Prologue

Alexei

"You alright?" Niko, my second-in-command, looks at me worriedly, drawing my attention away from my reflection in the plate glass windows.

Yes, I'm scowling, but no more than usual. However, Niko's been with me a long time, and being called to meet with Ivan Novikov out of the blue is reason enough to be worried.

I'm not worried. Yet.

The meeting is at a neutral spot, or at least it's neutral now. It used to belong to my father, seemingly eons ago, and I wonder if calling me here is a dig, a reminder of what I owe, or just an oversight. Ivan Novikov owns a whole hell of a lot of this city, and a whole hell of a lot of it used to belong to someone else before he bulldozed his way into it. We're only five blocks from one of his office buildings, but we're also only ten blocks from one of my upscale wine bars. I guess it's as neutral as you can get.

I have to remind myself that I'm not a nobody in this city as I catch a gleam from my gold cufflinks in the reflection of the windows. I tug my pristine white cuff down to cover the bit of one of the tattoos that snakes down my wrist, then shrug at Niko.

"Why wouldn't I be okay?" I ask, seriously wanting an answer.

He shakes his head almost imperceptibly, his eyes roaming for unseen dangers. "I don't have a good feeling about this."

Niko's been my best friend for ages. His father was my father's bodyguard and second in command. While his father might blame himself for what happened to my old man, I certainly don't. My father was part of the old guard, a ruthless leader who used violence to intimidate and control. Cold and calculating, he had a lust for power and riches that caused him to often aim higher than he could reach. Fear can only control men for so long before they snap and turn against you. Not even the most loyal second-in-command can protect you after that.

Watching my father lose half of our territory before he was taken out by one of his many enemies taught me the wrong way to gain wealth and power.

Or at least the wrong way to keep it. And I intend to keep what's mine.

It's just that a good lot of what's mine is under the thumb of the very man who's mysteriously called me to have lunch with him at a neutral location.

"Come on, we don't want to be too late," I say. I'm not into playing power games and I'm not going to be intimidated just because my father left me with a mountain of debt that's controlled by the deadliest man on the East coast.

Niko steps forward and opens the glass door. This place used to be a Chinese restaurant, though it was actually one of my father's many money-laundering fronts. Now it appears to serve middle eastern cuisine. No one recognizes me as the hostess leads us to a private room in the back.

It's decorated with bright jewel-toned cushions on a long banquette, mostly taken up by Ivan Novikov's men, stacked together like great big rows of tires on the dainty furniture and looking like they've never smiled a day in their life.

I don't offer a smile to them or Ivan, sitting on a wide, turquoise velvet armchair with a damn brandy snifter resting in his palm. There are another two men lounging against the table to his left and there's a window behind him that's covered by long satin curtains.

Okay, yes, I've brought my own bodyguard. That's customary in our line of work, so I didn't expect to see Ivan alone. But five men, all of them tense, coiled, ready to strike? Has my luck run out? Is Ivan tired of holding my father's debts over my head and really about to kill me?

I don't cut a glance at Niko because I know he's already working out our odds. I don't hate them, but I don't like using violence unless I absolutely have to. I just hope that's a real window behind those curtains and not a solid wall, because part of my plan if one of them so much as twitches in our direction is to kick Ivan and the stupid fancy chair right through it. That should distract the others for the time it takes Niko to get the three tires under control while I turn my attention to the two by the table. My hand twitches instinctively toward the gun I have holstered beneath my suit jacket when Ivan raises his hand. To give a silent order?

No, to rub the back of his neck and sigh. "This damp weather does a number on my old bones," he says, then waves at his men to relax.

"It was foggy as hell this morning …" I hum, stunned we're talking about the weather. Ivan Novikov brought me here to chat about something so mundane?

He calls for a server, and one scurries into the room to ask me what I'd like to drink. Since Ivan is old school like my father was and is already drinking alcohol at one in the afternoon, I feel like I should follow suit.

Except, fuck that. I'm my own man, my own kind of leader. And I'm doing just fine, that damn debt notwithstanding.

"Iced tea," I tell the server.

Only a raised eyebrow from Ivan tells me he's noticed I'm taking a stand, but he doesn't peer pressure me like we're in high school, and orders a feast for us. He makes some more small talk, general stuff about my clubs and restaurants—that I've mostly all converted to fully legal businesses in the year since my father was taken out. His tone is jovial but I still can't fully relax.

Why's he so interested in my business dealings? If he were to call in the debt, I'd have to liquidate almost all of that hard work. He knows that.

"Ah, I bet this dreary weather hasn't been keeping you from meeting women and enjoying the finer things in life, right?" he asks as our food arrives. "You're in your thirties now, aren't you? Looking to settle down with anyone special yet?"

"The clubs keep me busy," I say. "I don't really have time for much of a social life."

Ivan shakes his head. "But family is everything. You don't want to wait too long." He snaps his fingers at the two men who've moved away from the table to lean against the wall while we eat. "My sons here are my pride and joy. My legacy. That's important in family business," he says, stabbing a lamb shank with a fork and shaking it at me. "Family. Always family."

I want to tell him to cut to the chase, but I want to avoid stepping on his toes if I can. Even so, all this beating around the bush seems like a waste of time. "You didn't just invite me here to make sure everything is going well in my life, did you?" I spear a bite from my plate. We stare each other down while we chew.

"On the contrary, your success is very important to me," he says, smiling. But there's a steely glint in his eyes now that I don't like at all. Not one bit. "Because I've called you here to make an offer that I don't think you'll want to refuse."

That's mafia politeness for can't. Can't refuse. I adjust my collar, a coded signal for Niko to be ready, because just in case I do refuse, it means things will likely escalate to violence.

"Oh?" I ask, not betraying anything. Not the anger at my father for the shit mountain he left me, the worry that everything I've worked so hard for is about to disappear into dust, or the inner bracing for the possibility that I'm about to get shot at. "What's your offer, Ivan?"

He raises a brow, his eyes tensing. I haven't spoken to him in more than a year, and back then it was always Mr. Novikov. Not anymore. I'm the head of my organization now. Now we're equals.

He leans forward, pushing aside his plate. "I want to welcome you into my family. Make you part of my legacy, Alexei."

What the fuck? I look down at his hand resting on my arm, the blue veins standing out in stark contrast to his pale, papery skin on my dark suit. He laughs uproariously and I realize I've said "what the fuck" out loud.

Ivan leans back as he finishes laughing. "Is it such an odd thing to want two powerful families to come together?"

"No," I say, getting a hold of myself even though my mind is spinning. "I just don't understand what you mean."

His smile now is altogether too much like the one a cat gives to its prey right before it bites its head off. I adjust my tie. Not a signal, but the first sign of real nerves since we got here. I don't like the look on his face at all.

"The entirety of your family's debt wiped clean in exchange for taking my youngest daughter off my hands," he says.

Behind me, Niko makes a choked laugh. He can't believe what he's hearing either. But then I remind myself that Ivan comes from a different generation. Hell, it's not really all that unusual even now for arranged marriages between families to strengthen organizations.

It's just a massive amount of debt. Debt that he could have called in any time since my father was killed. I would have been destitute a year ago, completely ruined. It took time to show what was left of my father's organization that I wasn't a tyrant, so that they'd help me rebuild what we have now. Now I'll just be really fucking pissed off—left with nothing but my loyal crew. Back at square one. They've worked every bit as hard as I have. Don't I owe it to them to consider this?

"You want me to marry your daughter?" I can't help but think I might have misheard. "My father was your worst enemy."

Ivan sighs. "Times are changing. Your star is on the rise, and I wake up every morning with stiff knees and an aching back. My Sera is getting antsy for a family of her own and I want nothing more than for her to be happy and well taken care of."

It's all I can do to keep from snorting. The whole show of complaining about the damp weather, suddenly acting like a weak old man. I don't buy any of it for a second. There's more to this than meets the eye. More than anything I want to tell him where he can shove his offer, but I can't.

Every one of the people who work for me would be displaced because I know like I know my own damn name that Ivan will raze my businesses to the ground. Turn them into money laundering fronts, put in his own people who are loyal to him out of fear.

He snaps his fingers and one of the big piles of tires unfolds himself off the banquette and hands him a folder, which Ivan slides over to me. Inside is the contract.

"Of course, you should have your lawyers look it over," he says, as content as the cat who's eaten its prey by now. Crunched down every last little bone. "But I'd like your verbal answer before we leave here."

Erasing the debt in return for marrying a woman I've never met. I may be thirty-three, but I haven't considered settling down yet. I have so much more work to do first. But I won't have any work at all if everything's taken from me. For some reason, one of the waiters at my wine bar down the road pops into my head. He's a favorite there and makes a killing in tips. He pays for his younger sister's college tuition with his earnings. My long-suffering secretary, who is looking forward to retiring in a few years, would also be out of a job—and at her age, it would be hard to find such a well-paying position again.

The words on the pages in front of me blur, turning into more faces of the people whose trust I've nearly broken my back to earn. Whose livelihoods I'm responsible for. I'm sure Ivan has it all tied up in a neat little bow. My debt erased in exchange for my freedom to ever choose the woman I want to live with for the rest of my life.

Unless there's something more to this. Something I can only find out from the inside. A possible way to regain my freedom. I cling to this shred of hope as I stretch my hand across the table to Ivan.

"I accept the terms," I say.

He grips my hand and we shake. In our world, this means the deal is done. The lawyers are only ever a formality. I'm as good as married to this stranger Ivan is in such a hurry to foist off on me.

For now, anyway.