“Trust me, pet.” He curled his forefinger under my chin, then leaned down to give me a kiss that anyone could see.

Which was his admitted plan. I thought it’d be a brief good-bye kiss, a toll I would grudgingly accept to get into the house as quickly as possible.

Instead, Sevastyan seemed bent on starting that fire in me once more. He took my mouth fiercely, giving me hot, seeking flicks of his tongue. It was a down-and-dirty kiss, with one objective: slay my resistance.

Which it did.

His hands descended to my hips, squeezing me against his body as his mouth consumed mine. Our tongues sparred until I was gripping his shoulders, wanting to get even closer to his unyielding heat.

As ever, his kiss had a way of blanking my mind, of filling me with a sense that all was well—even when I knew all was futhermucked. . . .

When he finally broke away, leaving me panting and shaken, he smirked. “Lie to yourself all you like, but you’ve definitely accepted me.” Masculine satisfaction emanated from him. His bearing wouldn’t have been amiss on an Olympic podium.

Triumphant. Victorious male.

Was that why I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d been defeated?

When I opened the door with a wobbling step, he swatted my ass. I tossed a bewildered look over my shoulder, surprised as much by the unexpected love tap as by this playful side.

“Go inside and get warm, Natalie. And relax, this is a good thing.”

Then he was gone, leaving my lips bruised and my mind in turmoil. Lost in my thoughts, I made my way up the stairs—

I started when Filip stepped in front of me on the landing.

There was fury in his eyes. “Have fun with the guard dog?”

Chapter 22

“I’ve been so worried about you!” Jess exclaimed when I called her that night.

“Really?” I’d kind of been worried about myself after Filip’s meltdown just hours ago. “What’s up?”

“Gee, I don’t know, maybe the fact that some mafiya thug wants to off my best friend.”

Oh, that. “Then why didn’t you call me on the new number I gave you?”

“How the hell do you call Russia from Greece? It’s like trying to figure out rela-fucking-tivity. And still, I gave it several shots. Of Ouzo. Seriously, you have no idea how much your situation is affecting me. I’ve been stress-eating my way across Greece.”

I frowned. “You don’t stress-eat—”

“Cock, Natalie. I was stress-eating cock. There, you made me say it, happy now?”

“Opa!”

“Twat.”

“Bitch.” Despite my foul mood, I had to check a grin. “I take it your trip was a success.”

“Of course it was. But I don’t want to talk about me, Richie Rich. I wanna know that you’re safe.”

Define “safe.” “I’ve been perfectly fine.”

She took me at my word. “So give me the details then! Tell me all about your gangster rumspringa.”

How to begin? I sat at my vanity, staring at my reflection. I was back to my old Natalie self—no hint of Natalya—but if I were fanciful, I’d say my eyes were more . . . knowing. “It might not be just a rumspringa. Kovalev wants me to stay on.” Any other woman would kill for an opportunity to live in a place like this, to get to know her father and study at a new university.

To be with a man as glorious and sexy as Sevastyan.

Radio silence from Jess. Then finally: “And you’re giving the prospect actual thought?”

“I’m feeling, uh, a little pressure to stay.” I told her about the last two weeks, the insane amount of gifts, my growing phobia of mass quantities of money, and the looming danger.

When I’d finished, she said, “You haven’t mentioned the cage-fighter unicorn.”

“I guess you could say we’ve gotten . . . involved.” How to explain this confusing situation? Sevastyan’s complicated nature? “With him, everything is extreme.” Just as Paxán had said. “The man is extremely sexy, complex, infuriating. Sometimes I feel like I’m already in love with him; sometimes I feel like I should be running the other way. Bottom line, I am extremely confused.” I detailed for her the highlights of our relationship and the specter of plight-hood, then gave her a blow-by-blow (har) of what had happened in the banya.

“That is so hot! You just gave me a wetty. Fap, fap, fap.”

“Will you be serious? Talk of bondage and whipping doesn’t even make you raise a brow?”

“Please. Nothing between consenting adults fazes me.” True to form, she zeroed in on her favorite detail: “You’ve STILL got your skin tag? Come on, Nat, this is getting ridiculous. Are you thinking with your vaj?”

“No!”

“There’s your problem right there.”

“Jess, I was hoping to get some real, unvarnished advice. I worry that I’m different because of that encounter, that I’m changed. But here’s the thing: I think . . . I think he might be too.”

“You really held out?”

“Somehow. The guy told me that if he was my first lover, he’d be my last.”

She coughed. “That’s seriously heavy.”

“My thoughts exactly. I’d figured he was perfect for a vacay fling—but mafiya rules say that is not in the cards for Nat.”

“Just so we’re clear—you’re talking about ha**ng s*x with only one guy for your entire life.”

“It sounds so bad when you put it like that. How many guys have you slept with, Jess? Really.”

“Fourscore? Population of a small midwestern town? Horde?”

“But do you regret any of them?”

“Nope. Each one brought something different to the table.”

I could admit to myself that Sevastyan had brought a banquet. Still . . . “It doesn’t seem very progressive of me to get off on what we did. He ordered me around and basically trussed me up like a Thanksgiving turkey.”

“Visual, Nat, visual. Now my fap, fap, fap fodder is no more. Anyway, I’m of the feminist school of thought that says ‘If mama like, then mama f**king do.’ Correct me if I’m wrong, but you are too.”

I sighed. “I am.” I’d never felt more pleasure, so how could I not view it positively? With one niggling misgiving neutralized, I moved on to a larger one. “I understand why Sevastyan doesn’t want to talk about himself—he has a past, to put it mildly—but it leaves me with a whole lot of nothing to go on. A mail-order bride would know more about her intended than I know about my potential . . . plighted, or whatever. I just wish I had more time to sort out what I feel. Jess, tomorrow I have to talk to Paxán, and the pressure is killing me. The money, the danger, this enforcer—they’re all about to make me pull my hair out.”

“I’ve never heard you this freaked out.”

Because I’d never been! “I signed on for this life”—somewhat—“and I suppose I’m obligated to pay the price when I screw up.”

In a way, this crime microcosm was its own country, with its own boundaries and customs, and now I was bound by them. I tried to explain: “I entered into this world, and it’s got its own laws. Doesn’t matter how I feel about them; I tacitly agreed to them. Then on top of that, I was explicitly warned of the consequences. Yet I still broke the rules.”

“Let’s talk about how you entered that world! Some Russian threw you over his shoulder and stole you from our house! He tackled you in a cornfield, dick-glamoured you, and you still somehow resisted—at which point he forced you onto a mafiya plane. So don’t give me this shit about how you agreed to some twatting laws.”

Dick-glamoured? Kind of fitting. “But then I fell right into line.” Dazzled by Sevastyan and Berezka. Lulled by laughter with my father . . .

“You know what? Fuck—this—noise,” Jess declared. “You’re twenty-four, Nat. Leave lifelong commitments to people who have fewer freaking years left. Fifty-year-olds and such. Anybody who tells a girl your age to make a commitment like this must think you won’t live long.” She caught her breath, then said, “Sorry. I forgot you might get capped at any time.”

I swallowed. “Maybe I should view things with that in mind. Act like I only have a month to live. Despite everything, I know I’d want more time with Sevastyan.”

But that didn’t mean I wanted . . . forever.

“Listen to yourself! Put down the Kool-Aid and get some perspective, doll. Sneak away, and I’ll meet you in Europe. We’ll dodge bullets and break hearts.”

“I wish.” When I tried to picture how Sevastyan would react if I stole away, I kept hearing his promise: If you run from me again, I will catch you. It’s what I do. And then I’ll spread you facedown over my knees and whip your plump ass until you know better.

Only now I knew he’d probably meant that literally. The thought made me shiver. “I’m stuck here for the duration.”

“Say you accept the enforcer. Say the danger passes. Could you be happy there?”

That was the crux of it, huh? “Moving to a new country to be with a new guy while starting at a new school seems like a lot of variables all at once. A lot of choices to make,” I pointed out. “And there’s more. . . .” I told her all about Filip.

This afternoon, I hadn’t even gotten a chance to ask the man what Paxán had wanted to talk to him about before he bit out, “Sevastyan was all over you at the front doors. The bastard as good as announced you’re his.”

Filip had looked harried, like this development had really affected him. But I hadn’t sensed any deeper feelings from him. Yes, he’d flirted with me, but I was fairly sure he would flirt with a perfumed rock. “How is this your business?” I’d demanded, wondering if he’d been drinking.

“Because I care about you. Really care about you.” He’d rubbed his hand over his wan face, drawing attention to his bloodshot eyes, to the deep-seated anger blazing from them. “Sevastyan teed you up. He played you. Now he’s walking around this place with his shoulders back and a smirk on his scarred face—because he’s a billion dollars richer. You’re so naïve. You’re not even his type—did you know that?”

Yes. Yes, I did. Still I said, “That’s bullshit, Filip. Not that I owe you an explanation, but Sevastyan wants me.” Except he hadn’t given me a reason why it was me that he wanted above all others. He’d just said that he’d do anything to possess me.

“You got manipulated by a con artist, a hard-core prison thug. Well done, Cuz!”

Then Filip had added a parting shot that had made me cringe, driving me to the sanctuary of my room. I hadn’t even gone down for dinner.

Had I believed what he’d said about Sevastyan? No. But Filip’s accusations highlighted what I’d already accepted: I didn’t know Sevastyan.

“What a scrote,” Jess decided, dismissing Filip easily. “Normally I’d say you need someone over there, running point for you, skull-fucking when necessary. But then I recall how you react when backed into a corner.”

“How’s that?”

“You come out throwing elbows,” she said. “You’re nice, until it’s time to not be nice.”

“You’re quoting Road House?”

“It was either that or quote from my latest torrid romance novel.” That was Jess’s not-so-secret habit. As much as she loved the idea of love, her reading tastes made sense. Every now and then, she’d foist one on me. “You wanted my unvarnished advice, Nat? Here it is—do nothing permanent. And you damn well better not do anything until you fly my ass over there.”

Chapter 23

I wasn’t surprised when I got a summons from Paxán the next morning. I hadn’t slept, was hardly functioning after two cups of strong tea.

For most of the night, I’d paced, wondering how I’d gotten myself into this mess. After alternately blaming myself and Sevastyan for this, I’d settled on Sevastyan.

He was more experienced than I was, and clearly more ruthless. But how had he manipulated me so easily? And to what end?

Paxán would want a decision this morning. He would lay down the law.

As I made my way to his study, I felt like I was marching to the gallows, my boot heels clicking along the marble. I adjusted the collar of my jade turtleneck, then smoothed my warm palms down the legs of my jeans. All I knew for certain was that I was bone-weary and so tired of being confused.

I passed Gleb, one of the brigadiers, sporting a pistol in an uncovered holster. Like Sevastyan wore. The man gave me a nod of acknowledgment, but nothing like the friendly greetings I usually received when I encountered one of the men.

Gleb’s response brought to mind Filip’s parting words: “All the brigadiers have been wagering whether the Siberian would lock you down. I should’ve taken that bet. But you told me there was nothing between you! And all that time, you let me think you wanted me.”

I was now the subject of a bet. Paxán was right; my actions with Sevastyan had eroded my standing here. Live in the crime country, then obey its laws. . . .

When I entered the study, I was taken aback by Paxán’s kindly expression. He’d been working on a clock, looking adorable with his magnifying glasses on. “Good morning, dorogaya moya! Tea?” Ever the gentleman. “You look like you could use some.” He removed his glasses, setting away his tools.

Once I had a cup in hand, he motioned me to join him beside his desk. “I want to show you something.” He opened a large glossy book, flipping to a page. “Have you ever seen this animal?” He pointed to a picture of a black wolf with vivid amber eyes, poised to strike from a snowbank. “Stunning creature, no? It’s a Siberian wolf.”