Chapter 1 - Adley

Alcohol hit the back of my throat, and I stifled a wince as I swallowed. The little shot glass smacked down on the bar top with a solid thunk, my move to set it there gently failing spectacularly.

"Cheers to the MacCormacks' utter fucking failure. Way to go, Adley. You've done fuckall to help the situation, and now you're buzzed. Excellent."

The sarcasm stung my ears, but I couldn't force myself to find that grit my grandmother had always been on about before she passed. I was too damn tired at this point, and I was pretty set on drinking my troubles away. As far as ideas went, it sounded like the one most likely to succeed today—hell, the whole damn year.

The bartender walked by, the classic towel slung over his shoulder, and I nodded to get his attention.

"Another, please."

"You should slow down. You'll be on your ass before you know it; a tiny thing like yourself keeps knocking ‘em back like that."

I smirked, full of venom and redirected anger. "I assure you, bucko, I can handle it fine. I have a hell of a tolerance."

The guy raised his eyebrows before shrugging and pouring more Jameson into my glass. As he walked away, I raised it to him, sipping gently so he wouldn't bother again. I was in a sour ass mood, which was rare for me, and I wasn't about to let him spoil the one thing that was making me feel better.

Still, I didn't knock it back as fast as the first. I wasn't a moron. I still needed to walk to the El to get home.

Shitty music played on the jukebox, and I was too close to a speaker to ignore it properly. Some dumb song by some dumb pop princess that probably would have been fine if it weren't for the fact that my entire family was looking at eviction soon.

Hours. I'd spent hours today walking around downtown on foot and talking to stuffy-ass bankers who lacked any form of sympathy.

I'd been begging. I knew that's what it was, but still. You'd think one of them would have had half a heart. We just needed a little more time. It had been rough everywhere, and with the state of the world, mom-and-pop bodegas like ours were getting hit damn hard by the lack of foot traffic.

We'd bounce back. It couldn't stay broken out there forever. At least, that was what I'd thought—until about thirty minutes ago when the last bank turned me down for the loan.

I have no collateral, no down payments, and no proof that I could help my folks make the rent this time around.

"Yeah, you're fucked, Adley. First art school, now this."

And worse, it would mean no college for the twins, either.

I'd set aside my aspirations to go to the art school to help Mom and Dad care for the shop and prevent my mother from working herself into an early grave. Oh, not to mention the fact that they could never afford it.

The twins were just hoping to go to community college, and it was still a damn stretch to make tuition, and that was before the only source of income for the entire family was in jeopardy of being shut down forever.

My heart ached at the prospect, and I chugged down the rest of my shot as the words of the last banker I'd spoken to today burned in my mind.

"I'm sorry, Miss, but the bank cannot support you without a down payment or collateral. We don't feel you'd be a good option for a small business loan. Stores like yours—well, they're a dying breed. I would encourage your parents to look into becoming part of a franchise if they can save up."

Save up. Like it was that fucking simple. Sure, they can't pay the rent on the shop, which also happens to be our home, but of course. They'll just rub their pennies together and see if they multiply like rabbits.

The shop hadn't been open for a week because we weren't permitted to keep it open while we were in violation of our rental agreement, and each day it sat closed was another we weren't earning money.

And it all fell on my shoulders. I was the oldest, after all. My sibs were sheltered and babied endlessly by my parents, and I couldn't help but be a little bitter about the fact that it looked like they got to have a childhood while mine had been cut short.

But that's how it goes when you're the eldest sibling, I guess. At least for me.

"God, I'm as low as George fucking Bailey."

I spun the shot glass around, listening to it rolling against the resin-covered surface as I tucked a long strand of hair behind my ear. It had fallen loose from my braid, and I wasn't about to redo the thing now. Just as I was about to ask for another, a shadow darkened the area next to me.

I turned and looked up into the face of what could only be described as a thug—straight up out of the movies with the tattoos, steely expression, and leather jacket. He was so damn tall, with light blonde hair that was styled into a sleek if tussled, cut that was shorn around the sides and back with long, sweeping pieces on the top, including a tempting chuck that fell into his eyes.

He looked down at me with a smirk, fire lighting up behind his blue-gray eyes as he chewed on a toothpick.

"Who's George fucking Bailey?"

My entire body seized up as he spoke, his voice penetrating my brain like a drill. It was deep, so fucking deep, and coarse enough to file down glass.

Furrowing my brow, I swallowed hard. "What?"

Realization hit, and my brows shot to my hairline as warmth filled my cheeks. "Oh! Umm…it's from a movie."

Seriously? Had I just said that? I was so pathetic. I would blame the alcohol if I didn't really have that ironclad constitution, but I did, so that was a no-go.

The massive guy chuckled, and my eyes wormed their way across his forehead as I realized that the shadows across it weren't actually shadows. It was a tattoo, and as I looked closer, I could just make out the shape of broken glass spiraling out from the point of impact, which appeared to be some type of scar.

"I see. So, now, what's making such a pretty girl like you frown? Hmm?"

That deep, raspy voice held the hint of an accent that I could totally place but had to assume was from somewhere like Russia or Ukraine. We got plenty of diverse customers at the bodega, and I'd gotten pretty good at telling where they were from.

Beyond that, though, was the fact that when he spoke, my heart felt like it would explode out of my chest. And he'd called me pretty .

"Umm, it's a long story. I'm sure you're not interested." I shook my head, my gaze falling back to the bar where my empty shot glass perched between my fingers.

"On the contrary. I assure you that I am. ‘Sides, I'm in no big rush. Indulge me."

My stomach clenched, silent alarm bells going off in my head as he pulled out the stool next to me and sat down.

I couldn't help but look over at him again. Damn, he was terrifying—those tattoos and his entire vibe just screamed ex-con. Hell, it screamed current con, and I wasn't sure if that's exactly what this was.

I'd had to watch for trouble-makers trying to pull one over on the shop, steal, or just quick-change me. I wasn't about to let it happen now after everything else I'd dealt with today. Because he might not know it, but I was far from drunk, and that was the only way he was getting one over on me.

Still, as he smiled at me, my thighs involuntarily clenched together. He may have been a scary-ass guy, but he was also…beautiful.

It was as if Brad Pitt and the guy from that motorcycle show had a baby, genetic impossibility aside.

"Umm, I should probably be going, actually. But thanks for the—"

His hand snaked out and took my arm. It wasn't rough, but there was an unspoken command behind it—to stay put, or maybe he'd chase me.

"Come on. I'll buy you a drink. Maybe I can help?"

I wanted to say no. I should say no. But his damn eyes penetrated me through to my backbone, and I felt somehow compelled to list out the terrible truth if just to show him how unappealing of a prospect I really was.

Sliding back down into the stool, I raised my brows at him. "Make it two, and you've got a deal."

He laughed, the sound way too sexy for a reasonable human to possess, and nodded. "Can do."

After my shots were delivered, I knocked one back straight away and let the floodgates open up. As the story left me, it felt oddly good to get it all off my chest. Venting, it's good for the soul.

"My parents will lose their bodega, which is also our house, which means we'll all be out on the street. We're behind on the rent. No fucking sales because some fucking quickie mart opened a block down from us, and no one's coming. I tried to get us a loan to buy some time, but we're ‘poor candidates' or some shit."

A sigh left me, and I hung my head before I downed the other shot. The guy next to me, who was still nameless, just watched, his eyes glued to me in a way that felt too intense and intimate.

"I'll probably just get a job somewhere to help them, but my mom's health sucks, and my dad is getting old. And!" I gestured at him, that buzz hitting harder. "I've got twin siblings trying to go to college in the next few years! Ha! No one in my family is going to claim that honor."

Mystery Man smiled gently, sipping at his vodka like a true Russian. "What's your name?"

"Adley. Adley MacCormack. Nice to meet you, strange bar dude who just got the full download on my shitty luck."

He laughed again, and dammit, it should not be that hot.

"It's Ivan. Ivan Ustinov."

"Ha!" I slapped a hand down on the bar, which stung. "I knew you were Russian."

He grinned at me, those dark blue-gray eyes of his pulling me in like a well. I was sure he was about to say something, but he just sat there. I wanted to look away because, as far as everyday human interactions went, this was way too long to be staring at someone, but I couldn't.

Ivan was so damn compelling, this lingering Hollywood charm that had no business being accompanied by such a gruff exterior creating a strong cocktail of its own.

Across the bar, his hand snaked toward mine, and I didn't pull away. His fingers brushed over my knuckles, and the heat in his touch was alluring, stirring my nerves like a warm bath.

"Adley, it sounds like you work too damn hard. Your folks, too, and you know, my family and I were just looking for a new place to do our business. So, how about I offer you a deal?"

My heart hammered against my ribs, and that nagging feeling that this guy was up to some shady business flared forward.

"What do you mean a deal?" I sat straighter in my chair, not laying across the bar top anymore as I had been, and blinked several times.

"A deal. I help your family pay for the past due rent and bring in some new business in the form of my family. We're all about supporting local businesses and like to take our work lunches at places we know we can trust."

My mouth fell open. This guy, this Ivan Ustinov, who just fucking met me, was offering to save the bodega?

"Why? Why would you do that? What's in it for you?"

He grinned again, a tiny dimple forming on his cheek, and finished his shot. "I'll hand it to you, Adley. You're smart. I like that. I like a lot of what I can see about you."

Ice ran through my veins, mingling with the fire still banked in my core. My body was a mess of apprehension and arousal, making my head spin, and the alcohol did not help.

"Thanks," I said dryly. "You still haven't said what you want."

Nodding, Ivan licked his lips before answering me. "Easy. You."

"I'm sorry?" I raised my brows and stuck my head out in question.

"You, Adley. I want you to come back home with me. I want you to be mine." He met my eyes, his intensity blazing through him like an inferno. "As my wife."

My jaw dropped, and I nearly choked on my own spit. As it was, I lost my grip on the little shot glass I'd been squeezing, and it toppled onto the bar with a loud clattering sound.

"What? You can't be serious."

Ivan shook his head before taking the shot glass I'd knocked over and set it back down properly.

"Can't I?" He uncrossed his legs, turning in his stool to face me head-on. "Look, I'm a very particular kind of guy. I don't mess around with things I'm not interested in. But I'm interested in you. More than I have been in anyone else. I'm also really fucking busy. I don't have time to piss around. I see something I want, I take it. And I want you, Adley MacCormack."

Shaking my head, I got off my seat, shoving the thing back and making that terrible screeching noise on the floor.

"You want me? So what? You just pop the damn question to a stranger at a bar and expect me to go home with you? Are you nuts?"

The corners of his mouth turned down as Ivan chuckled. "I've been told that before, so…And yes, I expect you to come home with me. To live with me, fuck me, carry my children, and enjoy every comfort I can offer as your husband. In exchange for the safety of your family's shop."

The world tilted on its axis, and I was sure I was about to pass out.

"So, Adley, what'll it be?"