Chapter 1
Kirill
As I step into the lion’s den masquerading as a ballroom, only one thought claws its way through the noise—Kira. Since the Romano spawn walked into my club two nights ago, she’s all I can think about. Nothing else has mattered.
Misha’s orders haven’t stopped echoing in my head either. Not since I told him that one of Vincent Romano’s twins had a photo of our dead grandmother’s bracelet on some faceless woman’s wrist. A face that might just belong to the missing piece of our family.
Hope isn’t something men like me can afford, but the moment I saw that picture, I dared to believe.
Maybe Kira isn’t lost to us after all. Maybe she’s alive. Maybe she’s closer than we ever imagined. We spent years searching for her. Years losing hope.
Shame and guilt gnaw at me for ever thinking that finding Kira alive and well was just a far-fetched dream—one our family didn’t deserve to come true.
The only one of us who never gave up was the man who made sure Katya’s killer met the same end as our beloved sister.
Misha never gave up on finding our long-lost niece.
It’s not in his nature to give up. For my brother, giving up on Kira would be the same as betraying Katya’s memory.
And he’d never allow that from any of us.
Still, honoring our sister was easier said than done.
Katya had always been the clever one in the family.
If she wanted to hide her daughter from the world, she would’ve moved heaven and earth to do it.
After all, she left us behind in Russia to protect her unborn child from Vasily’s callous hands.
So I’m not surprised that even in death, she found a way to shield Kira from the dangers of the world.
The only thing my brave sister didn’t account for was getting caught by that bastard, Vasily, in the end. Or maybe she did. She hid Kira well enough—from him, and from us.
Knowing that a piece of Katya survived, but that we—her blood—were shut out of Kira’s life in the process, is a wound that has never truly healed.
Misha turned vengeful. Sasha grew cruel. While Kostya and I were left with nothing but emptiness. Emptiness and duty. In our pursuit to annihilate everyone tied to Katya’s downfall, we became the very monsters she once fled from. We became Bratva.
This is our life now. And I can’t help but wonder what my doting sister would think if she saw us like this. Would she be proud? Or would she be grateful that her daughter never grew up in a world like ours?
Either way, there’s no turning back now. This life claimed our souls long ago.
Like my eldest brothers, I took the Bratva business like a fish in water.
Kostya, on the other hand, resents every part of it. I blame the years he’s spent in America, chasing the illusion of a dream that was never his to have. Still, for Katya’s memory, he’s endured every trial that comes with being a Petrov. For years, that name has meant nothing but blood and loss.
Maybe this is our chance to change that. To lead us back to something pure. Now, we finally have a clue. A chance to bring back the last untainted part of what we once were. To bring a piece of Katya home.
That’s why I’m here at this cursed ball, forced to play nice with people who mean nothing to me, just to get closer to the king of Chicago’s underworld—the Capo Dei Capi himself, Vincent Romano.
If his children know where Kira is, I need to worm my way into his kingdom and into the Romano clan’s orbit.
The fatal mistake would be asking the crime boss outright where my niece is.
That would be offering him one of my family’s greatest weaknesses on a silver platter.
Not that it would do us any good since I’m positive that Vincent is as clueless about Kira’s whereabouts as I am.
He doesn’t know. On that, I’d bet my life.
No capo worth his salt would ever let his kids wander into Bratva territory without a phalanx of bodyguards.
Vincent would be furious if he found out three of his children came to pay me a visit alone.
The only sensible conclusion is that their little field trip to my club was done off-book, without their father’s consent or knowledge.
That alone confirms my suspicion that Vincent has no idea about Kira’s existence or her importance to my family. Only his children can point the way.
Still, Misha was very insistent that I be on my best behavior when acquiring intel.
Not that he cares about such pleasantries, but Vincent and Misha have an unspoken alliance that’s served us well as the Bratva takes root in the States.
With Sasha having all but declared war on the Cranes in London, the last thing Misha wants is to pick a fight with the Outfit.
Wars are expensive—both in lives and in money. And when it comes to fucking with a boss’s children, it’s a death sentence waiting to happen.
I’ll just have to get creative.
With my head back on the game, my signature smirk tugs at the corner of my lips as the sea of tuxedos and glittering gowns parts, eyes following my every move as I walk deeper into the room in search of my target.
I’m not one bit bothered by the way these vapid socialites and the supposed rulers of the world whisper behind my back and gawk.
I’m used to standing out. Especially when it comes to the way I present myself.
Unlike most of the men here, I refused to wear a monkey suit for the occasion.
Instead, I chose a suit and kept my usual all-black attire.
It’s sharper, cleaner, but still mine. No tie.
Never a tie. Mostly because I like the scandalized looks I get whenever the upper crust and high society types come face to face with the ink branded on my neck.
Let them stare. Let them glower and take in every hard angle of my menacing form. I’m not here for them. I’m here for her.
It doesn’t take long to spot the king and queen of the night, and my steps move toward them of their own accord. But as I draw closer, Selene Romano’s red hair pulls a genuine grin across my face.
Hmm… so that’s where their daughter gets her fire.
Stella Romano. Her name alone tastes like the most decadent honey rolling on the tip of my tongue.
I’m not the type of man who is easily swayed by a pretty face, but even I have to admit that when Stella stormed into my club—all fury and flame—she caught my attention.
If my grandmother’s bracelet hadn’t been the reason for her visit, I might have taken my time to persuade her to stay at the club a little longer.
Just long enough to pull her to my bed, to watch her red hair splayed across my pillow, my tattooed hand at her throat, those emerald eyes glassy staring back at me with want.
Still, the moment I saw that bracelet on the phone of her pesky brother, everything changed.
I couldn’t let her, or her brothers, see how it rattled me.
So I did what I do best. I hid the truth behind a smirk.
Every tease, every provocation was just a distraction, a way to mask the storm brewing under my skin.
Even if that hadn’t been the case, I’m not foolish enough to act on my impulses.
Stella is far too young. Too forbidden. Too dangerous a toy to play with. And yet, remembering how her cherry-red hair brought a translucent light to my somber club, I can’t pretend the temptation isn’t there.
Yes, Stella Romano leaves quite an impression. Even when she shouldn’t.
My thoughts of his daughter fade the moment Vincent’s eyes find mine. He ends his conversation with practiced ease, waiting for the couple to drift off before finally acknowledging my presence.
“Petrov,” he greets, his tone guarded. “What an unwelcome surprise. I’m not used to seeing you at events like these.”
“Romano.” I offer a curt nod in greeting before flashing a smile at his pretty little wife. “And this must be the famous Selene Romano I’ve heard so much about.” I reach for her hand, intending to brush a kiss across her knuckles, but Vincent is quick to step forward, blocking my attempt.
“Why are you here, Kirill?”
“For the same reason you are, I’m sure.” I offer him a shark-like grin. “I’ve lived in this city for the past four years now, and not once have I made the society pages. I thought it was time I remedied that fact. After all, it seems to have done wonders for your family.”
“I see. So you’re chasing an ego boost?”
“Oh, I’m chasing something alright,” I answer, my gaze shifting to the blonde girl pressed against Selene’s side.
Hmm. This must be their youngest. Annamaria, if memory serves. Unlike Stella, whose hair dares to defy, this one is all innocence and composure. Too demure. Too saintly. Far too sweet for my taste.
“And what exactly are you chasing?” Vincent presses, bringing my attention back to him.
“I’ll tell you when I find it. Have a lovely evening. Ladies, a pleasure.” And with a taunting smirk, I slip away.
I can feel Vincent’s eyes bore a hole in the back of my head as I slip toward the bar at the end of the room.
Good. My mission is to get into his orbit, but it can’t look like that’s my goal.
Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither is my plan to infiltrate the Romano world. I’ll have to be discreet while remaining close enough to stay on Vincent’s radar. It’s a tightrope I’ll have to walk carefully on if I want answers.
One way or another, I’ll find my way in. For tonight, just putting myself in his line of sight will be enough to pique his curiosity. He’ll come to me. Not the other way around.
I turn down the offer of bubbly champagne and order vodka instead. After downing a shot, I roam through the ballroom, watching… waiting… biding my time until Vincent comes and finds me.