Chapter 3 – Sasha
It’s been just under twenty-four hours since I landed back in New York, and there’s been no sign of Lev Rusnak.
Not that I can blame him. I didn’t give him my number, didn’t give him anything at all to work with. When he stepped off the plane at the airport, all he said was, “I’ll find you myself.” As if that’s supposed to be easy.
Except…somehow, I almost believe it.
Still, New York is vast. Millions of people, endless noise, faces that blur together the moment you turn the corner. Whatever magnetic pull I felt in Milan, whatever dangerous charm he wrapped around me on that canal, it shouldn’t follow me here.
I tell myself that as I walk through the streets, the city alive with its usual pulse. I tell myself I’ve shaken him off, that I’m back to my life, my rules. But there’s a part of me—a part I hate—that keeps glancing over my shoulder.
Waiting.
Wondering.
Because deep down, I know a man like Lev Rusnak doesn't make idle promises. And if he said he’ll find me…he will. I want him to. I already regret not giving him my number. Who am I kidding? I felt the same attraction. It was intense.
I’m halfway down the block to my hotel when a sleek black car pulls up in front of me, smooth and deliberate, like it’s been waiting.
The tinted window hums down, and the driver leans out, his face unreadable. He holds out an envelope.
“Miss Marino,” he says, certain. Too certain. “For you.”
My heart skips. I shouldn’t take it. I definitely shouldn’t. But my hand moves before I can stop myself, the paper cool and heavy against my fingers. I already know who this is from. I know. He found me.
I rip it open, pulse racing. The handwriting is bold, confident.
Have a rooftop dinner with me tonight. Seven p.m. Do not make me come find you.
My mouth goes dry.
The driver doesn’t leave. Instead, he steps out and goes around to the trunk, pulling out a massive black box tied with satin ribbon. He lifts it like it’s fragile, like it’s a treasure, and sets it in my arms.
“This,” he says simply, “has everything you might need.”
The weight nearly tips me off balance. I peek inside, just a glance, and my breath hitches. Silk. Heels. Jewelry that catches the light even in the fading sun.
I snap the lid shut, heat rising to my face.
When I look up, the car is already sliding away, leaving me standing there on the sidewalk with a box full of things I didn’t ask for and one question pounding in my head.
How the hell did he even find me?
I almost run the whole way to my hotel, the box clutched tight against me like it might vanish if I loosen my grip. My heels click too fast on the tiles as I push into the room.
Maya is sprawled across her bed, one leg dangling off the side, the TV blaring some reality show. She barely looks up at first, but then her eyes snap to the enormous black box in my arms.
“What is that?” she demands, sitting up instantly.
I dump the box onto my bed and let out a shaky breath. “You’re not going to believe this.”
And then I tell her. Every single detail. The car pulling up. The note. His handwriting. Do not make me come find you.
By the time I finish, Maya’s mouth is wide open. She gasps so dramatically I almost laugh. “Shut. Up. He did that? Girl, are you serious?”
“I shouldn’t even be entertaining this,” I mutter, pacing the room.
“But you are entertaining it,” she shoots back, eyes gleaming. “Because you’re already imagining what he’ll look like when you show up in that dress.”
I roll my eyes, but the heat crawling up my neck betrays me.
Maya leans forward. “So? Are you going?”
I glance at my phone on the nightstand. 4:02 p.m. The dinner invitation burns in my head like a neon sign.
My answer comes without words. I bolt for the bathroom.
Behind me, Maya squeals, “Oh my God, she’s going!”
The door clicks shut, and I’m already stripping out of my clothes, heart hammering like I’ve stepped onto a roller coaster I can’t get off.
Against my better judgment, I step under the shower.
The hot water runs over my skin, and I keep telling myself this is ridiculous, that I should toss the dress back in the box and send it to whatever penthouse he crawled out of.
But by the time I’m toweling off, Maya is already rummaging through the package like it’s Christmas morning.
“Girl,” she calls, voice muffled by rustling tissue paper, “this man is not playing. It’s Valentino. Valentino, Sasha. Do you know what that means?”
“It means I should be very afraid,” I mutter, twisting my damp hair into waves.
When I finally step out, she’s holding the dress up in front of her like she’s on the runway. The fabric glows red, liquid silk catching the light. My stomach flips. It’s bold. Too bold. And way too feminine for someone who spends half her life in a stiff uniform.
I hesitate, but Maya is already thrusting it at me. “Try. It. On.”
The zipper slides up too easily, as if the dress was molded for me. I freeze when I catch myself in the mirror. The plunging neckline, the fitted waist, the way the skirt flows when I move—it makes me look like someone else entirely. Someone dangerous. Someone he might want to devour.
Maya whistles low. “Oh, honey. You look like sin served on a silver platter. He’s going to lose his mind.”
“Don’t say that.” My voice comes out thinner than I want.
But it’s true. I can’t stop staring. The dress makes me look…breathtaking. Terrifyingly so.
Then Maya digs deeper into the box and pulls out a velvet case. My heart sinks when I open it. A necklace and earrings set, ruby-red stones surrounded by tiny sparkling crystals. I run my fingers over them, afraid they’re diamonds. Afraid they’re real.
“Holy hell, Sasha, put them on!” Maya says, already unclasping the necklace.
“No.” I snap the box shut, shaking my head. “If they’re real, I’m not keeping them. I don’t care if he’s Lev Rusnak. I’m not wearing another man’s wealth around my neck like a price tag.”
I look at myself again in the mirror. Red silk. Bare shoulders. Loose waves falling just right. For one dizzying second, I don’t recognize the woman staring back.
And I can’t decide if that terrifies me—or excites me.
Maya is relentless. “Just try the necklace, Sasha. What’s the worst that could happen? If it’s real, you give it back. But tonight? You wear it.”
Before I can protest again, she’s already unclasping it and draping the cool weight across my collarbone. The rubies glow against my skin, scandalous and rich. I catch my reflection and swallow hard. I look like I belong in another world entirely.
The box also held shoes, of course. Strappy, black, impossibly high. Maya kneels like it’s some royal coronation, buckling them onto my feet with a grin. “There. Now you’re unstoppable.”
A sharp knock rattles the hotel door. My heart rockets into my throat. I dart to open it and find a staff member holding another note.
I tear it open, my pulse hammering:
Driver is downstairs in the garage. Don’t be late.
Maya squeaks. “Oh my God, this is literally a movie.” She spins toward me, eyes wide, vibrating with secondhand excitement. “Okay, listen. Phone fully charged, location on. Text me updates. Every thirty minutes minimum. If you feel off, you leave. Got it?”
I nod, a laugh breaking through my nerves. “Yes, Mom.”
She squeezes my shoulders and kisses my cheek. “Now go knock him dead. Or better yet, make him work for it.”
I grab my clutch and hurry out, heart pounding in my ears.
The garage smells faintly of oil and concrete. A sleek black car waits, polished so sharp it reflects the fluorescent lights. The driver is already outside, holding the rear door open for me with a professional smile.
“Ms. Marino,” he says, as if I’ve been expected all my life.
I lower myself into the car, the dress whispering around my legs, the necklace cool at my throat. The door shuts with a solid thunk, and suddenly I’m cocooned in leather and silence.
And the realization hits me—
I’m really doing this.
Almost thirty minutes later, the car glides to a stop in front of a sleek glass tower that rises like it owns the skyline. My throat goes dry. This is not dinner. This is a setup for something I have no business stepping into.
The driver steps out, opens my door, and gestures toward a polished marble lobby. “Private elevator to the penthouse,” he says. Just like that. As if it’s normal.
My heels click too loudly as I cross the floor. I press the button, the doors slide open, and the elevator swallows me whole. My reflection stares back from the mirrored walls—red dress, diamonds I don’t deserve, nerves written all over my face.
The doors part again, and there he is.
Lev Rusnak.
He’s waiting at the threshold of his penthouse, like a man who already knew I would come. Dark shirt, sleeves rolled up, watch gleaming on his wrist—every detail screaming old money and quiet danger. I can’t believe how insanely gorgeous he looks right now.
And he’s smiling at me, as if I’m not the one out of place here.
“Welcome, Sasha.” His voice is silk and smoke, curling under my skin.
Before I can form a word, he gestures for me to follow. We walk through the wide, understated luxury of his apartment, and then he pushes open glass doors—
And the rooftop swallows me whole.
Strings of gold lights drape above us, glowing warm against the night. The city stretches endlessly below, all glitter and heartbeat.
I actually stop breathing.
“Lev…” I whisper, because I don’t know what else to say.
He looks at me like he’s already won. “You are impossibly beautiful, Sasha. You take my breath away.”
My breath hitches like I don’t get compliments thrown my way every waking second. “Thank you,” I manage, though my voice doesn’t sound like mine.
He turns to the table a few feet away, where a bottle of wine waits. He lifts it, the dark glass glinting under the lights, and makes a show of uncorking it—slow, practiced, the soft pop echoing louder than it should in my chest.