My footsteps pound on the pavement like the relentless beating of a drum. My lungs feel like they’re going to burst. My legs ache. I barely notice the rush of cherry blossoms past me or the pedestrians by the park, I’m so blinded by the sweat in my eyes. I push myself harder, faster, longer. It’s a mind game, a mind fuck.

Everything is.

I turn the left corner between Maple and Tower street and see my destination in front of me. I’m so far away it’s merely a blur, but as long as I can see what’s in front of me clearly, I can keep going.

My mentor Kolya told me that training — all training — should be faced as if your life was on the line. Nothing’s in vain. You’re not running for the sake of a healthy heart or stronger lungs, you’re running from an enemy who’s going to slit your throat when he catches you.

So when I finally arrive at Mikhail and Aria’s house, I come to a stop, elbows to knees, heaving with the effort of breathing. I barely feel the brush of wind past me, the promise of stagnant summer heat later. After a few moments of heavy breathing, I start to come to.

I notice cars outside — Aleks and Harper are here, likely with their small crew of kids. Mom’s car’s here, but no Polina. Viktor. Lev.

Frowning, I take out my phone and look down. I never miss a call or text, and today’s no different. Nothing missed. Then why’s everyone here? 
I run my arm across my sweaty brow to clear my vision and trot up the stairs.

“There he is.” Mikhail jerks his head in greeting at me as he walks past the doorway, his one-year-old son Sasha in his arms. It’s fitting as pakhan to the Romanov family and older brother to all, Mikhail had the first child. It was time.

My brother Aleksandr holds his infant son beside his wife Harper who’s holding the second twin. Both babies have their daddy’s bright blue eyes and mama’s honey-blonde hair. I turn to the sound of a child’s laugh to see my mom walking toward the dining room hand-in-hand with Harper’s toddler Ivy.

Our family’s growing in leaps and bounds as Mikhail and Aria’s baby just turned one, and Aleksandr and his wife just had baby twins. With Harper’s toddler completing the ensemble, my mother is in her absolute glory with four grandchildren. I haven’t seen her this happen in years. 

It had to happen. If we’re going to establish ourselves as the premier Bratva group in the Cove, the area of New York nestled between Coney Island and Manhattan, the stomping grounds we own and operate, we had to grow our numbers by recruiting and expanding.

“Where have you been?” Mikhail snaps.

I gesture down to the sleeveless workout tee clinging to body slicked with sweat, my running shorts, and my running shoes. “Thought I’d try out my suit for the gala. Prepare for the Paparazzi and all that.”

“He’s swimming in sweat from head to toe,” Harper responds. “I can smell him from here. Either he’s just come in from a run or no one’s told us the zombie apocalypse is upon us.”

Aleksandr chuckles from behind him, shaking his head. “Nikko always goes for a run on Sunday at noon, Mikhail. You know that. Monday through Friday you can set a clock by his five a.m. workouts but he takes a break on Sunday and only goes for a run.”

“That’s why I pay you to keep track of this sh—stuff,” Mikhail says, scowling. The presence of children slows his roll. I’d bet he misses the days he could curse on a whim.

I walk past both of them and head to the kitchen. “Did I miss something? Why’s everyone here?”

The two of them exchange a look as I grab a bottle of water. Mikhail nods. “Yeah. We have an urgent matter to discuss, but we wanted to wait until it was in person. Just us.”

In other words, they waited for my mother to come so she could watch the kids, most likely. None of the nannies work Sundays. 
Interesting.

I reach into the fridge and grab a pre-made protein shake. Twist the cap off, down half of it in a few gulps. “What is it?”

Mikhail frowns. “We’ve discovered a connection between the attempt at poisoning Harper and the attack on Lev.”

I stand up straighter. Instantly alert. The type of retribution demanded by this type of situation will fall squarely on my shoulders. 
When someone needs to die, you call me. 

Seven minutes later, I’m freshly showered and dressed, sitting on Mikhail’s balcony that overlooks the ocean. Aleks sits on my left and my younger brother Viktor to my right, nursing a cup of coffee. Mikhail’s on his way because he had to consult with his wife Aria, our head hacker and cybersecurity pro.

“Aleks, what’s going on?” I ask. 

Aleksandr, who works alongside Aria, broods, looking over the Manhattan skyline visible from Mikhail’s balcony.

He shakes his head. “Wait for Mikhail. We all need to be present.”

Viktor, silent and hulking, sits brooding. Our group heavy, hulking, tattooed, and typically dressed in leather, sometimes his mere presence is enough to ward off enemies. And if it isn’t, he’s willing and able to get shit done.

Lev, however, gets to his feet and begins to pace. Our youngest brother by several years, Lev is a trained fighter and our team strategist. With his athletic build, he’s the one we send in to maneuver through tricky situations and defend himself if needed. Confident, with a magnetic presence that women everywhere swoon over, Lev doesn’t ever get romantically entangled. He’s too occupied with other things.

“Ollie joining us?” Lev asks, his jaw tight.

“Remotely.”

Jesus. It’s been over a year since Mikhail and Aria had their son Sasha and our brother Ollie’s been stationed in Moscow. He came home for Sasha’s baptism, then went straight back to Moscow.

“When’s he coming home?”

Aleks shakes his head, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “Don’t know.”

“We’re stronger when we’re together,” I say, shaking my head.

“While that might be true,” Mikhail says from the balcony doorway as he comes out to meet us, “In this case, it might not be.”

What does that mean?

Mikhail slides the balcony door shut firmly behind him. I watch him curiously. The balcony at his home may be the easiest place to get to that blocks out all sound from any other floor or person. There’s no interference. Whatever he needs to tell us is big.

“Aria and Aleks together unlocked some prime intel,” Mikhail says, walking past the chairs and toward the edge of the balcony. He leans against the wrought iron fence and crosses his arm on his chest. Deep-set dark brown eyes beneath heavy brows, golden, tanned skin, and dark brown hair tinged with flecks of gold make him look almost godlike. He’s a bit more civilized than the rest of us but they still call him the Siberian tiger.

“You know we’ve been on the trail of those who attacked us for some time now. You know we’ve narrowed it down to rival Bratva and a few subsidiary groups as well. In recent weeks, Aria’s discovered that the subsidiaries weren’t actually behind any attacks on us but funded by the larger groups.” His tone grows sober when his eyes harden. Mikhail is known as the Siberian tiger for a reason.

“Brothers,” he says, ensuring he has whatever residual attention he may not have fully had beforehand. “We have names.”

Unlike a lot of other rival groups in New York, ours is one of the only not related by blood. Like other Russian factions before us, our father decided he would ensure allegiance by adopting all of us. But blood isn’t what bonds us all together.

Loyalty. Honor. Trust. The ties of familial bonds run deep despite the way our family was born.

When Mikhail calls us by name, it’s like a call to arms. A summoning. A flare that lights the night sky calling all of us to action. Any one of us would lay down his life for the other, a claim some of our rivals could never make.

“Names,” Lev says, his jaw tightening. Recent years have hardened the softer features of his younger face. He was the one who suffered an all-out attack and a beating that left him hospitalized shortly after Mikhail was made pakhan in the wake of our father’s death. He was the one outnumbered and left for dead outside a nightclub.

Mikhail straightens. While Lev was personally attacked, Mikhail’s wife was nearly poisoned to death. “Ivanov. Petr Ivanov.”

“Son of a bitch,” Lev says under his breath, shaking his head. “After all we did for him.”

“Right.”

When my father was still here and we were a fledgling group, we ran surveillance for Ivanov at our own risk for what was a pittance in hindsight. 
“He doesn’t care. He knows we own The Cove and he wants in.” Mikhail shakes his head, no further explanation needed. They all do.

After my father’s death, we took down our greatest rival, Fyodor Volkov. But after his death, other groups vied for power and attention in the coveted Cove. Our location gives us prime access to several major ports and airports.

Ivanov.

A chill runs through me at the knowledge that we have a target. This is my area of expertise. I stand and straighten my shoulders. “Tell me everything.”

Mikhail shakes his head.

“Problem with the Ivanov’s is that Petr is untouchable. He’s invested more time and money in his own protection than most invest in their entire family. Classic, textbook narcissist. So he’s surrounded by an army of monsters who will stop at nothing to keep him safe.”

I snort. “Like I fucking care. Give me a sniper rifle and a sight and I’ll take him down no matter the protection he’s put around him. I don’t care if he lives in a fucking protection so impervious he’s practically in another dimension. You know I will.”

Mikhail nods. “I know you will, but it isn’t worth the risk and Kolya and I have been consulted. We have what we believe to be a better plan.” 
“Mikhail. Better plan? Better than sending me to take him out once and for all?”

“Sit down, Nikko,” Mikhail says calmly. “I’d bet my fucking life on you exacting revenge. But then what? It’s more complicated than that. What if his was only the beginning of a much larger plan to take us down? What if he acts as the lackey for another man in a position of power? What if the assassination of Petr Ivanov is the first domino we strike down, only to start something too big for us to handle? We do need to take Ivanov out, but we have to have a crystal clear strategy before we do.” ”

He has a point. I cross my arms on my chest and listen and finally give a reluctant nod. “Go on.”

“And I have more details that will help us form our plan.” Kolya’s voice comes from behind me. I turn to see him entering the balcony. Ten years our senior, he was one of my father’s best friends in the military. He became an older brother to us, a mentor, trained us in hand to hand combat and so much more. While Mikhail has become the patriarch of our family, Kolya will forever be our advisor.

We’re all ears.

“Ivanov has two daughters. One is engaged to be married to a high-ranking captain of the Ledyanoye Bratstvo.”

A shadow passes over Lev’e features but it passes so quickly I wonder if I’ve imagined it. Does he know more about them than he’s letting on? 
“But his younger daughter, Vera Ivanov, is single. Brilliant. And stunning.”

Mikhail’s eyes are fixed on me as he continues where Kolya left off.

“Vera Ivanov’s been selected to join a prestigious graduate student program for gifted medical students in Moscow. Thanks to my wife’s impeccable research, I have it on good authority that he cares more about his reputation than he does his actual family. He hasn’t shared a bed with his wife in twenty years and has a different mistress in every major city in Russia. He has nothing to do with his daughters, but treats his son as if he were the next coming of Christ.”

Classic. I roll my eyes but nod.

“His wife, Zofia Ivanova, has insisted her daughter bring a bodyguard to Moscow. His wife also despises her husband’s homeland and disallowed her daughter to learn the language, which puts her at a disadvantage.”

“Ahh,” Viktor says, his deep rumble of a voice getting all our attention since he rarely speaks during meetings. Or, honestly, at all. “I see where you’re going with this.”

I think I see, too, but I want to hear Mikhail explicitly state what he’s thinking. I’m slow to make decisions, and I don’t ever jump to conclusions. 
Mihail nods. “No one’s ever met this new bodyguard. Vera has no idea what he looks like, and Vera’s father won’t be anywhere near her…at least at first. And we only need a few weeks.”

“I could go,” Viktor says. “I could pretend to be her bodyguard—”

Mikhail nods. “You will go, Viktor. You’ll take out the current bodyguard.” Mikhail’s eyes ice over. “We happen to know for a fact that the man her father’s hired as bodyguard was only hired as a favor to his Moscow Mistress. He’s been convicted on charges of child abuse and ownership of child pornography, and only released because of his connection to Ivanov.” Mikhail scowls. “I want you to know who you’re dealing with before you end him, Viktor.” He leans forward. “Be silent. Be decided. We’ll due away with his body so there’s no evidence. But for the love of Christ, make it fucking hurt.”

Viktor is someone we easily rely on but he does better work when he has a clear motive. He has no qualms about taking the life of an enemy but considers it an act of justice to do away with someone whose actions he considers heinous and reprehensible.

Fuck. He’s chosen Viktor instead of me, for whatever reason. If he—

Mikhail turns to me. “Nikko. You’ll go with him.”

It takes me a second to register what he just said. “Me?”

Mikhail nods. “You most closely match the profile of the man hired to protect her. With a few small tweaks, you’d pass for him at a distance. The others would stand out too much.” Mikhail holds my gaze. “Listen carefully. Your job is to pretend to be her bodyguard. Get close to her, Nikko. Find out everything you can about her father and his operation. And only when the time is right,” he pauses, his words weighing heavily as he lays out my job. “You’ll end him.”

I nod. I’ll accept this responsibility. It’s the only choice I have, and even if I had another, this is the one that I’d choose. I’m dedicated to protecting the life of my family, no matter the cost.

“You said she speaks no Russian,” I say thoughtfully, tapping my chin. “Should make things interesting since I don’t speak any English.” 
Lev snorts, Aleks grins at me, and even Kolya cracks a reluctant smile. “That will absolutely make it easier for you to gather intel,” Kolya admits, with a shrug. “To a degree.”

“When do I leave?”

Aleks pulls out an iPad and pulls out what looks like an itinerary. “This is Vera Ivanov’s schedule. Aria’s set a drone in place to map her for a few days so you can get an idea of her habits, how she operates, where she goes and what she does. I’ve tapped into her mobile and online browsing as well.” He shakes his head. “I’m telling you, Mikhail, the fact that Aria and I run cybersecurity for you guys puts you head and shoulders above everyone. They don’t even have biometric sensors or quantum encryption GPS trackers in place.” He shakes his head and curses in Russian, obviously disgusted.

I have no idea what the fuck a quantum encryption GPS tracker is, and only the vaguest idea that the biometric sensors monitor our health and location remotely, but I take his word for it that it’s important and maybe even necessary.

“Her father’s set it up so that her new bodyguard will accompany her from America to Moscow. They’re scheduled to meet in three days at the airport. She’ll fly from there to Moscow. And you, Vera’s bodyguard, will go with her. It doesn’t matter if anyone else sees you since no one else has met the real bodyguard. The only person who can’t see you is her father’s mistress, but those chances are slim and none.” He jerks his chin at Viktor. 

“And thanks to Viktor, no one will notice he’s gone. He’ll be given a burner phone to communicate with the rest of the Ivanov team as well.” 
I’ve never had such a mammoth task before me. An assassination is a clear instruction, something easy to accomplish with the right tools. This is something entirely different — an assassination with a twist, one might say.

“Perfect.” I love a challenge.

“Here,” Aleks says, taking a file out of his laptop bag and handing it to me. “This is everything we’ve complied for Vera Ivanov for you to familiarize yourself with her before you go in.”

I open the file and school my features so I don’t give away my shock at seeing her. Delicate features framed by long, chestnut hair cascades in loose waves around her shoulders. Emerald-green eyes highlighted with long, thick lashes display intelligence and curiosity, but the slight upturn of her little nose hints at mischief. A smattering of freckles across her nose adds to her wholesome appeal. Despite her slender frame, there’s a quiet strength in her posture and movements, hinting at hidden reserves of determination.

I stare at the portrait of the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on and can’t have.

Kolya looks over my shoulder as I continue to read the specs. “You’ve been trained for this, Nikko. Pretend she’s poison. Tell yourself that if you touch her you turn to stone.”

Mikhail grows cold. “Tell yourself that if you touch her you’ll die.”

Or, stay completely detached. Made of stone. Impermeable.

Stay focused on my job, because I have an obligation to kill her father.