Prologue

Six Days After the Wedding

The gun in my hand is aimed directly at my husband’s heart.

Nikolai Sokolov does not move.

He stands on the other side of the blackwood desk, the top two buttons of his dark shirt undone, a fresh line of blood running from his temple to his jaw. Behind him, Chicago burns bright beyond a wall of bulletproof glass. Below us, the mansion is waking to the scream of alarms and the thunder of boots in the corridors.

But inside this room, the only thing I hear clearly is the clock ticking away the seconds.

And my own breathing.

“Put it down, Anya.”

Nikolai’s voice is quiet.

That is what makes it terrifying.

Other men shout when they are angry. Nikolai lowers his voice, as though he has already decided who will die and refuses to waste breath on the rest.

I tighten my grip on the gun. “Step back.”

He looks at the barrel, then into my eyes. No surprise. No rage. Only a cold, impossible calm that tells me he has been waiting for this moment far longer than I have.

On the desk between us lies a black leather ledger.

The book that brought my father to his knees.

The book that could bury half of Chicago’s underworld.

Beside it rests a silver Zippo with one deep groove carved across its case.

I saw that mark once before, on a night filled with smoke and gunfire, when another man lay dying at my feet.

Ilya.

The man who saved my life.

“You killed him.” My voice fractures around the words. “It was you.”

An explosion rolls through the floor below. The glass trembles. A man’s urgent voice cracks through Nikolai’s earpiece.

“Pakhan, the east gate is down. We have less than three minutes.”

Nikolai does not answer. His gaze remains fixed on me.

“You opened the safe,” he says.

It is not a question.

“You knew I would.”

“I hoped you wouldn’t.”

I laugh, but it sounds like breaking glass. “You exposed the code. You turned the camera away for exactly twelve seconds. You left the ledger where I could find it. It was all a trap.”

“Yes.”

One word closes around my throat.

I entered this house with a perfect plan: play the obedient bride, find the ledger, trade it for my family’s freedom, and disappear before Nikolai realized the woman sleeping beside him had never belonged to him.

But the man in front of me never slept without knowing exactly what I was doing.

Perhaps even the nights when he turned his back and let me believe I was safe were simply another way of watching me.

“Why?” I ask. “Why did you choose me?”

For the first time, something cracks beneath Nikolai’s composure.

It is small. Gone in an instant.

But I have survived by noticing the fractures men try to hide.

“Not now.”

“There won’t be another time.”

Gunfire erupts closer. Someone screams beyond the door. Smoke slips through the gap beneath it, carrying the smells of scorched wood, metal, and blood.

Nikolai reaches up, removes his earpiece, and places it on the desk. Then he does the most reckless thing a man can do with a gun pointed at his chest.

He walks toward me.

“Stop.”

He keeps coming.

“I will shoot you.”

“I know.”

Only one step remains between us. I can see the bruise beneath his open collar—the mark my nails left last night. I can feel the heat of him. I can remember those same bloodstained hands pulling a blanket over my shoulders when he thought I was asleep, breaking a man’s wrist because he touched me without permission.

Monsters should not be gentle.

And intelligent women should not remember a monster’s tenderness when they need to pull the trigger.

Nikolai stops when the muzzle touches the left side of his chest.

He looks down at it, then closes his hand around my wrist.

He does not take the weapon.

He does not hurt me.

He only holds my trembling hand steady and presses himself harder against the barrel.

“If you want to collect Ilya’s debt,” he says, “do it now.”

I hate him because his voice does not shake.

I hate myself because my hand does.

“Tell me the truth.”

“The truth will not save your family.”

“I didn’t ask about my family.”

A shadow passes through the blade of light beneath the door. Nikolai tilts his head slightly. His instincts hear the danger before I do.

In the next instant, he drags me against his chest.

Three bullets punch through the door.

Wood explodes across the room. One round tears through Nikolai’s shoulder, spraying hot blood across my cheek. He turns his body over mine, draws the gun hidden at his back, and fires twice without looking.

Something heavy collapses in the corridor.

Then silence.

Nikolai still holds me. Too tightly. As though the mansion can burn and the city can fall, but none of it matters as long as I remain inside his arms.

“You’ve been shot.”

“A graze.”

“You just shielded the woman who was going to kill you.”

“You are my wife.”

“I am your traitor.”

Nikolai looks down at me. There is no forgiveness in his eyes. Only a promise far more ruthless.

“Those things are not mutually exclusive.”

He picks up the ledger with his bloodied hand, pushes it against my chest, and closes my fingers around the cold leather.

“The west exit will stay clear for two minutes. Take it and go.”

I stare at the book that can destroy him. “What about you?”

Nikolai sets the silver Zippo on top of the ledger.

“I will stay and kill everyone who made you choose.”

Gunfire rises again from below.

He turns his back on me, offering me the perfect shot.

All I have to do is pull the trigger.

All I have to do is take the ledger and run from this house, this marriage, and the man who made me his property before placing his life in my hands.

Instead, I hear myself ask, “Nikolai… what if I stay?”

He stops.

Outside, the men who came to kill us have broken through the second door.

Nikolai looks over his shoulder. Blood runs down his arm, but the smile that touches his mouth is calm enough to frighten the devil.

“Then tonight,” he says, “Chicago learns how to kneel before my bride.”