arm. "I already had a bag packed in case something like this happened." She knew. My mother knew. "On the floor of my closet is an ivory bag. There's a silver luggage tag on it. That's yours.” She draws in a breath. “The one next to it is mine. Go get both of them.”

"You are going with me?" I ask, my heart pounding. "Yes," she says softly. "But I have some phone calls I need to make. Go, Polina. Get the bags. We're going to Moscow."