Savage Lies (The Empire of Vows #1)

Prologue

Katya

The painting in front of me must have cost a fortune. But I’m not here for art.

I’m here for him.

Dmitri Kozlov.

He’s across the gallery, moving around like he owns every inch of marble beneath his feet.

Six-foot-three of Bratva muscle in a charcoal suit. Dark hair already touched with silver at the temples—proof danger never goes out of style.

Those green eyes miss nothing, scanning for threats and cataloguing weaknesses. And when they land on me, I feel stripped bare.

He’s beautiful the way danger is, the kind that makes smart women do stupid things.

Women like me, if I’m not careful.

A year undercover as art curator Alexandra Volkova. Twelve months of lies, staged encounters, and playing the part of a woman who loves fine art and dangerous men.

Tonight is my last night in this role. Tomorrow, I disappear forever, and Dmitri Kozlov’s empire comes crashing down around his perfectly sculpted shoulders.

“The Degas is exquisite. Don't you think?”

His voice is low, smooth, and too damn close. The accent does something to me I don’t want to name. I turn, wine glass steady in my hand despite the way my body reacts to him being so close.

When did he even come over here?

“Breathtaking,” I agree, though I’m not looking at the painting.

“You’ve been watching me tonight, Alexandra.” My cover name sounds different when he says it; intimate somehow. “Any particular reason?”

Because I’m about to betray you.

Because you’re the most compelling man I’ve ever met.

Because in another life, I might have fallen for you for real.

“Can you blame me?” My gaze trails down his body. “You’re hard to ignore.”

Something flickers in those green eyes. Amusement, maybe, or recognition of the game we’re playing. He’s suspected me for weeks now; I know that much. My handler Viktor warned me that Kozlov’s intelligence network was getting too close.

But Dmitri hasn’t said a word, and that should bother me more than it does.

“Dance with me.” Not really a request.

The string quartet in the corner changes the song to something slow and haunting. Dmitri extends his hand, and I take it and let him lead me to the small dance floor where other couples move together.

His hand settles on my lower back, firm and in control like he owns the right to touch me. Like he’s done it before.

“Tell me something true.” His breath hits my neck, and I try not to flinch.

“What do you mean?”

“Something real. Not the lies you’ve been feeding me for months.”

He knows.

My training kicks in. Stay calm, maintain cover, extract gracefully and without drawing attention. His thumb moves slowly over my spine. My body reacts before I can stop it.

Heat coils low in my belly. My nipples tighten.

God, he’ll notice.

This is what he does to me, turning me into someone I don’t recognize. Someone who forgets her training and melts at the simplest contact.

I’ve had lovers before, carefully vetted partners approved by the FSB for physical release and cover maintenance. But none of them ever made me feel like my body belongs to someone else.

The worst part is that he knows. I see it in his mouth’s curve, the darkening of his eyes. He’s using his touch like a weapon.

“I think you’re dangerous.” I whisper probably the most honest thing I’ve said in a year.

“And yet, you’re still here.”

“Maybe I like danger.”

He pulls back to look at me, those green eyes searching my face for cracks in my mask. “Do you know what I think, little kitten?”

The pet name sends a shiver down my spine. He’s called me that three times in the past year. Always when we’re alone, always when he’s testing me.

“Tell me.”

“I think you’re not who you claim to be. I think you’re here for reasons that have nothing to do with art or culture or whatever other lies you’ve been telling yourself.”

My heart pounds against my ribs, but I keep my voice steady. “That’s quite an accusation.”

“Is it an accusation if it’s true?”

The music swells around us, and I realize we’ve stopped moving. Other couples continue their dance while we stand frozen in the center, staring at each other like we’re the only people in the room.

“What are you going to do about it?” I ask because what else is there to say?

His smile is slow and devastating. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Tonight, you’re still mine, Alexandra. Whatever comes tomorrow can wait.”

“We have an hour,” he adds, like he’s already decided how long I belong to him.

I open my mouth to respond, but the sound of screeching tires cuts through the elegant music. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I see a black sedan racing toward the building at an impossible speed.

“Get down!” Dmitri shouts, but there’s no time.

The car smashes through the gallery doors in an explosion of glass and twisted metal. Shockwaves hurl me backward. My skull cracks against marble with a sickening sound I both hear and feel.

Everything goes silent for a moment.

White.

Then the engine roars, and the real blast hits, louder than anything I’ve ever heard. Fire rolls through the gallery. I’m already falling, my vision fracturing like broken glass. My head slams marble again, and my teeth rattle.

Blood seeps hot beneath me, spreading fast. I try to move. To think. But my brain is static. Everything’s slipping away.

Someone screams.

Multiple someones.

The painting crashes somewhere nearby, its frame splintering, but the sound feels distant and unimportant.

Dmitri covers me, shielding my body with his. Debris rains down, but I barely feel it over the ringing in my head.

“Car bomb.” His voice is distant through the ringing in my head. “They found you.”

They found me.

Not him. Me.

What the hell is he talking about?

“We need to go,” I say, the words coming out slurred and broken.

Dmitri’s face swims in and out of focus above me. There’s blood on his forehead, and his perfect suit is torn and dusty.

“Stay with me, kitten.” I’m lying on the floor, my head in his lap.

The sirens are getting closer.

My vision blurs. Snippets of the last year flicker like a broken reel. Our first meeting, the almost-kiss outside the Bolshoi, the way he always watched me like he already knew.

I should have kissed him.

The thought comes from nowhere, but now that I’ve had it, it won’t stay away.

My memory feels strange, like someone’s shuffling through files in my head and losing important pieces. What was I doing here? Why does everything feel so far away?

“Dmitri?” His name feels foreign on my tongue, like I’m not sure I have the right to say it.

“I’m here.”

“I can’t… I don’t remember…”

He pulls me against his chest and asks, “Remember what, kitten?”

I can’t answer because the world is going dark around the edges, and the only thing that feels real is the weight of his hand against my cheek.

The sirens wail closer.

Blood pools beneath my head.

Dmitri’s green eyes are the last thing I see before everything goes black. The look on his face makes me think he’s deciding something that will change our lives forever.

I wish I could remember why that terrifies me.