Mr. Stone - The Mister Series: Book 2

by Nancy Brown

Genres: Romance; Erotic & Steamy Romance; Romantic Suspense

Synopsis

She had a rifle trained on him. Now he can't get her out of his mind.

Alex Stone has built a new life far from the Russian mafia world he was born into. He has a new name. A new identity. And absolutely no interest in the past he left behind.

Until a breathtaking blonde on a beach in Brazil stops him cold. Days later that same woman has a sniper rifle pointed straight at him.

He should walk away. Instead he needs to know everything about her.

Valentina Semonova is the daughter of one of Russia's most ruthless crime lords. She is dangerous. Off limits. And completely impossible to forget.

When Alex shows up at her door demanding answers neither of them is prepared for what they discover. The connection between them is undeniable. The secrets between them could destroy everything.

And the truth about who they are to each other will shake them both to their core.

Arranged marriage romance  Enemies to lovers  Russian mafia  Romantic suspense  Steamy Series

Release date: March 8, 2021

Print pages: 339

Content advisory: Sexually explicit scenes

Sample

Prologue

 “Alexi, zvyozdochka, come over here and look at your future bride,” Uncle Dmitry says as he holds out his hand. His rough voice scares me, but I like when he calls me “little star,” so I leave my truck behind and quickly hurry over to him. He puts his hands on my shoulders and pushes me over to the little pink bed. I peer over the side at the tiny baby sleeping inside. She’s funny-looking, wrinkly and pink, and has no hair.

 

“Hi baby,” I say. I’m not sure what Uncle wants me to do so I just stand there and look down at her, glancing at Papa for permission to go back to playing with my trucks.

“Dmitry, let the boy be. He has eighteen years to get to know Valentina. Alexi, you may go and play,” Papa says, taking my hand and turning me back toward my trucks.

I run back as quickly as I can, happy to be released. I’m supposed to be a good boy today. We travelled all the way to Moscow on Uncle Dmitry’s airplane so I could meet this little baby. I’m not sure why she’s special, she doesn’t seem very interesting to me. I would rather be back home in Volgograd, playing along the river next to our house. My friend Mika and I were going to catch frogs today, but Papa got a phone call from Uncle yesterday and we always do what Uncle says.

I try to be quiet because Uncle and Papa are speaking with another man. I sneak a peek at him. I don’t like him; he is big and looks mean, but his wife is very pretty. She looks like sunshine. Her hair is long and shiny, and her eyes are blue and sparkly. I like her. She is now holding the baby girl and smiling down at her like Mama does with me. I think she must be the baby’s mama.

“Za zdarovje!” Uncle shouts excitedly as he picks up a small glass. I’m not sure what he pours in it, but I know it’s not water because I sneaked a taste once and it burned my tongue. I called it fire water and everyone laughed at me. I see Uncle drinking the fire water a lot. He must like it when his tongue burns. I hated it and I’m never drinking it again.

“To Petrov and Semonov,” Uncle yells as he slaps the scary man on the back.

“It is done!” the ugly scary man shouts, making me jump. He doesn’t look mad, though, he looks happy, just like Uncle. I peek up at Papa. He doesn’t look happy but still clinks his glass with theirs like I’ve seen Mama and Papa do at dinner sometimes.

“Alexi, please collect your trucks, it is time to go,” Mama whispers quietly as she kneels down to help me put my trucks into my backpack. I hurry to help her, doing as I’m told. Papa comes over, picks up my backpack and takes my hand, puling me out the door.

“Are we going on the airplane again?” I ask excitedly.

“Da,” Papa says sternly.

I don’t want to be a bad boy, so I stay quiet as I follow behind Mama and Papa as we leave. Before I’m out the door, I look back over my shoulder and wave at the little pink baby and her mama, giving them my best smile.

When we get to Uncle’s airplane, the man who drives it asks if I want to ride up front with him. I look at Papa, hoping he will let me, but he is on his phone. He has been on his phone since we left Uncle’s house. Mama smiles at me and tells me to go ahead. It’s the best day ever. Mika is gong to be so jealous when I tell him I got to drive the plane.

It’s dark when we arrive home and I am sleepy after our long journey. Papa carries me into our house and Zoya rushes over to help get me ready for bed. I love Zoya; she helps Mama with cooking and cleaning and always takes good care of me. She is also my best friend Mika’s mama.

Zoya helps me dry off after my bath. She looks so sad and keeps hugging me. “Why are you sad, Zoya?” I ask as she hugs me tight.

“I’m going to miss you so much my little Alexi,” she says.

“How come? Where am I going?” I ask, confused, as she pulls on my underwear and jeans. “Silly Zoya!” I giggle. “These aren’t my jammies. Can I have a snack before bed?” I ask as I try to pull off the jeans.

“Nyet.” She smacks my hands away from the button she has just done up. “You and Mama are going on an adventure and you need warm clothes for your trip.” My heart pounds in my chest. I don’t understand what she is saying. I’m tired and I don’t want to go anywhere.

“But it’s bedtime and I’m supposed to go to the river with Mika tomorrow,” I blurt out unhappily. I think about what she has said, and then ask, “Isn’t Papa coming?”

“Nyet, just you and Mama,” she says quietly. She is rushing and turns me harshly as she slips a sweater over my head.

“I don’t want to go away without Papa,” I say, turning back to her. “I just want to go to bed.” I push her away. My heart is pounding and my chin wobbles and I can’t stop the tears that escape. I don’t want to cry because Papa always tells me big boys don’t cry, but I can’t help it.

Zoya hugs me again, rubbing my back as she says, “Shhhhhh,” in my ear.

The door to my bedroom opens and I see Papa walk in. I want him to think I am a big boy so I wipe my eyes on my sleeve as quickly as I can and pull away from Zoya to stand tall, trying not to let my chin quiver. He kneels down in front of me and pulls me into a big hug so tight I can’t breathe. More tears escape as he hugs me tight, but I don’t make a sound.

“Alexi, son, you need to listen to me.” His voice sounds funny. I hug him back and squeeze my eyes shut. “I want you to go with Mama. She needs to go away, and I want you to go with her to make sure she is safe. I can’t go with her right now, so I need you to go in my place and take care of her. Can you do that for me, my son?” he asks as he pulls me back and gently wipes the tears from my cheeks. I can see tears on his cheeks too.

“Don’t cry, Papa, I’ll take care of Mama, I promise,” I say in my most grown-up voice.

“Da, good boy. I knew I could count on you,” Papa says as he picks up the suitcase that Zoya has finished packing. “You can pick one toy to take with you. Go on, hurry up and pick something,” Papa says as we walk toward the door. I think for a moment and then I quickly run back and dig Mr. Bear out from under my pillow before running to catch up with Papa.

When I catch up to him at the front door, Mama is crying, and Papa is hugging her. They are mumbling and I can’t hear what they are saying but I know they are both sad. I don’t know what is happening, but I feel sad too.

“Come, Alexi,” Papa says, holding out his arms. I run into them and he hugs me tight again. “Always remember that I am so proud of you and I love you more than anything. I want the best life for you, my son.” He wipes his eyes and kisses my cheeks. “I want you to have this,” he says as he unsnaps the shiny gold watch that he never takes off his wrist. “This is for you.” He snaps it around my wrist and releases me.

“Papa,” I exclaim, wide-eyed, as I carefully hold out my arm and stare at the large gold watch, surprised by how heavy it is.

“The car is here,” Mama whispers.

“Go,” Papa answers back, still kneeling in front of me. Mama takes my hand and pulls me away from Papa. The gold watch slides off and I clutch it in my hand.

“Nyet,” I cry as I try to pull my hand away, but Papa gives me a stern look that reminds me I am supposed to be a good boy and take care of Mama. I don’t understand what is happening. I’m so sad, but I follow Mama out to a black car that is waiting in our driveway. It’s not our car but Mama opens the door and pushes on my back, so I climb inside the back and she follows me in clicking the door shut behind her. The car starts to move. I immediately turn around and panic as I look out the back window and watch as Papa slowly disappears.

One

Alex

Twenty-nine years later . . .

I glance down at the gold Rolex on my wrist. “Are you ready, man?” I ask. Darian slips on his jacket and buttons it, smoothing down the front. He flashes me one of his killer smiles.

“One hundred per cent ready. I’ve waited sixteen years for this day. You have the rings, right?” He asks as the door to his childhood bedroom opens and his father walks in. I raise an eyebrow and smirk in answer.

“Are you boys almost ready?” His father asks as he slaps his son on the back. I have nothing but the utmost respect for Michael Black. He has been like a second father to me most of my life. He and Elizabeth took me and my mother in when we arrived from Russia when I was five years old. They gave us a place to live, employed my mother and helped us with the important paperwork that ensured we could stay and eventually become US citizens.

That is how Darian and I met. We became best friends and eventually business partners. He is like a brother to me and I would do anything for him, which is why I am standing here in this monkey suit on his wedding day.

I couldn’t be happier for him. He is marrying the love of his life, Jordan Sinclair, a girl he met sixteen years ago. Their story is an interesting one. I’m not sure if I believe in love at first sight or fate, but for them, both seem to be the case.

They met at a weekend concert when they were teenagers and then didn’t see each other again until last year when Jordan and I accidentally, and quite literally, ran into each other. It wasn’t a pleasant experience for either of us—there was hot coffee involved and more than a little cursing and yelling, mostly on my part. She threw her business card at me along with a few curse words of her own. When Darian asked if I pissed off a barista, I threw her card down in front of him and the rest is history.

“No cold feet, second thoughts?” I ask as we walk through the beautiful Mediterranean-style house and out into the back garden that overlooks Puget Sound. “She’s a feisty one,” I continue as I wink at Michael.

Darian looks over at me and just smiles as he shakes his head. “Not a one, man. She’s it for me. There is nobody else.”

We step outside and stop to take in the scene in front of us. It’s breathtaking. Rows of white chairs flank an aisle of red carpet that leads to an arbor draped with hanging flowers which stands before the Sound. Candles flicker all around. It’s simple but elegant. Off to the side is a huge tent that will be used for dinner and dancing later this evening. Darian and Jordan wanted an intimate wedding, so they capped the guest list at one hundred people.

We make our way down the aisle and stop at the front row. Darien hugs Diana, Jordan’s mother, and then turns and hugs his own mother and father before they take their seats. Darian’s brothers, Cole and Shawn, are already waiting for us up front, as is the Justice of the Peace they have chosen to marry them.

The music starts as we take our places just as the flower girls come out, and they are fucking adorable. They are the daughters of Jordan’s brother and her best friend Cara, and they put on quite a show as they dance down the aisle, scattering rose petals everywhere.

Next are the bridesmaids, Rachel, and Lily, followed by Jordan’s maid of honour and best friend, Cara. They all look beautiful in slightly differently styled black cocktail dresses.

The sun is just starting to set, which casts a bronze glow over the back of the house. The doors open and Jordan stands there with her father, looking gorgeous in a sleek white dress that shimmers in the fading sun. I hear Darian next to me, his eyes glued to his beautiful bride. It’s almost as if an electric current joins the two of them. I’ve never been in love, it’s not really my thing, but I know that I won’t settle for anything less than a connection like theirs if I ever do decide to take the plunge.

The ceremony is short but touching. Everyone is left affected by the connection and happiness that radiates off the bride and groom. I’m not a romantic man but even I had a tear in my eye. Darian is my brother in every way but blood, and Jordan and I may have had a rough start, but I love her like a sister.

Now that the serious part is over, it’s time to celebrate. Champagne is flowing and appetizers are being handed out. I grab a glass and take a moment for myself as I look out over the Sound. I’ve stood in this exact same spot hundreds of times over the last twenty-nine years.

There is a guest house at the back of the property. My mother and I moved into it shortly after arriving from Russia. She still lives there today. I’ve offered to buy her a house of her own many times, but she always refuses, saying she wants to be close to family, which is what we both consider the Blacks to be.

“Why are you standing here by yourself?” my mother asks as she walks up and slides an arm around me in an embrace. Even though she has been here twenty-nine years, her Russian accent is still pronounced.

Katrina Stone is tiny, barely over five feet tall, but she is the strongest woman I have ever met. She came to the United States as Ekaterina Petrov. She was just twenty-five years old, barely able to speak any English and had her five-year-old son, Alexi, in tow. It must have been terrifying for her, but she never let on if it was. One of the first things she did was legally change our names to Katrina and Alexander Stone. She’s never told me why we left Russia, just that it was for a better life.

I don’t remember much about our life in Russia. I know that my father was murdered not long after we left but she refuses to speak about it. I can barely remember him, but I know he was a good man and that I loved him very much. All I have to remember him by is a couple of photographs and the gold Rolex he gave me when we left. It is my most treasured possession and rarely leaves my wrist.

She has never remarried and when I ask why, she says she is married to my father and would never be able to find a better man.

“Just taking a quiet moment for myself,” I answer her as I wrap an arm around her, hugging her close.

“I’m so happy for Darian today. I wish this for you someday, Alexi.” The slip of my name is a rare occurrence and tells me she is feeling nostalgic. “I want you to be happy,” she says quietly.

“I am happy, Mama.” I squeeze her a little tighter to my side. “Marriage is not for everyone and unless the person is perfect, I’m not interested. Besides, think of the disservice I’d be doing to all those beautiful single ladies out there if I were off the market.”

She chuckles next to me and slaps a hand over my bicep, which I barely register. “You are a devil. Too handsome for your own good,” she exclaims. “Come, it is time to join the party.” She holds my hand as we make our way back toward the music and happy voices.

Two

Alex

I wake up to the sound of rain pattering on the roof overhead. I’m in the bedroom I grew up in at the back of the Black property. Thank God my mother had it redone after I left for college, and added a California king bed. I’m six foot three and definitely would not fit into the twin-sized bed I used as a child.

We partied late last night. I feel like I only just went to bed a couple of hours ago, but I don’t need much sleep. I’m a morning person; I enjoy the serenity and calm before all hell breaks loose and the day takes over.

It’s been an exhausting few months, but now that the Bennett trial is behind us, I can finally start to slow down a little. No one will be up yet and I’m feeling selfish. I decide an hour in a kayak out on the Sound is exactly what I need right now. I haven’t been back here in a while but whenever I do manage to make it home, I try to get out on the water as much as I can.

The room is still mostly dark, the sun is just peeking over the horizon and the rain is letting up, so I throw back the blankets and hop out of bed, suddenly eager to be out on the water. A pair of shorts, a T-shirt and some flip-flops are all that is required before I’m out the door, heading down to the boathouse.

I punch in the code, the door unlocks and I step inside, flicking on the lights. There are several kayaks, paddle boards, and a couple of jet skis on one side. The other has a beautiful boat built for speed and comfort. The water is calm; it almost looks like glass. I can’t wait to get out there, so I grab what I need and get moving.

The cove is teeming with wildlife this morning, both in the water and out. I’m quiet as I glide along, silently dipping the paddle in the clear water, which allows me a glimpse of life most people don’t often see.

I’ve been at it for about an hour and I’m breathing hard now, paddling at a steady clip as I round the tip of the cove. The rain has stopped, and the sun is a rosy ball overhead. The Black property comes into view. It’s a stunning site. The architecture blends seamlessly with the landscape surrounding it. Feeling calm and relaxed, I let out a sigh as I glide up to the dock. I’m not ready to go back just yet but duty calls.

I have a long day ahead. Darian, Jordan, Luke and I are all flying back to New York this afternoon. Darian and Jordan leave for their honeymoon first thing tomorrow morning. Luke and I will be taking care of things until they return in a couple of weeks.

Luke works with Cross Security. Their New York office is housed on the second floor of our building, which is convenient because we work very closely with them on many of our cases.

I take one last look out over the Sound as I reluctantly pull the kayak out of the water and put everything away before heading back to the house for a shower.

An hour later I’m showered, shaved and walking up to the main house ready for brunch. My morning exercise has worked up quite an appetite and I’m ready to eat.

My mother is already there helping Elizabeth with the set-up. When I walk in, I can’t help but smile. It feels like home. Most of the guests from yesterday have left or are at their hotels. This morning it’s just the Blacks, Jordan’s parents, my mother and me. People are laughing and bustling around the kitchen, cooking and sipping coffee.

“Alex, how was the Sound?” Darian’s brother Cole yells, holding up a coffee pot when he spots me across the room.

I nod and answer, “Magnificent as always, a great way to reset after the last few months.” I accept the offered cup, the rich aroma thick in the air. As I’m taking a sip, I catch Jordan’s eye and wink before holding up my cup. Coffee has become a running joke between us since the day we met when she slammed into me and spilled her latte all over my suit. I chuckle to myself because she might tell that story a little differently.

She comes over and wraps her arms around me, giving me a warm embrace, which feels damn good. “Good morning, Mr. Brick Wall, and thank you for everything you did to help make yesterday the most amazing day of my life.” She stretches up on her toes and kisses the tip of my nose.

“Hey!” Darian hollers from across the room. “Get your own woman, she’s mine now.” The room erupts with laughter as I give him the finger and pick up a squealing Jordan, running out of the room with her over my shoulder.

Brunch is a casual affair; food is set out in the dining room and everyone pretty much helps themselves and sits wherever they want. The weather was so nice earlier, I automatically deviate to the patio off the dining room. I relax as the sun instantly begins to warm my skin.

Jordan’s parents, Chuck and Di Sinclair, are already out here so I pull out a chair and join them. They are the coolest couple: free-spirited hippies from the seventies. They met when they were in their teens and from what I understand, they were never officially married. There is no doubting their commitment to one another, though; it’s obvious they were made for each other.

My stomach is rumbling and I’m just about to take a bite of waffle when Darian comes out of the house looking less than happy.

“That is a look that should definitely not be on your face this morning,” I say, immediately attuned to his stress. Darian is more than just my business partner, he’s my best friend. We have spent most of our lives together and when something isn’t right, I definitely feel it.

He takes a seat next to me and says, “I just got an email from Scott Fraser in Brazil. He wants to set up a conference call before we leave for New York this afternoon. Apparently, the violence at the Macau offshore site has escalated to a dangerous level and he has temporarily shut things down.”

“Shit,” I say as I start shovelling my food into my mouth. “Give me five to finish eating, then we can head back to my place. We can take the call from there.”

Fifteen minutes later, Scott Fraser appears on the screen of my laptop. “Scott,” Darian says, “Alex and I are both here. Fill us in on what’s going on.”

“Darian, sorry to bother you during your wedding but things have gotten pretty crazy here,” Scott says. He looks rough, like he hasn’t slept in days. Scott is the site manager for the Sobol Gaz offshore drilling platform in Macau, Brazil. Off and on for the past year, they have been subjected to random attacks of vandalism which have slowly been escalating. We have been monitoring the situation from New York but have not been involved in any meaningful way before now.

“Last night there was an explosion on the sea-to-land juncture of the pipeline. The damage isn’t extensive, but it’s a hell of a mess and we’ve been forced to shut down operations until we can get it repaired. I’ve got a team working on that right now and if we work around the clock, we should be able to be up and running again in a couple of days. The clean-up, however, is going to take months.”

“Was anyone hurt?” I ask.

“No, thank God,” he says swiping his hand over his haggard face. “The silver lining in all of this is that they’ve finally left us something to work with, or at least I think they have. We’ve located what we believe to be a piece of the bomb that caused the explosion.”

Darian and I look at each other knowingly. This is big: up until now, there has been no trace of evidence or lead of any kind to follow. This is the break we have been waiting for.

“I need you guys to come out here as soon as possible to take a look at it. Hopefully there is something there you can use to start tracking the cocksuckers who did this.” His expression has changed by the time he finishes, from one of exhaustion to one of pure rage.

Darian speaks first. “Scott, don’t worry about my wedding—it was yesterday and went off without a hitch. I’m now a happily married man.” He grins like an idiot. “We are all flying back to New York this afternoon. Then Jordan and I will be leaving for our honeymoon tomorrow morning. Alex and a team can fly out as soon as he can get things arranged and if need be, I’m available for telephone or video conferencing.”

Scott looks at me through the screen on my computer. “How soon can you get here, Alex? I don’t want to give these assholes another shot at us while we’re down.”

“Scott, I’ll start working on putting a team together as soon as we are done here. I won’t be back in New York until late tonight. Hopefully, we can fly out sometime tomorrow, which will put me in Aracaju City early the next day, which is Tuesday. If all goes according to plan, I can be on site no later than late afternoon or early evening on Tuesday. Let’s touch base tomorrow morning—I should be able to give you a more solid plan by then. In the meantime, send me a report on everything you have to date so I can start working on this.” He agrees and we end the call.

Darian scrubs his hand over his jaw and sighs. “Fuck, the timing couldn’t be worse.”

“Don’t worry about it, man. Go spend some time with your wife. I’ve got this handled until you return.”

***

We touch down in New York at nine-thirty p.m. that evening. By the time we get to the Black Stone property, it is well after eleven and we are all dead on our feet.

“Jordan and I leave for the airport at eleven tomorrow morning. Let’s meet at nine for an hour or so to go over things before we catch our flight,” Darian says as the elevator arrives at the third floor.

“Sounds good.” I give them a two-finger salute as I step into my condo. It’s basically the same layout as Darian’s, one floor above. I’m not much of a sleeper, never have been, so I pour myself a Scotch and head into my home office to go over the report that Scott Fraser emailed while we were on our flight from Seattle. An hour later, I’m up to speed on the basics.

Thank God I was able to get hold of Jenna after our call this morning, so she could make the necessary arrangements for our trip to Brazil. Jenna takes care of the office needs for Black Stone. She also helps with whatever Luke needs for Cross Security. She’s loyal, sweet, smart and invaluable to us. She was able to charter a plane and book accommodations for us in Aracaju City, which is only a short helicopter ride from the Sobol site.

The team that I’m taking with me are Luke Sanders and Mason Hawk, who we all simply refer to as Hawk. I’ve known him for quite a few years and I rarely ever hear anyone call him Mason. There’s a story there somewhere but he’ll just tell you it’s none of your business and to fuck off if you ask. They are both bad-ass motherfuckers, ex-Navy SEALs, and work for Cross Security.

Hawk will be arriving from LA later this morning. Our flight to Brazil doesn’t leave until this evening, so we have the day to prepare. It’s an eight-hour flight, plus we lose an hour with the time difference, so we won’t arrive in Aracaju City until early Tuesday morning. I glance at my watch and note that it’s just past one a.m., time to hit the sack.

Three

Valentina

“The job is done—what do you mean we have to stay?” I ask Ilya, feeling more than just a little frustration. I’m pacing around the small hotel room, feeling like a caged animal. “This was supposed to be an in-and-out job. Come in, set the bomb and get out. What’s the hold-up?”

Ilya lies on my bed with his hands behind his head, feet crossed, like he hasn’t a care in the world. I can’t stand him. He’s not much younger than my father, but unlike my father who is bloated and soft from a life of excess, Ilya is lean and hard and I know from experience he’s just as dangerous as my father, maybe even more. He is not a nice guy.

“Printsessa, your father says stay, so we stay,” is all he has to say to me. He looks at me pointedly, daring me to ask for details.

I continue to pace but stop in front of him. “I don’t like this. It’s dangerous and reckless to stay here . . . and get your fucking dirty boots off my bed!” I yell as I swipe his feet off the bed. They hit the floor with a thud. He just chuckles and puts them back.

“I love it when you get all fired up, printsessa,” he says as he smirks up at me.

I stomp over to the window and look out at the beautiful ocean in front of me. I hate my father, Gregori Semonov. He is head of the Semonov Bratva, one of the most powerful crime families in Russia.

Ilya is his right-hand man and I am nothing but a pawn in their dirty business. Just a girl, and unless I can bring something to the table, I’m not worth the air they allow me to breathe, or so I’ve been told.

 I’ve known Ilya my whole life. He’s helped my father groom me for the role I now play for the family. I despise him and the life I have been forced into, but unless I can find a way out, I have no other choice but to do as I’m told.

My father has tried to marry me off my entire life. He claims as his only child, and a mere daughter at that, it is my duty to strengthen our family through marriage. I was betrothed at birth to a boy from another crime family. Fortunately for the boy, Alexi Petrov, his father did not want that life for him, and he and his mother disappeared shortly after my birth. Apparently, his father died at the hands of my father and his brother, the head of the Petrov family, for refusing to give up the whereabouts of Alexi and his mother. I often wonder what happened to the five-year-old boy who went missing and how my life would have turned out had he stayed.

As a child, I always felt loved and doted on, completely unaware of my father’s business or the betrothal that would never happen. Everything changed on my sixteenth birthday.

It was a big event; my father’s reach is extensive, and it seemed everyone was invited. My father told me that there would be a very special guest in attendance. I needed to look my best and be on me best behaviour. He even went so far as to hire people to do my hair and makeup.

I was excited and nervous as my mother helped me into the beautiful pale-pink dress we purchased for my party. She stood behind me as I took in my transformation in the full-length mirror. I couldn’t believe what I saw: I could have been one of the models in the fashion magazines I loved to read.

I was tall for my age, already reaching my full height of five foot ten. Slim with slightly curved hips. My breasts had filled out early and were large for my slender frame. My platinum hair had been left long but styled into loose waves that hung down my back.

The biggest change, however, was my face. Instead of the fresh-faced girl I was used to seeing, a woman looked back at me. My pale cheeks had a pink glow, my large full lips were kissed with gloss but the clear blue eyes that stared back at me were the most dramatic difference, with the smoky shadow and thick black mascara. I gasped and then smiled at myself. I really liked what I saw. I picked up my phone and snapped a picture of us, something personal and private. I opened the picture on the screen and couldn’t believe what I saw; it’s one of the most beautiful pictures I have ever taken, I captured the moment perfectly.

Taking my hands, Mama sat me down beside her. “Valentina, my love, you’ve grown into such a beautiful young lady.” Tears brimmed in her eyes as she looked at me. Her face was marred with grief and sadness, not the happiness I expected to see.

I smiled warmly at her. “What’s the matter, Mama?” I asked as I stroked my thumbs over her soft hands. She looked up at me, tears spilling from eyes the same deep blue as mine.

“I love you so much. I never wanted this life for you.”

“Mama, I have the best life. I don’t understand,” I said, her anxiety setting my heart skittering around my chest.

“You must go to your father’s study before you go down to your party. He wants to speak with you and introduce you to one of your guests.”

I interrupted her excitedly, “Is it the special guest he told me about?”

“Yes, that one,” she replied, looking down into her lap. “You see, your father is a very important man, and, in his business, connections must be made, whether you agree or not. Not all marriages are founded on love—some are forced upon you. It was how I actually came to be married to him.”

She stopped, swiping a tear from her cheek. My heart was pounding, and my hands turned cold and clammy in hers. She had never mentioned anything about how she met my father before, but I knew what she was about to say.

“There is nothing I can do to stop this, Valentina. It would mean certain death for us both.” She looked at me, imploring me to understand.

“It’s okay, Mama,” I said as I hugged her. “I’ll go meet my guest. It will be okay.”

I don’t want to marry anyone—this is all a misunderstanding, I thought as I kissed her cheek. I left her sitting on my bed as I walked toward my father’s study.

My special guest was Dmitry Petrov, who is thirty years older than me. He is also the uncle of the same Alexi Petrov I was betrothed to upon my birth. I was dressed up and paraded before him like some kind of prize pig before they told me about their plans for me.

My father explained everything, including my duty as his daughter. I was to marry this man on my eighteenth birthday. Dmitry had no sons and his wife had recently passed. The families still wished to be united and since they had never been able to locate Alexi, this was how it must be.

My skin crawled as I stood there listening in horror. The man’s beady black eyes slowly roamed my body from head to toe. Lust was thick in his eyes as he licked his lips, giving me a cruel-looking smile.

I’ve always been strong-willed and outspoken. I looked at my father without a trace of fear and said, “I would rather die than marry this man.” I turned and walked out of the room, leaving their shocked faces and the heated discussion that followed behind, my heart feeling like it was about to pound its way out of my chest.

Ignoring the party going on below, I went back to my room. My mother was gone; I didn’t really expect her to be there waiting for me. I went to my closet and took out one of my guns. I sat down on my bed and waited.

At the age of seven, my father got me into shooting. I was a natural, even going so far as to take part in the 2010 Olympics in Biathlon when I was nineteen.

I didn’t have to wait long before my door burst open and my father walked in, closing it behind him with a bang. He was angry but so was I. How dare he do this to me. I glared up at his red face. I could almost see the steam coming out of his ears. His nostrils flared and his hands fisted at his sides as he stood across the room taking in the sight before him. I sat calmly on the edge of my bed in my beautiful pink party dress with my pistol in my hand.

“Don’t act like a petulant child, Valentina. We all have duties to fulfill in this life. This is your duty as my daughter. Put the gun away and come downstairs. You have guests waiting and your behaviour is inexcusable. This is not how I raised you,” he said like nothing happened, like he didn’t just give me away like a piece of meat.

I continued to glare at him, seeing him for the first time. I lifted the gun, flipped off the safety and put it to my head. “Cancel the contract, I will never marry that man. I’m deadly serious when I say I would rather die than fulfill your so-called duty,” I said with complete calmness.

He stood there watching me for what seemed like an eternity, then to my utter surprise, he shook his head and chuckled through a huff.

“I guess I have no one to blame but myself,” he said rather quietly. “I’ve been too soft with you, but that is about to change. There can be no doubt from your behaviour today that you are a Semonov. No one has the balls to speak to me like that, printsessa, not if they want to remain living.”

I shrugged my shoulders as if I didn’t have a care in the world, like I hadn’t just threatened to kill myself. “As I said, I’m prepared to die. The choice is yours, Papa,” I responded calmly without breaking eye contact, the gun still at my temple. My heart pitter-pattered around my chest like it had forgotten how to beat normally.

We stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity but then he finally relented. “I will cancel this contract but let me be very clear, daughter—there will be a marriage at some point, and it will be to a man of my choosing,” he growled through gritted teeth.

I flipped the safety back on and set the gun down. Getting up, I walked over to my father and held out my hand, waiting for him to shake. He may be many things, but he is a man of his word. Once he shakes, he won’t go back on it. He reached out and shook my hand.

“We’ll see about that,” I said as I dropped his hand and walked out the door with my head held high. I had a party to attend.

When I refused the last marriage proposal my father brought to me at age twenty-five, my life as the family printsessa ended and my job as family sniper began. He turned my words back on me: the choice was mine, die or work for him. So here I am, stuck in this hellhole, covering the backs of known criminals with my sniper rifle.

My mind snaps out of my trip down memory lane when Ilya kicks his feet off the bed and stands as Kazimir walks in.

“What’s the word?” Ilya asks. I stand still and continue to look out the window with my back to them as I listen to them speak.

“They have already started repairs. The bomb wasn’t big enough to slow them down for more than a couple of days,” Kaz answers as he flops down in the chair next to me. My eyes momentarily flick to him. He’s not much older than me. I actually like him despite the fact that he is a willing participant in our violent world. “Gregori wants us to wait it out until the repairs are completed and then hit them again. He has instructed me to prepare a larger bomb and set it between the three jacking assemblies on one of the legs of the rig. I’ll need a few days to work on it but should have it ready to go by mid-week.” He sighs, rubbing his hand over his stubbly cheeks. He doesn’t look any happier than I am to be stuck here.

At his words, I snap my head around and stare at him, not quite believing what he has said.

“You can’t do that!” I shout, as I fully turn to look at him and then Ilya, who is now standing in front of Kaz with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. I walk over to Kaz and sit down next to him, giving him an imploring look.

 “There are over a hundred innocent people working on that rig. We aren’t here to commit murder. No one is supposed to get hurt,” I add, even though it appears I am the only one listening.

“Plans change,” Ilya says as he pulls over the coffee table and takes a seat on the sofa next to us. He unfolds the blueprints for the Sobol drilling rig, picks up a pen lying on the table and circles one of the legs.

“How long did you say you needed to build the bomb, Kaz?” He looks up and his black eyes pin Kaz while he waits for an answer.

“Three days should be enough time. I’ve already sourced what I need and should have everything by tonight,” Kaz answers before he looks over at me. “Don’t worry, Valentina, the bomb is meant to damage the rig, not kill anyone.”

Ilya ignores us both. “Good, we need a boat. You dive at dusk on Wednesday, we’ll set the explosion for early Thursday morning. We can be out of here shortly after it goes off.” He turns, giving me a menacing glare.

“Tina, you know your job. You will be on the boat with your rifle and I expect you to take the shot if there is a threat, and it better be fatal. No loose ends.”

I hate it when he calls me Tina and he knows it. He’s paying me back for my earlier disrespect. My stomach lurches and threatens to bring up my lunch. In the four years I have been working for my father, I’ve been fortunate not to have been ordered to kill anyone. I really don’t think I could take an innocent life, but it appears as though my free pass may be about to run out.