One Dark Kiss

Book 2: Grimm Bargains

by Rebecca Zanetti

Genres: Billionaires Romance; Fantasy Romance; Romantic Suspense

Synopsis

For fans of Scarlett St. Clair, Harley Laroux, and Emily McIntire, New York Times bestselling author Rebecca Zanetti explores the forbidden and the taboo in this modern dark romance twist on Snow White—the second in a captivating new series set in a seductive world of money, power, billionaires, and the dangerous desires that drive them.

Mirror, Mirror . . . Innocence or Sin. The reflection holds a darker truth.

ALEXEI
I’ve spent the last seven years in the hell of a maximum-security prison, every moment consumed by the need for revenge—revenge against the bastards who framed me, and revenge against the family who stole everything I owned. Now that I’m finally free, nothing will stand in my way. Not even her—my hot as sin new lawyer. Maybe she’s another weapon sent by my enemies to break me, or maybe she’s the key to my freedom. Either way, once she’s mine, I’m never letting her go.

ROSALIE
When I took this case, I thought I had it under control. But Alexei is no typical convicted killer—he's a dangerously seductive force of nature. Perhaps it's the lingering power from his days as heir to a global social media empire. Innocent or not, he's dangerous in the worst and best ways.

I secure Alexei’s release as we prepare for a new trial, but he wastes no time turning against his traitorous relatives and plotting his return to power. Amidst the chaos, our explosive chemistry ignites, putting us—and everyone I care about—in the crosshairs of ruthless enemies. If we can’t stop them, Alexei plans to burn the whole world down. And if anything, he’s a man of his word . . .

Release date: June 24, 2025

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 400

Sample

Alone, I cross my legs beneath the intimidating metal table secured to the floor, feeling as out of place as a raven in a nursery rhyme. The heat clunks and whispers from a grate in the ceiling but fails to warm the interview room, and when the door finally opens, the heavy frame scrapes against the grimy cement floor.

My spine naturally straightens, and my chin lifts as my client stalks inside, his hands cuffed to a chain secured around his narrow waist. He doesn’t shuffle. Or walk. Or saunter.

No. This man . . . stalks.

His gaze rakes me, and I mean, rakes me. Black eyes—deep and dark—glint with more than one threat of violence in their depths. He kicks back the lone metal chair opposite me and sits in one fluid motion. The scent of motor oil in fresh rain, something all male, wafts toward me.

I swallow.

The guard, a burly man with gray hair, stares at me, concern in his eyes.

“Please remove his cuffs,” I say, my focus not leaving my client.

My client. I don’t practice criminal law. Never have and don’t want to.

The guard hesitates. “Miss, I—”

“I appreciate it.” I make my voice as authoritative as possible, considering I’m about to crap my pants. Or rather, my best navy-blue pencil skirt bought on clearance at the Women’s Center Thrift Store. I don’t live there, but I’m happy to shop there. Rich people give away good items.

In a jangle of metal, the guard hitches toward us, releases the cuffs, and turns on his scuffed boot toward the door. “Want me to stay inside?”

“No, thank you.” I wait until he shrugs, exits, and shuts the door. “Mr. Sokolov? I’m Rosalie Mooncrest, your new attorney from Cage and Lion.”

“What happened to my old attorney?” His voice is the rasp of a blade on a sharpening stone.

I clear my throat and focus only on his eyes and not the tattoo of a panther prowling across the side of his neck, amethyst eyes glittering. “Mr. Molasses died in a car accident a month ago.” Molasses was a partner in the firm, and he represented Alexei in the criminal trial that had led to a guilty verdict. “I take it he wasn’t in touch with you often?”

“No.” Alexei leans back and finishes removing the cuffs from his wrists to slap onto the table. “You’re responsible for my being brought to the minimum-security section of this prison?”

Actually, my firm has juice and a named partner had made this happen. “Yes, and it’s temporary. You’re back to your normal cell block after this meeting.”

His chin lifts. “So this plush locale for our conference is for you, princess? The prestigious law firm doesn’t want you dirtied by the bowels of this place?”

Probably true. “I’m here to help you, Mr. Sokolov.”

His eyes glitter sharper than the panther’s on his neck. “Don’t call me that name again.”

I frown. “Sokolov?”

“Yes. It’s Alexei. No mister.”

Fair enough. I can’t help but study him. Unruly black hair, unfathomable dark eyes, golden-brown skin, and bone structure chipped out of a mountain with a finely sharpened tool. Brutally rugged, the angles of his face reveal a primal strength that’s ominously beautiful. The deadliest predators in life usually are.

Awareness filters through me. I don’t like it.

Worse yet, he’s studying me right back, as if he has Superman’s x-ray vision and no problem using it. He lingers inappropriately on my breasts beneath my crisp white blouse before sliding to my face, his gaze a rough scrape I can feel. “You fuck your way through law school?”

My mouth drops open for the smallest of seconds. “Are you insane?”

“Insanity is relative. It depends on who has who locked in what cage,” he drawls.

Did he just quote Ray Bradbury? “You might want to remember that I’m here to help you.”

“Hence my question. Not that I’m judging. If you want to do the entire parole board to get me out, then don’t hold back. If that isn’t your plan, then I’d like to know that you understand the law.”

It’s official. Alexei Sokolov is an asshole. “Listen, Mr. Sokolov—”

“That name. You don’t want me to tell you again.” His threat is softly spoken.

A shiver tries to take me, so I shift my weight, hiding my reaction. I stare him directly in the eyes, as one does with any bully. “Why? What are you going to do?” I jerk my head toward the door, where no doubt the guard awaits on the other side.

Alexei leans toward me and metal clangs. “Peaflower? I can have you over this table, your skirt hiked up, and spank your ass raw before the dumbass guard can find his keys, much less gather the backup he’d need to get you free. You won’t sit for a week. Maybe two.” His gaze warms. “Now that’s a very pretty blush.”

“That’s my planning a murder expression,” I retort instantly, my cheeks flaming hot.

His lip curls for the briefest of moments in almost a smile. “Women who look like you don’t usually have a brain.”

My eyebrows shoot up so quickly it’s a shock a migraine doesn’t follow. He did not just say that. “You are one backassward son of a bitch,” I blurt out, completely forgetting any sense of professionalism.

That smile tries to take hold and almost makes it. Not quite, though. “Fuck, you’re a contradiction.” He flattens a hand on the table. A large, tattooed, dangerous looking hand. “As a rule, a beautiful woman is a terrible disappointment.”

Now he’s quoting freakin Carl Jung? “You must’ve had a lot of time to read here in prison . . . the last seven years.”

“I have.” A hardness invades his eyes. “You any good at your job?”

The most inappropriate humor takes me, and I look around the room. “Does it matter? I don’t see a plenitude of counselors in here trying to help you.”

“Big word. Plenitude. I would’ve gone with cornucopia. Has a better sound to it.”

I need to regain control of this situation. “Listen, Mr.—”

He stiffens and I stop. Cold.

We look at each other, and I swear, the room itself has a heartbeat that rebounds around us. I don’t want to back down. But also, I know in every cell of my being, he isn’t issuing idle threats. A man like him never bluffs.

Surprisingly, triumph that I refrain from using his last name doesn’t light his eyes. Instead, contemplation and approval?

I really don’t like that.

My legs tremble like I’ve run ten miles, and my lungs are failing to catch up. I suppose anybody would feel like this if trapped with a hell beast in a small cage. There’s more than fear to my reaction. Adrenaline has that effect on people. That must be it. I reach into my briefcase and retrieve several pieces of paper. “If you want me as your attorney, you need to sign this retainer agreement so I can file a Notice of Appearance with the court.”

“And if I don’t?”

I place the papers on the cold table. “Then have a nice life.” I meet his stare evenly.

“My funds are low. I don’t suppose you’ll take cigarettes or sex in trade?”

Is that amusement in his eyes? That had better not be amusement. I examine his broad shoulders and, no doubt, impressive chest beneath the orange jumpsuit. How can he look sexy in orange? Plus, the man hasn’t been with a woman in seven years—he’d be on fire. A little part of me, one I’ll never admit to, considers the offer just for the, no doubt, multiple and wild orgasms. “I don’t smoke and you’re not my type. But no worries. My firm is taking your case pro bono until we unbind your trust fund.”

He latches onto the wrong part of the statement. “What’s your type?”

I inhale through my nose, trying to keep a handle on my temper.

“Don’t tell me,” he continues, his gaze probing deep. “Three-piece suit, Armani, luxury vehicles?”

“Actually, that’s my best friend’s type,” I drawl. Well, if you add in guns, the Irish mafia, and a frightening willingness to kill.

Alexei scratches the whiskers across his cut jaw. “Right. When was the last time you were with an actual man? You know, somebody who doesn’t ask for guidance every step of the way?”

That fact that I don’t remember is not one I’ll share. My thighs heat, and my temper sparks. “Was this approach charming seven years ago?”

“Not really. Though I didn’t need to be charming back then.”

True. He was the heir to one of the four most powerful social media companies in the world before he went to prison. Apparently, his family had deserted him immediately. “You might want to give it a try now.”

His eyes warm to dark embers, rendering me temporarily speechless. “You don’t think I can charm the panties off you?”

“All right. You need to dial it down.” I hold out a hand and press down on imaginary air. “A lot.”

Heat swells from him. Somehow. “Dial what down?”

“You,” I hiss. “All of this. The obnoxious, rudely sexist, prowling panther routine. Use your brain, if you have one. It’s our first meeting, and you’re driving me crazy. You want me on your side.”

“I’d rather have you under me.”

I shut my eyes and slam both index fingers to the corners, pressing in. This is unbelievable.

“Getting a headache? I know a remedy for that.”

I make the sound of a strangled cat.

His laugh is warm. Rich. Deep.

Jolting, I open my eyes. The laugh doesn’t fit with the criminal vibe. It’s enthralling.

He stops.

I miss the sound immediately. Maybe I need a vacation.

Using one finger, he draws the paper across the table. “Pen.”

I fumble in my briefcase for a blue pen and hand it over.

He signs the retainer quickly and shoves it back at me. “What’s the plan?”

The switch in topics gives me whiplash. Even so, I step on firm ground again. “The prosecuting attorney in your case was just arrested for blackmail, peddling influence, and extortion . . . along with the judge, his co-conspirator, who presided over your trial and sentenced you.”

His expression doesn’t alter. “You can secure my freedom?

That’s my plan, but I don’t want to raise his hopes. “I don’t know. My best guess is that I can secure you a new trial.”

“Will I be free for the duration?”

“I’ll make a motion to the court the second I leave here but can’t guarantee the outcome.” I tilt my head. “Your family’s influence would be helpful.”

His chin lowers in an intimidating move. “I don’t have a family. Don’t mention them again.”

I blink. “One more comment.”

“Go ahead.”

“I’m sorry about your brother’s death.” His younger brother, rather his half brother, was killed a month ago, possibly by my friend’s boyfriend, if one could call Thorn Beathach a boyfriend.

Alexei just stares at me.

I feel like a puzzle being solved. “There’s a chance his death was part of some sort of social media turf war against Thorn Beathach, who owns Malice Media.” Alexei’s family owns a rival social media platform, and from what I understand, it’s war between them all.

“So?”

This is a mite awkward. “Thorn is currently dating my best friend, so if there’s a conflict of interest, I want you to know about it.” Not that anybody would ever catch Thorn, if he had killed Alexei’s brother after the man had injured Alana. I’m still not sure he was the killer, anyway.

“Are you finished mentioning my family?” Alexei’s tone strongly suggests that I am.

“Yes,” I whisper.

He cocks his head. “How many criminal trials have you won?”

“None,” I say instantly. It’s crucial to be honest with clients. “I haven’t lost any, either.”

His head tips up and he watches me from half-closed lids. “You’re in charge of the pro bono arm of the firm?”

“No.”

“Why you, then?”

It’s a fair question as well as a smart one. “I’ve never lost in a civil trial, so the partners assigned me your case, even though this is a criminal procedure.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m good and they want you free.” I shrug. “This is positive exposure for the firm.” Which is what my boss, Jaqueline Lion, told me when assigning me to the docket. “We have several verdicts being overturned because of the judge’s corruption, and yours came up, being the most high profile. Losing your case harmed the firm seven years ago.”

His nostrils flare. “The firm? The loss hurt the firm?”

“Yes.” Damn, he’s intimidating. Do I want him free to roam the streets? “This is a chance to fix the damage caused.”

“And promote you to partner?” he guesses.

My life is none of his business. “I’m good at my job, Alexei.” Yeah, I don’t use his last name. “You can go with outside counsel. I’ll rip up your retainer agreement if you want.”

“I want you.”

I hear the double entendre and ignore it. “Then it’s my way and you’ll follow my directives.”

Now he smiles. Full on, straight teeth, shocking dimple in his right cheek.

Everything inside me short circuits and flashes electricity into places sparks don’t belong.

He taps his fingers on the table. “I signed the agreement, and this means you work for me. Correct?”

“Yes.” But I call the shots.

He moves so suddenly to plant his hand over mine, that I freeze. “You need to learn now that I’m in charge of every situation. Do you understand?”

I try to free myself and fail. His large palm is warm, heavy, and scarred over my skin, with the hard metal table beneath it a shockingly cold contrast. My lungs stutter and hot air fills them. “Whatever game you’re playing, stop it right now.”

His hand easily covers mine, and his fingers keep me trapped in sizzling heat. “I don’t play games, Peaflower. Learn that now.”

“Peaflower?” I choke out, leaving my hand beneath his because I have no choice.

“Your eyes,” he murmurs. “The blue dissolves into violet like the Butterfly Pea flower. A man could find solace from everlasting torment just staring into those velvety depths.”

I have no words for him. Are there words? Scarred, barely uncuffed, and intense, he just whispered the most romantic words imaginable. And he’s a killer. Just because the judge was corrupt doesn’t mean Alexei hadn’t committed cold-blooded murder. Two things can be true at once. “We need to keep this professional, if you want me to help you.”

He releases me and stands. “Guard,” he calls out.

My hand feels chilled and lonely.

Keys jangle on the other side of the door.

“Rosalie, this is your out. If you tear up the retainer, I’ll find another lawyer. If you stay, if you decide to represent me, there’s no quitting. You’re in this for the duration. Tell me you get me.” Fire burns in his eyes now.

I stand, even though my knees are knocking together. “I’m doing my job.”

“Just so we understand each other.”

The door opens, and the same guard from before moves inside, pauses, and visibly finds his balls before securing the cuffs on Alexei, who watches me the entire time. He allows the guard to lead him to the door.

Once there, he looks over his shoulder. “I hope you stick with me in this. Also, you might want to conduct a background check on Miles Molasses from your firm. He was a co-conspirator to the judge and prosecutor.” His teeth flash. “How convenient that he just died in an accident. Right?”

Some bean counter from the accounting firm two floors above mine chews peanut brittle on the way up in the elevator, and the sound cuts through me like a sharpened blade. I cast him a couple of looks over my shoulder, but he munches contentedly away, his gaze on the different numbers lighting up above the door. What a jackass. I try to concentrate on the soft elevator music, but the melody is no match for his teeth.

The door opens and I leap out, barely keeping myself from running as I hustle onto the seventh floor of the Cage and Lion Law Firm. It’s rare I forget to keep my earphones with me just in case assholes chew or sniff near me. Most people have never heard of my condition of misophonia, and that sucks.

I nod to the receptionist and continue beyond her and several offices to my own little spot of prestige. I don’t understand why Cage and Lion has the top two floors, eleven and twelve, the seventh floor, and the second floor as their law firm. It makes much more sense to have all of the floors together, but maybe the rent is cheaper on the lower levels.

My small office has light, rose-colored walls and a wide window that looks out over Silicon Valley. The bookshelves are oak and my desk glass. It’s one I chose when I accepted the job, and I like it quite a bit. The decorations are subtle with crystal-framed pictures of my grandfather and me when I was a child, a picture of me and my two besties when we graduated from a stiff and isolated boarding school, and one of my seven renters in the Victorian home I inherited from an aunt I never met. The people in my life who matter.

There’s also a stunning and ornate silver mirror on the side wall, between bookshelves. I found the piece at a garage sale after I passed the bar exam, and sometimes when I look at myself in it, I feel strong. I’m sure it’s the way the light reflects in it, but I’ll take all the help I can get.

I cross around to sit in my white leather chair and then look up as a body fills the doorway. “Joseph.” I stand to my heels again. We very briefly dated, and I still regret those two weeks. Oh, he’s handsome and smart, but he was looking for either a quick fling or a society lady to make looking good on his arm her entire profession. I fit neither of those categories, and we parted amicably. Well, after he told me I was the perfect lawyer because of how cold I am. I didn’t so much like that, even if the words held truth. Most men bore me for a reason I have never nailed down. Including Joseph Cage.

“Sit down, Rosalie,” Joseph Cage says, his smile charming and his black hair with just a hint of gray at his temples smoothed back from his tan face. “How did it go at the prison?”

“It was interesting.” I sit and cross my legs, tempted to reach for the one remaining red apple from the bowl on the corner of my desk. “I’m not sure allowing Alexei Sokolov out into the world is doing anybody a bit of good.” Just saying his name catches my breath in my throat, and I mask the feeling with a cough.

Cage leans against my door frame dressed in black slacks, a white button-down shirt, and a green tie. His office is, of course, on the top floor, but he does spend time with the associates and paralegals on my floor more than his partner, Jaqueline Lion, does. A couple of the other associates and I have joked that Cage and Lion probably changed their surnames before they created a law firm to obtain the cool sounding name. The running agreement is that their names were actually Smith and Patterson.

“When we lost Sokolov’s case, it was a blow to the entire firm,” Cage says. “We should have won that one.”

I straighten, my ears perking. “You think Alexei was innocent?”

“No.” Cage shakes his head, his blue eyes earnest. “I do not believe that man was innocent. Yet, there was enough reasonable doubt that we should have won the case.”

I move my heavy silver paperweight to the side. “Do you think somebody paid off the judge?”

Cage shrugs. “Dunno. I believe the investigators are still combing through the many charges against the judge, but so far, nothing about Alexei’s case has come up. At least we have cause to overturn the verdict just based on the allegations of impropriety.”

I need to make another motion to be kept in the loop on that one. “I made the motion to the court earlier, and the clerk said they’re expediting those matters. We could even hear tomorrow, without a hearing.” My brief had been thorough and above attack. “Do you think Alexei’s stepmother or stepbrother would’ve bribed the judge?”

“Maybe. I know Hendrix and I sure as hell wouldn’t mess with him.”

I see Hendrix Sokolov at various events during my time as a lawyer, and he seems both handsome and freezing cold to me. If people are snakes, he’s a Golden Lancehead Viper with its beautiful golden-yellow skin. I studied reptiles and animals in school but figured spending my time with exotic animals as an adult wouldn’t lead to financial security, so I turned to law. Clearing my throat, I force myself to focus. “Alexei said something about Miles Molasses and his death not being an accident.”

Cage’s eyebrows rise. “Seriously?”

I shrug. “He could have been blowing smoke, but I think it’s something we should investigate. Instinct tells me that Alexei doesn’t randomly make statements.”

“I’ll look into it,” Cage says. “For now, we’ve acquired the trial transcripts, the courtroom videos, and all of the evidence used to convict Alexei seven years ago.” He nods his head toward a stack of what looks like compact discs on the corner of my desk.

“Thanks.” I now know exactly what my night will include. “Do you remember the case very well?”

Cage shakes his head. “No. I was involved with a pretty serious RICO case at that time, and Miles Molasses was our best litigator. It was a shock when we lost the case, to be honest, although the Sokolovs had stopped paying us.”

“They had?” I look up. The Sokolovs own one of the most powerful social media companies in the world and have more money than I can imagine. “What’s the story there?”

Cage shoves his hands in his pockets. “If I recall, Alexei’s mother died when he was young, and his father remarried Lillian Sokolov. She then had two sons, Hendrix. . . and what was the other one’s name?”

“Cal,” I say softly. “His name was Cal.”

“Oh, yeah. The guy who was murdered last month.” Cage nods. “I forgot about that crime. Did they find who butchered him?”

I keep my placid smile in place. “I don’t know.” I have a sneaky suspicion that Thorn Beathach killed Cal Sokolov, but I can’t prove it, and I would never ask Alana, his fian-cée, who also happens to be one of my best friends.

“I’m sure the family has investigators on it,” Cage notes, admiring himself in my ornate mirror. “But it’s my understanding they’ll be of no help in this case. They disowned Alexei even before he was convicted of murder.”

“I see,” I murmur.

Cage straightens. “Although now that Cal is dead, maybe Hendrix will want another brother to help at the helm.”

Not based on the way Alexei had objected to his last name. “I’ll need to speak with the family.”

“I agree, and I’ll go with you if you like.”

“Thank you, but I can handle this case.”

His gaze warms. “Of course. Also, look on the bright side. If you do get a new trial and we get him off, you’ll probably score an office on the 11th floor.”

I meet his gaze evenly. “I’m aiming for the 12th.”

He chuckles. “I know. We all know.” With that, he turns and disappears from my doorway.

My ambition has never been a secret, but I’m sure they don’t understand the reasons behind it. It’s not only money I crave. It’s security. A stack of unpaid bills sits over to the right of my computer to remind me. My student loans are due, as is payment for the mortgage I took out on my home after inheriting it outright. But there had been no other alternative. Not really. I look at the pearl and silver letter opener that had been a present from Alana when I graduated law school, now sitting innocuously on the bills, ready to shred them open and stress me out.

My attention is drawn to the evidence from Alexei’s trial.

Idly, I grasp the top disc, noting it was filmed the night of the murder, and shove it in the disc bank attached to my computer. I had secured the attachment from the basement earlier in the week. These days, a USB would be used. A lot has changed in seven years. I’ll go through all of the discs later, but I’m just curious for a hint of what they might show.

The video appears of Alexei from at least seven years ago. He’s smiling with his arm around the neck of another man at a bar, who’s laughing and spitting up what looks like beer. Women cling to Alexei’s arms, and a stunning blond futilely tries to remove the choke hold, snorting with giggles.

I open a file folder and scan notes and annotated pictures to see that Alexei and his friend Garik Petrov owned the Amethyst Pony. What a stupid name for a bar. The guy being choked is Garik. He’s around Alexei’s age but wears a tattered T-shirt and has forgone a haircut for an immeasurable amount of time. He seems rough, like he should be the bouncer and not co-owner.

I watch them laugh and joke and goof off on the screen. Alexei looks different. Younger definitely, but more free with fewer tattoos. The panther on his neck must’ve been inked while in prison.

When he looks at the camera, obviously knowing he’s being videoed, there’s still an edge in his eyes. The same one I saw today. He’s dressed in an expensive-looking white shirt with embroidered dragons on each breast, and it’s unbuttoned to his navel. His slacks are black and perfectly creased. He was slimmer back then, in good shape but not nearly as hard cut as he is now. On the video, he releases the other guy, and they move past several women trying to grab them, to reach a stage.

Both pick up guitars.

I lean forward, curious. They play a hard rock song and Alexei sings. His voice is smooth and sexy, even with a hint of devilment in it. He smiles as he croons about lost love and murderous dragons. It’s impressive. The man can sing. At least he could. Today in the prison, his voice had been darker, deeper, raw, and more scratched like he’d screamed for years.

As I watch, women throw panties and bras onto the stage. He grabs several pairs and laughs, tossing them in the air and catching one. He stops singing, holding white lace panties up. “It looks like we have a winner tonight, and they’re still warm. Who just pulled these off for me?”

A woman shrieks happily from the audience and runs forward, climbing onto the stage wearing a sheer white dress, sans the undies. She’s a young brunette, hopefully at least eighteen. Pink flushes her face, and her nipples are hard beneath the barely there material. She hops up and down, her hands clutching at one of his arms.

“I guess you won, darlin’.” He leans over and kisses her, one hand sweeping down to grab her ass, the epitome of a spoiled rich boy accepting a gift. “Free drinks for the entire month.”

She squeals and presses clo. . .