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  “My Roman,” she breathes, while I’m deep inside of her.

  Mercilessly, I shove the memory away and concentrate on my surroundings, something I should have done hours ago. Carefully, I pull the curtains aside and peer out.

  At first, like a drunk man becoming sober, I don’t recognize the buildings or the river running past the hotel, or the cobblestone street, and I have to take a deep, sustaining breath.

  I look again, the beat of my heart steadying as I realize where we are.

  Hotel Pariz, Prague, in the Tower suite.

  A black Mercedes pulls up to the curb. The driver opens the door and two men, both tall and blond, step out. I clench my jaw as one of them glances upward.

  Sebastian Romanov.

  I check my mobile. There’s still no answer from Vladimir. So I text him again, while watching him walk to the hotel entrance with my brother—In Prague. Urgent.—and then toss my phone on the bed.

  While Everly hums as she moves around the room, I track my target. Sebastian and our father seem comfortable with one another. I am not envious of Sebastian. I don’t feel anything at all toward him. The last time I spoke to Vladimir was over two years ago, and it was cordial more than anything else.

  He knows I don’t care about reclaiming our lost years together. I have no desire to make peace, because I’m not at war with him in the first place. I accept my father for who he is, for who he will never be, and stay the hell away.

  I doubt Sebastian feels the same way or has the opportunity to feel the same way. Our younger brother, Christian, is the exception. He uses every opportunity to tell Vladimir to sod off—until recently, that is. Love is funny like that, and, by all accounts, Christian is very much in love with his wife.

  Now that, I envy—the freedom to love and be loved in return. The freedom to move anywhere you want and settle down, without fear of reprisal from an organization that rarely allows its members to leave alive.

  Could I leave? I’ve never thought of it before. I glance back at Everly. She smiles at me and shrugs into her coat, lifting her hair up and out. It falls around her shoulders in soft waves.

  Before her, I never had a reason to leave.

  *

  We stop at the entrance to a rather dingy-looking cafe. She gives me an odd look. “You want to eat lunch here?”

  “You will love the food.” Honestly, I have no idea if she will love the food or not, but Vladimir and Sebastian are across the street, dining outside, where anyone could come by and blow off their heads. People would scream and cause a big commotion, but no one would see enough to tell the authorities. No one ever does.

  “That place looks more…inviting. We can sit outside,” she says, already pulling on my arm.

  “No. I prefer this bistro.” It’s quiet, without much traffic, even at dinnertime. The tables by the window would provide just the right amount of cover and view of my half-brother and father.

  Viktor would expect me to do this. Normally, I would do this. I learn my targets’ habits—where they eat, where they sleep, and who they screw.

  It’s all carefully choreographed, you see, much like the steps I’m trying to teach Everly without her knowing there’s a dance at all.

  Everly sighs, longing in her eyes as she gives the restaurant across the street one last look. “Fine.”

  Wrapping my arms around her, I dip my head to whisper in her ear, “I promise to make it up to you when we get back to the hotel room.” I bite her lobe and then suck.

  She gasps and angles her head slightly. “You’d better.”

  Reluctantly, I let her go and open the door. We walk inside, and thankfully, the interior does not match the exterior.

  “It’s so pretty in here!” Everly exclaims.

  Paintings hang on every available surface, while small vases of flowers adorn each table. White lace tablecloths cover them, and chairs made of a light-colored wood are ready for customers.

  “We would like a table with a view of the street,” I say.

  “Yes, sir,” the hostess murmurs.

  She leads us to a table by the window, and I pull out a chair for Everly. After she sits, I take my spot of choice, with my back against the wall.

  Everly looks at her menu, her brow furrowing. “I need some help reading the menu, or I’m going to end up ordering goat butt.”

  “Goat butt is in season this time of year,” I say, reaching out to grab her chair and pull it closer to me.

  She flicks her gaze to me and slides closer. “Is it?”

  “That’s what it says on the menu.”

  Her gaze narrows, and she shakes the menu at me. “Don’t get between a woman and her food.”

  The server appears, and I order for the two of us. Everly’s eyes have narrowed into slits. The little witch doesn’t trust me to order her food, but she trusts me to take her on a trip halfway around the world? Women…

  I grab her wrist and take the menu away, handing it to the server. Her wrist is so delicate, but she has such power over me that it can bring me to my knees. I brush my mouth over the knuckles of her hand. “I could dine on you.”

  Her lashes flutter. “I think you ate enough earlier.”

  With a grin, I slide the tip of one finger across my bottom lip. “I still haven’t had my fill of you. In fact, I think some room service is in order—dessert only. I have the urge to paint your nipples with ice cream and—”

  “Can I paint you, too?” she asks, giving me pause.

  “You want to lick ice cream off me?”

  Biting her lip, she nods. “You can’t be the only one having all the fun.”

  “I like that you’ve decided not to be so reserved with me,” I say.

  Everly blushes to the roots of her hair. “You remember our conversation about that?”

  “Don’t be embarrassed.” I cover her hand with mine. “Actually, I find it charming. I find you charming. If you want to be reserved, I’m happy to coax you out of your shell. If you want to be wild, then I’m happy to bend you over my knee—”

  “Roman,” she warns, looking around, but happiness is apparent on her face. “Our food is coming.”

  As our dinner is placed on the table, I dip my head in acknowledgement of Everly’s unspoken wishes. “I’ll eat now.”

  “My red face thanks you,” she says, and I can’t help but smile.

  Across the street, Viktor appears suddenly, his white-blond hair hard to miss, and sits with Sebastian and Vladimir.

  I nearly choke on my potato dumpling. Tell them, I want to shout. But Viktor will not. Like me, he is nothing but an instrument of destruction and once set into motion, nothing can stop him. Except for my grandfather. He’s my only hope.

  “Roman? Are you okay?” Everly asks.

  I turn my attention to her. Concern is etched on her face. I am not okay. I’m fucking furious at this helpless feeling that has invaded my body, but there’s nothing I can do right now. Except lie.

  Forcing a smile, I say, “I’m thinking of tonight. Of whether or not I should tie you to the bed or simply fuck you against the door. You’ll have to be quiet, or everyone will hear you scream. The doors aren’t soundproof.” That is not a lie. I have been thinking about being inside of her again, but it was in the back of my mind.

  Her eyes widen, and then she glances away. “How about both?”

  “Can you be very quiet, Everly?” I ask, warming up to this sort of distraction.

  “I don’t know,” she says, peering at me through her lashes. “I’ve never tried before.”

  “Looks like I’m tying you to the bed, then.”

  “Are you going to be so…” Her throat works. “…honest during our entire trip?”

  Acid coats my insides. I’ve never been completely honest with her, but in this…I can be. “Yes.”

  She blows out a breath. “Good.”

  “You’re not offended?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

  Everly rolls her eyes in that playful way I�
�ve come to recognize. “Yes, I’m completely offended that a gorgeous, hot man with a killer body wants to sex me up one side and down the other. Someone get me a marker and a sign, stat, because protests are in order.”

  I can’t hide my smile.

  “Are you smiling again?” she asks in mock surprise. “I’m not sure what to think. What happened to my very starchy bookseller?”

  She means this as a compliment, and I know she likes the stuffy side of me, too. “He is on vacation, yes?”

  Everly laughs, digging into her dinner once more. I finish my meal, pay the check, and then usher her out of the bistro.

  We walk along the riverbank, on stones older than any American city, and stop every so often to buy clothes in shops that catch her eye. Everly seems to love it—her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are sparkling.

  This isn’t the first time I’ve walked these very steps, but it is the first time I’ve done so holding a woman’s hand. Every now and again, she squeezes mine, as if to comfort me.

  I nearly punch myself. Of course she’s worried and wants to comfort me, I’ve all but told her my grandfather is dying. I haven’t been thinking of him; I’ve been trying to solve the problem of my current assignment and coming up short.

  Then again, I’ve never been asked to kill a close relative before, and an innocent one at that. I’m barely existing in a gray area, with a woman who’s firmly living in color.

  “Who’s taking care of your cat?” Everly suddenly asks.

  “The cat takes care of herself,” I point out. Perhaps one day, the cat will like Everly. The damned thing should, especially in light of Everly’s concern for her.

  “But someone will need to make sure she has plenty of water and food, even though she can go in and out as she pleases.”

  I stop Everly and turn her to face me. “The cat is being well taken care of by Mrs. Tatum. I made arrangements before we left the States.”

  Her eyes search my face. “I didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t take care of an animal.”

  “You were just being concerned.”

  She smiles. “Yes. Exactly.”

  “A concerned jerk,” I say lightly and she gasps, punching me in the arm. I fake a groan.

  “That is not nice, Roman Smith.” We start walking again and she lays her head against my shoulder.

  Pulling out her cell, she holds it up. “Let’s take a picture together.”

  Uneasy at the thought of my image being Instagrammed or Facebooked or—dear God—Tweeted, I grow stiff. “What do you plan to do with it?”

  “Send it to my parents and my best friend, Elle,” she says, lowering the phone. Her smile disappears. “You don’t have to take one with me. Solo selfies are fine.”

  I rub the bridge of my nose. “I’m not opposed to taking a picture with you, but I’d rather not have it plastered all over social media. I enjoy my privacy.” Actually, I rather enjoy breathing. My heart is fond of beating as well.

  “I swear, Roman.” She shakes her head, clearly exasperated. “That’s all you had to say. Remember what I told you before? I’d never ask you to embarrass yourself for me.”

  Grabbing her chin, I gently pull it up. “I am not embarrassed to be with you or take a picture with you. That was not my intention when I expressed my dislike of social media.” I search her face, willing her to understand all that I can’t share. “I know I’m not the most gregarious bloke, or even the most charming, but I—”

  “I understand,” she says softly, and I blink.

  “You do?”

  “Yes.” She tilts her head to one side. “You’re shy and an introvert. That’s okay. I’m outgoing enough for the both of us.”

  She thinks I’m shy and an introvert? Good God. I want to set her straight, but I can’t take away the pleased look on her face. She thinks she’s figured me out.

  “Is it that obvious?” I say. Taking the phone, I hold it up and pull her against me. The sun is setting behind us, making dangerous shadows and a beautiful sky. I snap a few pictures of us, before handing it back to her.

  She worries her bottom lip as she goes through them. A small frown appears.

  “Did I manage to miss us completely?”

  “No, you managed to capture some guy with a pissed off look on his face. Stupid photo bomber.” She holds up the phone so I can see the screen.

  My gut clenches and my blood begins to boil. It’s Petrov.

  Chapter Twelve

  My hand immediately goes to the gun I’ve hidden at my back as I pivot. Petrov is headed our way, murder on his face.

  “Ugh. The light was perfect. Maybe I can Photoshop him out,” Everly muses, oblivious.

  Think, Roman, think. How do I keep her safe without showing her who I really am? Before, I never had to worry about another. Despite being a part of the Bratva and having more family than—as Everly would say—I could shake a stick at, I have always been solitary.

  Petrov’s long legs eat up the distance between us. I look around for something—anything—that could serve as a distraction for my would-be assassin or my lover.

  I spy a Swarovski crystal shop. “Love, didn’t you say you wanted to buy your mother and best friend a present from there?”

  “Yes!” Everly tucks her phone into her coat pocket. “You might want to stay here. I take forever picking out presents. It’s a curse all Andrews women suffer from.”

  I’m too damn concerned and anxious for her to be on her way to appreciate her humor, but I manage to give her a wink and say, “Enjoy yourself. There’s a business call I need to make anyway.”

  She gives me a fleeting kiss, and then sets off in the direction of the store. I try to keep one eye on her and another on the man only steps away from us. Starting for him, I cut across the crowd of tourists and slip into the shadows. It’s not fully shielded from their eyes, but it will have to do.

  “Nikolai, you fucking pussy,” he spits out once he reaches me. “How many lives do you have left?” There is a scar on the outer corner of his eye, pulling at his skin—a visible reminder of our last fight. He appears to be weaponless, but I know better. Besides, knowing what I do of him, he wants this to be personal. He’ll use a knife instead of a gun.

  Everly enters the shop, and the door closes behind her.

  Now, I am able to fully concentrate on the lunatic in front of me. “Been in a fight recently?” I ask pleasantly, palming my gun. Nothing enrages him more than being perceived as a non-threat. A man fighting with only anger to guide him rarely wins.

  “How you managed to live is beyond me,” he says. “Who’s the woman?”

  My mind reels. He has to know who she is, unless… Fuck, he must not be the one who’s put a hit on my half-brother. “New target.” Or she will be if I don’t find a way to get out of this mess I’m in.

  Obviously stunned, Petrov cocks his head to one side. “She doesn’t look like your usual mark.”

  “She’s in the way.”

  “Welcome to the dark side, Nikolai. Too bad you won’t be staying long.”

  Petrov lunges, a wicked blade catching the light as it slices through the air. I turn just in time, and the knife cuts through my coat instead of my flesh. Using his forward momentum against him, I kick Petrov in the gut, sending him stumbling backward. A surge of satisfaction rises when his breath leaves him on a whooshed-out groan.

  Unfortunately, he manages to stay on his feet, winded but ready for more.

  I reach for my gun.

  His eyes narrow over a menacing grin, a new gold tooth flashing. “You won’t use it. No silencer.”

  From my pocket, I pull out a silencer and screw it on, then aim at his head. “You were saying?”

  “You think too much,” Petrov says as he whips out a gun and takes aim.

  I’m faster. My bullet leaves the chamber with a muted bang before his finger squeezes the trigger, leaving a small, black hole in the center of his forehead.

  “You talk too much.”

  His
eyes widen as he falls sideways. I wait for the light to dim in his eyes, and then kick him over the edge of the walkway. The river carries away the evidence of my crime.

  There isn’t an ounce of regret for killing him, not even with my unanswered questions. He was a horrible human being who killed for the thrill of it—the right payout provided, of course.

  I take a deep breath and wait for the gun to cool before I return it to its hiding place. When I was just a lad, I’d not waited, and the metal had burned like hell. My lower back still bears a small scar from it.

  But this won’t scar me like the others. I feel nothing but satisfaction as I walk away from the riverfront.

  So much for being a changed man.

  Chapter Thirteen

  My hands are clean, and the gun is safely hidden by the time Everly exits the shop. I flex my fingers, eyeing the black tattoos that are inked onto my skin.

  Well, my hands are mostly clean.

  She swings a bag as she walks, her cheerful mood a beacon in the crowd. “I’m done,” she sings out.

  Normally, this kind of attention would be unwelcome, but I am too jubilant at the thought of Petrov being eliminated. Everly is safe from him.

  I start in her direction, intent upon taking her back to the hotel and making good on my promise to order room service desserts. Memories of this morning crowd their way to the forefront of my mind. My hands on her body, spreading her thighs, and holding her wrists prisoner. How she tasted on my tongue. The sounds she made when she came apart in my arms.

  My stomach roils. I can’t touch her, much less have sex with her. I’ve just killed a man. I glance at my hands once more, and they’re stained with blood instead of ink.

  I pivot and stride away, fighting the bile that threatens to rise.

  “Roman?” Everly calls out, her quickening footsteps growing closer as she follows me. “Wait up!”

  I slow to allow her to catch up, but only because I can’t leave her behind. Not only would I be leaving her to the wolves, but she’s in a foreign country and can’t speak the language. I doubt she could name our hotel.