CHAPTER 1
Present time
I gather the dishes on my tray and gaze up at the sunset over Donau. To my right, the Chain Bridge connects the old Pest-side to the Buda-side, and to my left, the Citadella watches over the city from its place upon the hill. Both are mesmerizing sights, but neither can compete with my favorite—the castle that towers above the water across the river.
I smile to myself. Not even Izsák’s derisive voice and the repugnant garlic odor that always comes with it can ruin the peace.
“I don’t pay you to stand around like a fucking mannequin, Rebecca.”
Ignoring him, I cast a final glance at the castle. The sunset forms a golden halo around the old building, and wispy, purple clouds lend the sky a fairytale-like hue. It’s almost a replica of the postcard I’ve been dreaming myself away into since I was thirteen.
Fifteen years later, and I’m finally here—away from the nauseatingly yellow rapeseed fields of Southern Denmark. Even after three months here, I can’t seem to get enough of this beautiful view.
I make my way inside the restaurant, push through the swinging door to the kitchen, and inhale the delicious scent of chicken and paprika. I know what I’ll be having for dinner on my break tonight.
“Chicken Paprikash again today?” Elek asks, probably reading my thoughts on my sniffing nose. Glancing up from the frying pan, he gives me a lingering look, and his eyes light up with something beyond friendly politeness.
“Yes, please,” I say with a quick smile that can’t be interpreted as the flirty one he seems to be hoping for.
He’s a great cook, and his Hungarian chicken dish alone could almost make me consider dating him. Plus, he’s attentive and helpful. The moment I prop my tray on my hip to make room on the cluttered table, he’s at my side, holding the tray while shoving things aside.
“Thanks,” I say, catching a glimpse of the golden cross around his neck.
My mom would love this man. And that’s more than enough reason not to date him.
“Have you ever had chicken fresh from a farm, Rebecca?” he asks as he returns to the stove.
“No.” Shaking my head, I glance behind him to see the chubby female cook, whose name I can never remember, roll her eyes. Here we go again.
And sure enough, Elek launches into a long monologue about his parents’ chickens—something about a feral dog breaking the neck of one and two roosters getting into a fight.
I listen with half an ear, adding a few polite smiles and nods as I fill the dishwasher. Then I mouth a furtive sorry to the female cook as I push through the swinging door, leaving her to deal with his incessant chatter.
A strange sensation prickles at my awareness as I enter the dining area. I’m not sure what it is, but the hairs at my nape stand on end as if someone’s watching me. But when I glance around, no one’s looking my way. Something does catch my attention, though.
A sleek, middle-aged man at the round corner table stands out like a sore thumb.
I’m not sure what it is that makes him stand out. Maybe his clothes. His sand-colored suit fits his body to a tee, and the Windsor knot on the dark blue tie looks like it’s bound by an English butler. His dark hair is neatly trimmed and combed back in a seemingly windproof hairdo, and his clean-shaven jaw sports the same control-freakish perfection.
He seems vaguely familiar, but I can’t think of where I might have seen him. I’d remember if he had been here or I had talked to him. He’s too significant to forget.
I cock my head as I keep staring, fascination and worry warring to win the upper hand.
His hand rests on the table, fingers holding the handle on the coffee cup as he gazes out over the water without a care in the world. He looks like a man who knows he doesn’t need large hand gestures and harsh words to make the world bow down to him. His sheer air of authority will do the job.
A chill rolls down my spine. This man exudes danger. My brain knows it, but my body refuses to acknowledge it when I try to break away. There’s some faulty connection between my brain and body because authority like this has always been a magnetic force to me. My core hums whenever I stare into the eyes of a tiger; my instincts urge me to bow down when my head screams for me to run for my life.
I startle as the man turns his head, and before I can look away, the warm hazel hue of his eyes ensnares me. But it’s only the color that is warm. Underneath the surface lies a coldness so stark and frigid it has goosebumps skittering down my arms.
Stop looking. Stop looking.I try to force my gaze away, but it doesn’t work. Terror thrums in my veins as he seems to take in every little nuance of my fear, eyes honing in on me with fascination.
His lips pull up into a dimpled smile that slowly spreads across his face, forming delicate crinkles at the corners of his eyes and drawing fine lines at the edges of his mouth. It comes so naturally I have to blink to see if I’m imagining it. But I’m not. Even the hazel notes seem warmer. But deep within his eyes, there’s a small place the smile can’t reach—a frozen place that will never thaw. Something so cold that it’s lodged in the very essence of his soul.
My reaction is as instinctive as my irrational curiosity. My eyes flicker to the ground, my cheeks heat, and my shoulders draw inward. A submissive response. An urge to accept his power. But I know how dangerous it is to submit to the wrong man. I’ve heard the stories. That’s why I never submit outside the safe spaces of BDSM clubs. So I square my shoulders, let my eyes glide back up, and focus straight ahead. I’m good at controlling myself like this.
But it’s too late. The warmth in the eyes has receded, leaving a cold, dead stare. The charming smile still shines in his features, but those eyes hold no trace of kindness. They’re icicles covered in dirt. The coldness is almost palpable, swirling around me, making me shiver even though it’s eighty-five degrees outside.
I only have myself to blame. No matter how fleeting my hint of submission was, it was enough to awaken some primal urge within him—a need for power and control.
With my heart pounding and my hands shaking, I set off toward the kitchen. A secluded nook in the back lends me the privacy I badly need, and I brace my clammy hands on the counter as I heave ragged breaths.
As if on cue, Elek appears. “Are you okay?”
Turning my head, I meet a friendly set of eyes on a harmless face. I should fall for a man like him instead of a dangerous predator like the one in the restaurant. But I have never managed to acquire a normal, sane taste in men. Even the ones I’ve been with at BDSM clubs have often been too benign for me to truly feel the pull. It’s not that I haven’t tried. I’ve been on so many dates with normal, nice men that I have lost count. I’ve even gone home with some of them in the hopes they would awaken something dormant inside me. But it never happens. My body is barren land when explored by friendly hands and warm eyes—as frigid as the eyes on that man out there.
“Just a migraine,” I lie. “It’ll pass in a minute.”
The rapt sound of a clap bounces against the tiled walls as my boss enters the kitchen. “Back to work.”
I straighten and pick up my tray, too shaken by the small yet very consequential encounter to let Izsák get to me. His stance is demonstrative as I pass him—arms crossed and eyes glaring, telling me in no uncertain terms that I’m a lowly waitress who serves the single purpose of being at his beck and call.
I don’t need to look at him to know how his eyes glide up and down my curves with an animalistic hunger. I feel it all too clearly. But he’s far from the majestic lion that rules the savannah. He’s the frothing hyena that has to settle for other’s scraps—harmless, as long as you don’t tread into its den and provoke it. He’s not the one I’m afraid of as I leave the kitchen with my heart pounding in my throat.
My lungs expand with an audible sigh of relief when I find the table by the panoramic windows empty. Never has someone scared me so much so quickly. Actually, I don’t think anyone has ever scared me like that. Something about that man set off all my alarms, and I’m pretty sure it’s not just paranoia.
My heart keeps pounding as I make my way around the restaurant, collecting dirty dishes. It’s only when I’ve made a whole round, inside and outside, and I’m back in the kitchen without having seen the man that my heart regains a steady rhythm.
“Did you see that Istvan Gabor was here?” The small, chubby chef is practically bouncing on her feet while stirring the pot in front of her.
“Istvan Gabor? You mean, the politician?” I say.
She bobs her head up and down, her stirring picking up speed. “The Minister of Foreign Affairs.”
Suddenly, the pieces fall into place. I thought I had seen him before. But why the hell would a man like him come here? We might be only a few blocks from the parliament, but there are surely plenty more upscale cafés closer by where a man like him can get his coffee.
As Hungary’s Minister of Foreign Affairs and right hand to the Prime Minister, Istvan Gabor is one of the most prominent faces of Hungarian politics—and Hungary in general. He’s part of the reason for the corruption that bleeds deep into the system of this country. As with many dictators, the people neither can nor want to see it even though it’s glaringly clear. I didn’t have to know who he was to sense the danger. A single shared glance was enough. And knowing who he is only adds to my wariness because he’s not just a dangerous man anymore. He’s a dangerous man with money and people in his pockets.
But he’s gone now, so I try to forget about him—write it off as the chance meeting I’m sure it was. But as the evening wears on, the anxiety keeps gnawing at my stomach, and I can’t shake the feeling that he wanted something from me. The way he watched me wasn’t an accidental glance or a man lingering on a pretty waitress. There was more to it. As if he was sizing me up.
I remember the way he noticed my fleeting submission, and a bone-deep shiver shoots through my body. He ignited something in me, and my reaction ignited something in him. Something wild and dangerous aimed directly at me.
* * *
It’s long past midnight when Izsák finally lets me go, and I find myself on the small detour that takes me past the parliament a little farther down the river.
I never go here during the day. Only when darkness has swept its heavy cloak over the city, leaving every nook and corner shrouded in shadows, do I venture here to see the beast. I’m not sure why. The enormous white building has me shivering as I stand at the foot of its mighty fa?ade.
It must be some kind of masochistic desire that brings me here. I’ve always had this reckless gravitation toward danger even though I’m both jumpy and scared of the dark.
I rub my arms as I watch the spotlights on the ground, casting their lights upon the monster like a fearful crowd bowing down in forced reverence. It’s a terrible symbol of everything this building houses. Tyranny and oppression. And it all just gets to stand here, out in the open, lit up for everyone to see. Lights should soothe my nerves, but these are only here to intimidate.
An icy shiver runs down my arms, and I turn my head to look behind me. No one’s there. It’s just my paranoia.
Fuck. Why did I come here?
I pull my jacket tight and hurry on.
Even as the parliament disappears behind several blocks of buildings, it keeps breathing down my neck. The sensation is worse than usual, and as I walk through the streets, my mind conjures fears of people stalking me, eyes lurking in dark corners, and a predator ready to jump.
When I’m finally home in bed, I toss and turn for hours before I fall into a restless sleep. Then I startle awake to a metallic clank. With a hand to my chest, I reach for the lamp on my nightstand and breathe a ragged sigh as the soft glow lights up the room, assuring me I’m alone.
It must have been a sound from the courtyard. Some drunken idiot coming home and feeling the need to bang something against the iron bars on the ground-floor windows.
Nevertheless, I wrap a blanket around myself and pad through my studio apartment to check the front door in the small hall. It’s locked. And the door chain is still connected to the doorframe. I put my eye to the peephole and see pitch-black darkness. No one’s there.
Feeling somewhat reassured, I move on to check my small kitchen and bathroom before I go back to bed.