The man who’d fought me got to his feet. I blinked away the blur in my eyes. My gaze went to the man. His face was pale as he stared at me. He was mouthing words, firing orders to his men, but only the sound of my own breathing filled my ears.

I tried to reach for the man, my mind telling me to fight, to kill, to create carnage. But as I stepped forward, my knees buckled and I hit the ground hard. Arms grabbed me and began dragging my limp body across the hard ground.

I tried to pull away but my muscles wouldn’t move.

I lifted my eyes, the man was still staring. My skin crawled, my muscles tensed and I wanted to kill. Slit his throat, slice him with my sais.

I heard van doors open, and I was dragged off the ground. My eyes began to close, then suddenly everything faded to black.… The last image I saw was the man looking to the sky and taking a deep breath. I remembered his face, remembered it so if I awoke, his would be the first heart I’d make sure I stopped.

Chapter Five

Talia

Tolstoi Country Estate

West Hampton, New York

Sitting at the window of the living room, I stared out at a dark overcast sky. The light from the lighthouse circled lazily in the near distance, beckoning sailors home. Round, round, round, its hypnotic rhythm relaxed me as I sipped my coffee.

Ilya and Savin, my personal byki, walked in the grounds, my gaze catching the flicker of their movement in the moonlight. Both were dressed in black and as quiet as the night.

I felt safe.

I’d only been here a couple of days, and already I felt at peace. The beach, the salty sea air, this colonial-style house and most important, away from my Bratva cage in Brooklyn.

Taking another sip of my coffee, my free hand subconsciously lifted to run over the necklace I always wore around my neck. My babushka’s—my grandmother’s—necklace, the necklace she’d given me just before she died a few years ago. This delicate chain of gold had been my dedushka’s—my grandfather’s. It was the Tolstoi crest given to him as a boy. All Vor V Zakone received them from their fathers, all Thieves in Law, she had told me. It was a statement of honor. One he passed to her to keep close to her heart when he was gone on business.

I ran the pad of my thumb over the pendent and remembered the woman I’d regarded as my best friend, who just “got me.” Babushka was the world’s biggest romantic. And she’d loved my dedushka with all her heart, only to lose him at a young age. She never got over him and lit a candle every day at church in his honor.

All she had left of him was this necklace. A necklace she’d given to me as a symbol that one day I would find my true love, too.

She had wanted that for me so badly—to love another as fully as she had loved him.

I desperately wanted that, too.

I heard the back door open, and Ilya and Savin entered the room, each standing at opposite windows.

I rolled my eyes. “Surely no one threatening is going to be here in the Hamptons … in winter. It’s the reason we came out here. Practically no one else around.” My father hadn’t been happy about my wanting to leave Brooklyn for a while. With the new Georgian threat, he wanted me close for protection. But with my mother’s help, eventually he caved. Our compromise for my vacation—our summer home in the Hamptons. I was good with the deal. It was far enough away from home, and quiet enough for me to finally relax.

Neither of my byki listened to my complaint about their patrol. My father had made sure I had my guards with me. I didn’t ever know much about Bratva business, but I knew Savin and Ilya were checking we hadn’t been followed. I got that we were on high alert. I got that I was a huge target for the Georgians. From what I could surmise from Savin and Ilya’s quiet whispers was that the boss of the Jakhua clan was insane. And he was to be feared. He was a genuine threat to our position in Brooklyn. That meant I had to endure their constant surveillance.

Leaving the guys to their searching of the house, I looked out onto the rough sea crashing against our private beach, at the tide always chasing the shore, unable to stay away too long.

It made me feel poetic. What was it about the sound of waves rolling and the sea foam kissing the sleeping sand that was so soothing?

Noticing headlights traveling up our private country road, I frowned. “Ilya, Savin, someone’s coming,” I called out.

My heart beat a little faster, nerves swelling in my veins a little more than usual. I placed my coffee on the table beside me. No one knew we were here. Papa hadn’t told anyone for the sake of my safety.

Unless …

“Who could it be?” I asked Ilya, and moved to the center of the room.

Ilya waved me over to stand by him and pushed me behind his back. He looked to Savin. “Did you get a phone call from Mikhail or the knayz? Are we expecting anyone?”

Savin shook his head, watching the TV monitor as the car came to a slow stop at the security gate. The buzzer pressed and Savin answered the call.

“Yes?” he said curtly.

“Savin, or is that Ilya? It’s Kisa, can you let me in?”

I frowned as I saw Kisa lean to the camera, her face coming into view. I nodded my head to Savin, and he opened the electric gate.

Why was Kisa driving herself? And more than that, why had she left Luka in Brooklyn?

I made my way to the front door. Wrapping my long gray cardigan around my pink tank and black leggings, I opened the door just as Kisa stepped onto the porch.

She looked pale and worried, so I stepped back from the door. “Come in, sweetie.”

Kisa entered the hallway and I quickly hugged her in greeting. Ilya and Savin placed themselves in sight. Moving away from me, Kisa slipped off her jacket and I watched her curiously. “Kisa? Are you okay?” I asked. I hadn’t seen her in a few days. She looked bad then, but she looked worse now.

She turned to me but her eyes were vacant.

“Kisa?” I prompted, and reached out to touch her arm. She was wearing a creased thin white sweater, a skintight pair of jeans, and Chucks. Kisa never ever looked anything less than perfect and polished. She was dressed too casual, looked too rumpled and tired. Something was seriously wrong.

“I—” Kisa had barely opened her mouth to answer me, when another set of lights flared at the gate of the private road. Savin immediately sprang into action and moved to the surveillance camera.

“It’s a van,” he reported to Ilya. “One of ours.”

I turned to question what was happening, then Kisa sighed, seemingly in relief. She pressed her hand to her forehead, breathing out through her mouth.

“Kisa? What’s happening? Who else is coming? Why are you here?” I rapidly asked in an increasingly shorter tone.

Her blue eyes snapped to mine. “It’s Luka,” she said, just as I heard Savin utter a “Yes, sir!” The electronic gates opened once again.

“Luka? Why?” I had to know, but Savin and Ilya were already opening the front door and rushing to the graveled driveway.

Kisa headed toward me and, taking my hand, pulled me away from the door. I let her lead me to one side. I could see by Kisa’s expression that she was preoccupied; no, worried. My stomach sank. Something bad had happened tonight. Something big.

Savin came running through the door. His eyes quickly sought mine. “Ms. Tolstaia, where’s the basement key?”

“Why?” I asked, but Savin’s cold, piercing expression told me there was no time for explanation.

My eyes narrowed at everyone’s lack of explanation. Quickly, Kisa moved into the kitchen. “In here,” she said, urgently summoning Savin.

The sound of vehicle doors opening outside drifted to the hallway. Voices were raised and orders were quickly issued. Savin came rushing back through to the hallway, unlocking the always-locked door that led to the basement.