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Little does he know he’s in for the fight of his life.

He tilts his head, watching me as if he can hear my resolve, before he stands.

Ofcoursehe’s tall. Legs like tree trunks. Hands as big as fucking dinner plates. None of that lankiness I’ve seen from other men. A full-grown man where others are boys.

“Let’s get one thing straight, little witch.” His voice is low, soft—almost gentle. “There’s no hiding anymore. No more running. Nowhere else for you to go. No one to save you.”

Blah, blah, fucking blah. It’s what they all say. I roll my eyes and lift my chin in defiance, even as he looms over me. If I had a dollar for every mobster who thought monologuing in chest-beating grunts made him sexy or powerful, I’d be retiring in Hawaii by now.

I shrug. “Meh. You don’t know that.”

Unless my fairy godmother moonlights as a grifter.

I’m bluffing though. The people who would have saved me? They’d be here by now. I’m not so special that anyone would go out of their way to find me.

Stepping closer, he reaches through the bars. His finger brushes the cuff, slow and deliberate. The metal is cold, but his touch burns. My breath catches before I can stop it.

He notices. His gaze flicks to mine, unreadable. “I know everything about you, Anissa.” My name drips from his lips like a taunt. “Every alias. Every safe house. Every escape plan.”

Whatever. That’s whathethinks.

Gold glints on his ears. Little hoops. Why is that so damn sexy on a man like him? My eyes drift over the ink on his arms—Bratva, without question. The markings tell me rank and allegiance. High-level, but not a boss. He takes orders, but he’s not a pawn. More dangerous than either. He’s the kind of man they trust to make people disappear. To make sure theystaygone.

I can only assume my worst fear—the very reason I made a deal with the Irish in the first place—has finally come true. The Kopolov family has come to collect what’s owed.

But he isn’t one of the Kopolov brothers or the man I left at the altar. I don’t recognize him.

I’ve heard strange rumors about the man I was supposed to marry. Rafail Kopolov is the Kopolov familypakhan.I’m told he’s now married, which is a relief formebecause I figured he’d be less inclined to come chase me. The McCarthys never shared details with me, and I didn’t want them because I figured the less I spoke of the Kopolovs, the better.

For a while, I thought Rafail wasn’t hunting me anymore. But a part of me always knew the reprieve wouldn’t last. Eventually, they would come. Not to reclaim me but to punish me.

But… this man isn’t Rafail.

He's younger, for one. Bigger, heavier.

I stifle a sigh and get myself together.

Okay, alright.

I know what to do here—if you’re out of your element, in danger, and in desperate need of more information and an escape route.

Rule number one: Play dumb.

"I have no idea who you are," I lie.

He tips his head to the side. "You're a pretty convincing liar. What's your pain level?"

Rule number two: Try to gain sympathy for the purpose of disarming.

“It’s alright, though I think you gave me a… what do you call it…”—I feign a lack of focus to lean into thedrugged-up as fuck skit—“concussion.”

He crouches in front of the metal bars.

I pretend my pulse doesn’t race.

“Did you think I was such a danger to you that you felt it necessary to put me in a cage like an animal? Frankly, I'm honored."

"No, not at all. I'm just a kinky motherfucker and wanted to see what you’d look like behind bars.” He gives me a mirthless smile and a wink that sends my heartbeat between my thighs. “And no one can hear you scream in here.”