Kisa

“Are you okay, miss?” Serge asked as he drove me through the awakening streets of Brooklyn toward the docks.

I pulled my gaze from outside the window and nodded my head, offering Serge an appeasing smile.

“It’s just a hard day. That’s all.”

Serge’s expression turned sympathetic in the rearview mirror. “Luka Tolstoi’s birthday,” he said, and I momentarily lost my breath just hearing those words out loud.

I stared down at my fidgeting fingers and nodded my head. It always pained me to think of Luka. Twenty-six years ago, the three Bratva bosses were all married and each had a son. Luka was born first, then Alik only a few months later. My brother Rodion and I followed a year later—we were twins. And finally, a year after that, Talia was born, Luka’s sister.

We all grew up together, the heirs of the New York Russian underground. We played together, spent days together in school, or hid together in secret when a threat to our mafiya was made by a rival. It was during these years that I became obsessed with Luka Tolstoi. He, my brother Rodion, and Alik were tight, the three male heirs to the Bratva rule. Rodion was destined to lead, Alik was second to him and Luka the third and final heir.

Luka and I shared something special. From toddlers, we were best friends. Then as the years passed, I knew I had fallen in love with him. I may have only been a child, but I loved him completely. Heart-crushing love.

Mama always said the stars aligned when we were born, that God made us a match. From the first time we saw each other, Luka took me in his arms and swore his protection over me to my mother. Mama used to say she caught him staring into my crib only hours after I was born. Then when she asked what he was doing, he asked her if he could have me. My mama joked and told him it would be my choice when I was old enough to crawl, and from the minute I was old enough to crawl, my mama told me I only ever crawled to one boy… Luka Tolstoi.

I’d agreed to let him have me. After all, God had created us to match.

Luka had a kind smile and the most beautiful dark-brown eyes. But it was Luka’s upper left iris smudged with a small splash of blue that made our mothers think we were destined to be. Mama said God placed a piece of my eye within his so we would always know we shared one soul. Luka was my protector. I adored the way he always held me close, making me feel safe, especially from Alik.

Alik was jealous that Luka had my heart.

When the three boys became teenagers, it all went to shit. In one fateful night, I lost Rodion and my Luka, leaving Alik the sole heir. That was when he immediately staked his claim on me.

Still now, at twenty-five, I missed Luka as if he’d just died yesterday. The pain was still as raw as the day I’d been told he was gone forever. A part of me just never believed that he did what he was accused of. I just couldn’t think him responsible for killing my brother.

“Keep your head up, miss, and the day will pass by just like any other,” Serge said sagely. Laying my head against the leather, I closed my eyes.

I was sick of so much loss… so much death.

Ten minutes later, after a silent journey, I entered the gym, my black-skirted business suit firmly in place, and headed to my office. I passed by the busy room of shirtless men training, punching bags, and lifting weights. I searched the room. A certain pair of light-blue possessive eyes locked onto mine and a slow, determined smile curled on a familiar set of lips.

Yiv, Alik’s trainer, was pushing him hard at a renegade, his every muscle in his tight, packed body straining with the technique. Throwing the fifty-pound dumbbells to the ground, the thud echoing around the gym, pulling fighters from their programs, Alik’s eyes flared with need and he thundered toward me—no, stalked toward me until I’d backed up into my office. Dropping the fighters’ personal files on the table, Alik stormed into the office, slamming the door and closed the blinds.

“Myshka,” Alik growled in a graveled, craving voice as his hungry gaze ate me up. His flushed skin glistened with the sweat from the intensity of his workout, his thigh muscles protruding under his shorts. “Fucking missed you last night, Myshka. Don’t like sleeping alone.”

My stomach churned with apprehension. I was always fearful of Alik when he was in one of these moods. He was always possessive, that was just how he was, but pumped by the workout’s fueling of his inner violence and his veins filled with The Dungeon’s fighters’ daily cocktail of creatine, protein shakes, and testosterone pills, Alik wanted to fuck me, own me… and do so as rough and as hard as possible.

Alik’s huge frame moved forward and cowed me. His hand reached out and in a second, he’d ripped the buttons from my jacket and hitched up my skirt, my ass now balanced on the lip of the table.




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