by Marsh,Anne
Some of these men are pretty on the outside, but none of them are beautiful beneath the skin. They’re predators, kings of their own fucking mountains, so rich and powerful that any one of them could make a girl less well-connected than me disappear and no one would ever say anything. There’s a code of public silence in this world of billionaires.
And because they could start a global war that could kill thousands and disrupt banking systems, they’ve come up with alternate ways of settling their differences. Tomorrow’s race is one such example. The public stakes are a million bucks to the winner’s charity of choice. That’s pocket change. There will be other deals on (or under) the table—and the winner takes all. It’s better than bullets.
“I need to see Xander,” I tell Jack, pretending this request is nothing more serious than my asking him to press the button for the second floor if we happened to get into an elevator together.
Jack treats me to a second, more careful examination. “You sure he wants to see you, pretty girl?”
“No.” I give him an apologetic look. “But it needs to happen.”
“Sometimes you must know when to walk away.”
I shake my head. “No walking tonight.”
“Wish you’d reconsider. The night before a race isn’t ever a good time.” Still, his hand comes to rest against my lower back, gently urging me into motion. Jack made a fortune with his fists. He’s a fighter—fists, feet, mixed martial arts. He took the first fortune he made in the ring, and then he invested it. I’m not privy to the details of those investments—I suspect no one person is—but Jack amassed a fortune in a few short years.
He’s still single although there are plenty of Bratva families here who would like to hook him up with a bride. Despite the modern date on the calendar, this world plays by an ancient set of rules. Even my dad treated me as an asset to be bought and sold. He loved me, but he had every expectation that I’d cement our family’s position with a wedding ring.
And when it looked like I’d given away the milk for free, my dad made sure I got married. He forced Xander and me to the altar, and then he eliminated my new husband by setting him up for assault and battery. In exchange for coming to my rescue, Xander acquired a wedding ring, a prison sentence, and a reputation that’s stuck with him all these years. I’m certain he’s not waiting to thank me because those first two things were definitely not part of his plans.
For a year after we married, I dreamed he’d come back for me after he got out of prison. That he’d carry me away from the mob life, take me somewhere better, and make everything all right. That we’d figure out a way to make our strange, twisted relationship work. When he rescued me, I was grateful. I didn’t realize how fast things would spiral out of control, or what price we’d pay. My dad thinks I should ask Xander for help tonight because he’s my husband, but he has no idea how many ways tonight could go wrong. The truth is, these billionaire bad boys are sexy. Hot. So amazingly gorgeous that dropping your panties seems like a great decision. But they’re predators. Alpha males. They don’t just own the world around them—they rule it, and I’ll never put myself under their control again.
I won’t be owned.
I won’t be a pretty possession.
My pussy is more than a means of transferring property between two men. I won’t wear a ring, I won’t take orders, and I won’t shut up. Not anymore. It’s one reason that I’ve never come within a hundred nautical miles of Xander since our wedding.
Xander comes from a family that was Russian mafia royalty long before the word went mainstream even if they’ve lived in the US for decades. He does whatever he wants except for that one time he took the fall for rescuing me. I assume he kicked ass at the club that night because he didn’t want his stepbrother dead—and I was just a collateral rescue. Afterward, when he brought me home to my dad, other things came out—like the fact that Daniel had taken my virginity.
You can imagine how well my dad liked that scenario—and Daniel’s not-even-junior position in the Volkov family only made it worse. He should have come courting with a big-ass diamond, and then everything would have been okay because it would have been simply business. Instead, the way my dad saw it, Daniel had stolen a valuable asset from our family, and that couldn’t go unpunished. My argument that my virginity was mine didn’t fly. Once again, Xander stepped up. He volunteered to take Daniel’s place as a more senior member of their family.
I think I was still in shock from the attack in the club—and Xander was there, big and protective, his tattooed arms wrapped around me so no one else could get to me. That had to be why I agreed. I let my dad hustle us to a justice of the peace and then we were secretly married. Xander took the fall for the assault and battery at the club too. My name never came up, and everything was smoothed over.
Xander’s wedding gift turned out to be a one-year sentence. No gift receipt, either. He served every day. Afterward, he got a moral waiver and entered the Navy. He did one tour of duty as a SEAL, and then he hit the professional poker circuit, cleaned the other players out, and bought every piece of Miami he could get his hands on. He’s the real fucking king of our city today, and my father knows it.
He did his time, but he never came for me. I expected a divorce decree, but he ignored me and built an empire instead. I’d have appreciated some kind of attention because I’d been nursing a crush on my white-knight husband for months, but it didn’t happen. Xander rescued me and he moved on. I’m just grateful he took the time to help me in the club that night because otherwise my life would have taken an irreversible right-hand turn into hell.
My family isn’t as strong as it used to be. My father’s old, and while his heart is as fierce as ever, his head is… not always here with us. He gets confused. He forgets what he did this morning. Not every day—but enough times in a week that the family leadership pulls at the reins harder each day. They’re not going down with the captain of the ship, and I can’t blame them for that self-preservation.
I’m the pawn, the marker, the only collateral my father has to pledge to build a new, stronger, smarter alliance with a younger family—and I’m married. I can resent the fuck out of the rules, but I can’t change them. The Russian mafia families are the new nobility, and they build their bloodlines and their dynasties with care. If I can convince Xander to protect us, I have something to offer. I can buy my father more time, more space, more life.
Or I can slip away quietly into the night. Leave my father to fend for himself. I didn’t choose this family. I didn’t ask to be born a mob princess. I hate the lifestyle, but I love my father. How do I run from him and leave him alone when he doesn’t always remember if he ate lunch? He needs me. I’m the one who refused to take my place in the family business. Instead, I started a consulting business as a reputation manager. I can whitewash a company’s online presence or massage it to fit their desired brand. I make strategic changes to their social media platforms and website. I like my baby company, and I’m independent, but I’ll never be a billionaire. Never be a mover, a shaker, a moneymaker.
There are mob princesses who own this world. When I look to my left, for example, I spot Delia Zakharova. She’s not just a pretty ornament. She’s more than a pair of wedding rings and a convenient pussy for cementing the male bonds that dominate our world. She’s strong, mean, and determined to come out on top—but I’d never make the mistake of thinking she’s got it easy. Delia fights every day to sit on top of the Mafia mountain. She runs a family business, and she’s got to be the best at being both a girl and a boy. Beautiful, polished, feminine on the outside—and entirely ruthless on the inside. I don’t want to fight. I won’t apologize for that.
My dad suggested I reunite with Xander.
Take him.
Make him mine.
He said Xander owed us big time, and that Xander would do it. I think he’s even crazier than usual. You know that story about the frog and the snake? The one where the frog gives the snake a ride across a
raging river after extracting a promise from the snake that the snake won’t bite? Yeah. That story. I’m the frog, and I can feel Xander’s teeth in my throat already. Our marriage has been a bust for him, and he has to want out.
And while I’m trying to figure out the impossible, how to make Xander protect my family without getting myself killed, I collide with a brick wall. A big, tall, built brick wall with a spectacular dick. I learn the penis information firsthand because my front is plastered against his and there’s nowhere near enough clothing between us. My gaze shoots north even as my drink heads south and toward his shoes.
“You are still trouble,” an amused male voice tells me. “Always, you need rescuing.”
2
LILY
Fingers wrap around mine and corded arms pluck the glass away before it can hit the floor. Prison tattoos and gang signs cover my rescuer’s arms, Cyrillic letters spelling out his identity in black ink and a secret code I can’t crack. I have no ink on my body. I speak only baby Russian.
Disaster averted, I look up, intending to thank my white knight, but then all the air gets sucked out of the room and I can’t breathe. Xander.
He’s still mouthwatering. I still want to lick him from top to bottom. Forget the sugary cocktail he’s holding, he’s sweeter than any tasty treat on display. Instinctively I look behind him. Xander never travels alone. He’s always accompanied by a pair of bodyguards—and usually by one or more girlfriends. As evidenced by the copious photos in the Miami gossip blogs, Xander takes the Costco approach to dating. He likes his women in multipacks—the more, the better. He’s out of my league.
He’s also not moving.
Hard and hotter than hell, my masculine roadblock doesn’t smell like Macy’s menswear either but of something wilder. Citrus and spice, leather and wood, Xander brings the outdoors in with him, and his scent makes my senses sing a wild welcome.
“Fuck me, darling,” he growls and holds the glass out for someone else to take. A waiter, a bodyguard, any warm body with four fingers and a thumb—he simply expects the closest person to do his bidding. Sure enough, a passing waiter spirits the glass away.
Fuck me, darling. Those three words could be an invitation, a command, a threat. His voice carries the faintest of accents. I know from our marriage application that he was born in Moscow—and that he moved to this country when he was twelve. He’s a U.S. citizen, but he travels back and forth frequently on his own private jet. Other than that, he’s really a stranger I know nothing about.
He stares down at me, his gorgeous, hard face completely unreadable because of course he doesn’t come with an instruction manual. There’s no Marrying the Mob Boss for Dummies book on my bookshelf. I shouldn’t have come here. I realize that in a fast, painful rush, my brain finally catching up with my hopes and my fears. It’s a freeway car crash in my head, and I don’t have a seatbelt. Krysha. My father taught me this when I was little. The Russian word for roof, krysha is so much more than the slate and shingles on top of your house. Krysha is the roof over your head. It’s your organization, your family, your protection. When I lose my father, I lose mine. I’ve always thought of myself as the walls supporting the roof, but now I realize something new. Sometimes the roof keeps the walls upright.
And sometimes the roof collapses and you die of painful, blunt-force trauma. Seeing Xander face-to-face is a kick to my heart of epic proportions.
“I need to leave,” I blurt out.
“You should not be here,” he agrees, but he still doesn’t move away and he’s blocking my path to the door. One flick of his fingers, and his bodyguards will take me down. I’ve walked into Xander’s world where he makes the rules. Secretly I’ve always thought of him as my hero. Not a caped superhero, not a masked avenger righting my wrongs and definitely not some chivalrous white knight, all hands off as he defends me—but a hero, none the less. He’s my everything. He’s my nothing and that’s exactly what I deserve.
And yet I’ve always wanted more from Xander. I have, from the day he came to my rescue. He’s strong, and I covet that strength almost as much as I lust after the man beneath the suit and the powerful façade. Strip Xander of his wealth and his political power, and he’s still powerful. He has the build of a prizefighter beneath the five-thousand-dollar designer suits he wears so well. If money ever fails him, his fists won’t.
The last time I saw him, before our justice of the peace date and his courtroom showdown, he defended me with those fists. It feels like yesterday, even though it was six years ago. I’d been at a club, dancing with his stepbrother. Daniel was gorgeous, he loved to party, and he’d been the first boy to dare to ask me out. Saying no hadn’t even crossed my mind. Three weeks after I first snuck out to meet him, I gave him my virginity. The occasion had been vaguely disappointing, but my Dani promised me it would get better. He’d give me the fireworks, he vowed, and we’d live happily ever after. I was sixteen. I believed every word he said.
He’d snuck me into a club that night, and we’d spent hours dancing. He’d bought me cocktails, and I’d sipped nervously at them, feeling sophisticated and worldly and more than a little buzzed. My hopes and dreams had come crashing down in the wee hours of the morning. First, there had been a disturbance at the door. Armed men, men wearing flak vests and black balaclavas, with machine guns strapped over their chests, had poured into the club. Worse, they’d come straight to our table. Dani owed them money—money he didn’t have. He’d made promises he couldn’t keep. The Kolmenskaia Bratva had decided to foreclose, and that meant they wanted their pound of flesh. From Dani and me since I was in his company.
Rough hands had pulled at me, groping and hurting. I’d screamed. I was Ivan Petrov’s daughter. I’d heard the rumors about the illegal trade in girls, and I had no intention of letting these men drag me off with them. But there wasn’t anything I could do to stop it. They knew it. I knew it. Dani, bent double as two of the enforcers hammered blows into his stomach, knew it too.
And then Xander had appeared out of the shadows and cue the superhero music. He’d effortlessly, ruthlessly beaten the shit out of those men. Six years later, he’s still every bit as gorgeous, dangerous, and powerful. Cuddling up to him would be like jumping into the lion pit at the zoo—or pitching your tent on the savannah and inviting the king of the jungle in because no one puts Xander Volkov in a cage.
Except me.
Staring at him from across the courtroom while the judge handed down a one-year sentence wasn’t exactly my sixteen-year-old self’s idea of fantasy material, but even the chains and the prison orange couldn’t diminish the sheer, raw power of the man. I’d promised myself I’d make it up to him. That I’d find a way to set him free. That everything would be fine. Eventually.
It went about as well as you’d expect. While other girls were dating, exploring the college scene, I was married and seeing other guys felt wrong. So I waited and waited some more, but Xander never came back. I’ve always been aware of what he was doing. It’s not as if I kept tabs on him, but he’s hard to ignore, especially when you’re a Russian mob princess. He didn’t become a player in our world overnight. He took territory, he built his empire one determined, brutal step at a time. He’s like the barbarian horde poised on the border of Russia, waiting for the right opportunity to invade. He doesn’t play by the family’s rules.
He’d given me back my life. I owe him, and that counts for something. He’s my husband. In name only because we never actually consummated our marriage, and neither of us ever lived together. I’m still one step removed from a virgin because some part of me can’t bear to break the promises we were forced to make to each other.
“Lily.” He lowers his head, his mouth brushing over my ear. And just like that, I’m wet for him. He’s never been interested in me sexually, and that’s to his credit. I was sixteen to his twenty-two, and only a pervert would have taken me to bed. He’d married me because my father and the family honor had demanded it. He’d fixed a problem�
�not fallen in lust or in love.
“Tell me why you are here,” he demands. That’s another thing about Xander. He’s always in control. He doesn’t ask—he tells. Our shotgun marriage and his subsequent court date are the only times I’ve ever seen him forced to do something he hadn’t wholeheartedly embraced.
“I need a protection,” I whisper. “The Petrovs need your help.”
He stills. He doesn’t back up though, and the sensation of his large body pressed against mine is overwhelming. He’s taller, broader, heavier than me, and his legs push mine backward.
If he refuses, I can find somewhere else to start over—or I can look after my dad, find us another protector, and give our family a weapon to fight with. We’ve got peashooters when our opponents have automatic rifles, and this isn’t kindergarten. People will die, people I’ve known my entire life. And while I can’t like the life, and my fantasy is a life that’s felony-free, I can’t just walk away and let them die either. I know their families and their kids, and they’ve looked after me, raised me, and kept me safe.
Now it’s my turn.
“You want to dance with me?” He ignores my question and drawls a request of his own, but we both know he doesn’t mean it. Xander has never been a dancer.
I love dancing. Love getting lost in the pulsing, vibrating crowd of men and women filling up the dance floor. The music beats at me, echoing in my ears in short, hard bursts of sound. Bodies press together in an overwhelming cocktail of sweat and cologne and alcohol. Arms over their heads, at their sides, wrapped around a partner, bodies shimmying up and down, moving to the music’s beat or to whatever foreign stimulant raced through their bloodstreams.
“No. Can I please talk to you?” I need him to be serious—and I really, really need him to cooperate.