The Russian’s Innocent Prey (Kamarov Bratva #4)

Prologue – Anya

Five Years Ago

The underground club pulsed with a rhythm that matched my racing heart, all gold-drenched shadows and amber light that made everything feel like liquid sin.

The air was thick with aged whiskey and tobacco, expensive perfume mixing with the kind of masculine cologne that cost more than most people’s rent.

Everything here screamed money and danger in equal measure—exactly the kind of place I’d sworn I’d never step foot in.

But here I was, draped in black satin that clung to every curve like a lover’s promise, tucked into the VIP corner like some precious thing that needed guarding.

The dress had been Irene’s idea—a slip of nothing with a low back and a slit that climbed dangerously high up my thigh.

Every time I moved, the fabric caught the light, shimmering like dark water.

“You’re telling me you’ve never—” Irene’s voice cut through the music, loud enough that I wanted to sink into the leather booth and disappear. “Not even once?”

“Irene.” My cheeks burned, and I pressed my champagne flute to them, hoping the cool glass might hide the flush spreading down my neck.

“Come on, Anya. You’re twenty now. Twenty!” She gestured wildly, nearly spilling her drink. “And you’re sitting here surrounded by the hottest men in Chicago, and you’ve never—”

“They’re Bratva,” I hissed, cutting her off before she could announce my virginity to the entire club. “I wouldn’t touch them with a ten-foot pole.”

The lie tasted bitter on my tongue. Because the truth was, there was one man in this room who made my pulse stutter every time he so much as glanced in my direction.

One man who could stop my heart with nothing but the way he moved through a crowd like he owned not just the room, but everyone in it.

Lev Antonov.

He was standing by the bar now, all sharp lines and lethal grace in his tailored black suit.

Even in a room full of dangerous men, he stood apart—not because he was the loudest or the most obvious, but because of the way he held himself.

Like he was carved from marble and shadow, like violence was just another language he spoke fluently.

His dark hair was slicked back perfectly, not a strand out of place, and those steel-gray eyes of his swept the room with the kind of precision that made me think of predators. Everything about him was calculated, controlled. Dangerous in a way that should have sent me running.

Instead, it made me want to get closer.

“Anya Voronov, you are such a liar.” Irene’s voice pulled me back to the conversation I’d been trying to escape. “I see how you look at him.”

My stomach dropped. “Look at who?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. Lev.” She said his name like it was something delicious, and I wanted to throttle her. “The way you watch him when you think no one’s paying attention? It’s like you want to eat him alive.”

“I do not—”

“You do. And honestly? I don’t blame you. That man is sex on legs. All that dark, brooding energy? Those hands?” She shivered dramatically. “I bet he knows exactly how to use them.”

Heat coiled low in my belly at her words, and I pressed my thighs together under the table. This was exactly why I avoided thinking about Lev Antonov. Because once I started, I couldn’t stop. And that was a problem I couldn’t afford to have.

“He’s Maxim’s business partner,” I said, grasping for any excuse that might make sense. “It would be...complicated.”

“Complicated how? Your brother’s not here tonight.”

That was true. Maxim was in New York, handling some deal that required his personal attention. Which meant I was here with only Irene for company and a handful of security guards who treated me like I was made of spun glass.

Including Lev.

I risked another glance in his direction and found him watching me.

Not the casual sweep of eyes I’d grown used to, but focused attention that made my skin prickle with awareness.

He was leaning against the bar, one elbow resting on the polished wood, and his gaze was fixed on me with an intensity that made it hard to breathe.

When our eyes met, he didn’t look away. Just lifted his glass in a small salute that sent heat racing through my veins.

“Oh my God,” Irene breathed. “He’s looking at you.”

“He’s on duty,” I managed, tearing my gaze away from his. “Maxim asked him to keep an eye on me while he’s gone.”

“That’s not how a man looks at someone he’s babysitting, honey. That’s how a man looks at someone he wants to devour.”

The word ‘devour’ hit me like a physical blow, and I had to bite my lip to keep from making a sound. Because she was right. There was something predatory in the way Lev watched me, something that made me feel like prey. The kind of prey that wanted to be caught.

“I need another drink,” I said, pushing to my feet before Irene could say anything else that would make this worse.

The alcohol was already making me bold in ways that terrified me.

I could feel it in the loose way my hips moved as I walked, in the way I let my fingers trail along the back of the booth as I passed.

Everything felt heightened, electric. Like I was walking through a world made of lightning, and I was begging to be struck.

The bar was crowded, men in expensive suits conducting business over glasses of vodka that probably cost more than my dress.

I wedged myself into a gap between two conversations, close enough to the bartender to catch his attention but far enough from the other patrons to avoid getting drawn into their world.

“What can I get you?” The bartender was young, probably close to my age, with kind eyes and a nervous smile that said he knew exactly who I was.

“Champagne,” I said, then changed my mind. “Actually, vodka. Something good.”

He nodded and turned away to pour my drink, and I let myself relax for the first time all evening.

Here, surrounded by strangers, I could pretend to be someone else.

Someone who wasn’t Maxim Voronov’s little sister, who wasn’t wrapped in cotton wool and protected from everything interesting in life.

“That’s a dangerous choice for someone your age.”

The voice came from directly behind me, low and rough with just the hint of an accent that made my spine straighten. I knew who it was before I turned around, could feel the heat of him at my back like a physical presence.

“I’m twenty,” I said without turning. “I can handle vodka.”

“Can you?”

Lev moved to stand beside me at the bar, close enough that I could smell his cologne—something dark and expensive that made me want to press my face to his throat and breathe him in. He was taller than I’d realized, tall enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.

Up close, he was even more devastating. The sharp line of his jaw, the way his lips curved in what might have been amusement or something more dangerous. His skin was pale, almost marble-white, with the kind of bone structure that belonged in museums.

“I can handle a lot of things,” I said, accepting the vodka from the bartender with fingers that barely shook.

“I’m sure you can.” His voice was silk and smoke, and when he smiled, it was all sharp edges. “But that doesn’t mean you should.”

I took a sip of the vodka, letting it burn down my throat before answering. “Are you going to lecture me about making smart choices? Because I should warn you, I’m not in the mood to be managed tonight.”

“Managed?” He laughed, and the sound did dangerous things to my pulse. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“Isn’t it? Maxim’s not here, so you’re stuck babysitting his little sister. Making sure she doesn’t drink too much or talk to the wrong people or do anything that might reflect badly on the family name.”

Something shifted in his expression, a flicker of something that might have been surprise. Or approval.

“You think you know me,” he said.

“I know enough.” I turned to face him fully, emboldened by the vodka and the way his eyes tracked the movement. “You’re Lev Antonov. You work with my brother. You’re dangerous and you’re cold and you probably haven’t felt a genuine emotion since you were ten years old.”

The last part was a guess, but something in his face told me I’d hit closer to the mark than I’d intended.

“And what else do you know about me, Anya?”

Hearing my name in his voice was like being touched. It rolled off his tongue with a precision that made me want to hear him say it again, preferably while his hands were on my skin.

“I know you scare me,” I admitted, the words spilling out before I could stop them. “And I know I should stay away from you.”

“You should.” His voice was rough now, strained in a way that made something flutter low in my belly. “You absolutely should.”

“But I don’t want to.”

The confession hung in the air between us, loaded with all the things I couldn’t say. Like how I’d been watching him for months, stealing glances when I thought no one would notice. Like how he appeared in dreams I couldn’t control, doing things to me that made me wake up aching and ashamed.

Like how I’d worn this dress tonight, hoping he would look at me the way he was looking at me right now.

“Anya.” My name was a warning, but I was past caring about warnings.

“Dance with me.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m on duty. Because your brother trusted me to keep you safe. Because—”

“Because you’re afraid of what might happen if you touch me?”

The words were out before I could think better of them, bold and reckless and completely true. The vodka had burned away my inhibitions, left me raw and honest in a way that should have terrified me.

Instead, it felt like freedom.

Lev’s jaw tightened, and for a moment I thought he might walk away. Leave me standing at the bar with my heart hammering against my ribs and my pride in tatters.

Instead, he stepped closer.

“You have no idea what you’re playing with,” he said, his voice so low I had to lean in to hear him.

“Then show me.”