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The unofficial part of the engagement party was on schedule for the night. Held at a new location with a significantly reduced guest list, I walked down the block, the city’s sounds blending with the click of my high heels.

After a quick stop at home to change, I was more than ready to enjoy the night.

Neon signs led me to a Bratva-owned nightclub in a more prominent part of town. I knew the layout and the clientele here all too well. I often came for a drink, but mostly to dance.

The combination of the two usually led to heated touches exchanged with strangers.

A safe ground for members and allies, it was where I thrived. My playground.

The space also served as a meeting point for settling business deals .

Bratva’s problems were solved upstairs and illuminated downstairs. Everyone knew not to get involved, to keep your mouth shut or face retribution.

As usual, the music blared at full blast, and people scattered across the three-story building as I entered.

The VIP area on the upper floor was reserved for the elite.

Money didn’t guarantee entry; it was a perk of your position.

An invitation wasn’t enough under normal circumstances.

Today, however, the floor was reserved for a select few.

With a nod to the bodyguards stationed at the entrance, I made my way up the stairs.

There, on huge leather couches, two groups of guests were celebrating.

The mood was surprisingly light, with laughter and the promise of a good time echoing in the air. At the end of the day, we were all just grown-up kids looking for an excuse to party. All eager to escape the ugliness of the day.

I was no exception.

“Stranger,” Enzo called out from the bar, and I grinned at the predictability of his location.

He’s always been my go-to in crowds, a beacon I followed. We arrived together and often left together, though not always, given Enzo’s late-night activities.

“Hey,” I greeted him with a kiss on both cheeks and signaled the bartender for my usual. One thing I never had to worry about was my alcohol tolerance.

I faced the room, turning on the back of my heel. “What did I miss? Any good action?” I asked Enzo.

“It’s been surprisingly uneventful.”

My face scrunched at his words. With a group of gangsters with big egos in the same room, something was bound to happen eventually.

With alcohol involved, the chances increased.

Somehow, we always managed to resolve conflicts without serious consequences.

So far. After the first few times, it quickly became more of a laughing matter .

Fine, we occasionally bet on the chances.

“Maybe they’re saving it for the wedding,” Enzo teased.

“I hope not. I’ll be in the direct line of fire.”

A slight gasp escaped him. “He didn’t.”

I turned to him, amused by the reaction. After-work Enzo was in full swing, and I was here for it.

“You’re looking at the maid of honor.” I twirled for dramatic effect, not caring about the childish display.

“Who else?” Enzo asked, spinning his glass in his hand.

“Maxim Galkin,” I said, speaking his name for the first time.

Enzo narrowed his gaze at the man in question, now seated on the couch, chatting with his younger brother Luka.

His legs spread wide, his dress shirt unbuttoned. I had yet to see him in a suit jacket, and though he had the missing piece around, it was never on.

A drink occupied his hand, the transparent liquid invisible in the glass, making the chunky rings on his fingers stand out.

He made the rough look appealing in the most delicious way.

A thick silver chain hung from his neck.

For a brief moment, I imagined what it would feel like to wrap my hand around it and pull, or to hold onto the cold metal.

His eyes followed the thoughts, and he sported a knowing smile when they registered. Pissed at him for catching me, or at myself for not resisting him, I stuck out my tongue. I wasn’t one to back down, and neither was he, since he returned it right back.

Cocky bastard.

When I zoned back in on Enzo, he wore a strange look.

I pointed to his face, circling my finger. “What’s that look?”

“I had a quick chat with him at the bar,” Enzo said, tilting his head toward Maxim. “He seemed… interested.”

“Interested in what?”

“You,” Enzo breathed out the word .

I let out an unhitched laugh. Shared thoughts. They all led to the same resolution.

But I played it cool. “No thank you,” I whistled. “After Malek’s antics, I’m swearing off gangsters for the foreseeable future. They’re all clingy and possessive.”

I shrugged, but Enzo was quick to call me out, nudging me in the shoulder. “Stop lying. You love that shit.”

Did I enjoy giving up control and being possessed in bed? Hell yeah.

Outside? In front of other people? Not so much.

“Maybe,” I admitted. “Ilya certainly didn’t enjoy it. Not a good first impression.”

“What crawled up his ass?” Enzo glanced at Ilya, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“I wish I knew,” I puffed out a breath. “He completely shut me out.” Very unlike him, which worried me about what was coming our way.

Enzo’s eyes flickered toward Ilya, then back to me, his tone shifting to something a little more serious. “Let’s get past this wedding first.”

“One problem at a time.”

“One at a time.”

Enzo casually slung his arm around my shoulders as we made our way to the seating area, joining the party.

I could see how some might misread our relationship, seeing us as more than friends. The same could be said for Ilya. But honestly, I’d never seen either of them that way. We’d bonded over time, and now it felt natural to have them around.

Here I was, surrounded by so many people. Thirteen-year-old Taya would be happy to know that.

A wedding wasn’t a dream of mine, but being surrounded by friends certainly was.

** *

When I grew tired of the business conversation or the Galkins’ intense stares, I climbed over Enzo, who stayed behind, and left the table.

Alisa was blushing by the time I approached her group. She had invited a bunch of her family members I’d never met, all tied to this life by marriage or blood; it didn’t matter.

“Hey, Taya. I’m so glad you made it. And thank you so much for offering to help,” she greeted me in a flurry of words. The woman radiated happiness, and I couldn’t help but wonder what the secret behind her permanent smile was.

Sliding beside her on the leather couch, I seized the rare moment of privacy. “Are you ready for this?”

“No turning back now.”

“There’s still time. Should I start the getaway car?”

Her expression sobered at the suggestion. “I can’t think of a place where he wouldn’t find me.”

The words worried me, but there was still too much I didn’t know.

“I can.” Our eyes locked. “Maybe we don’t know each other, but if you’re in trouble, I can get you out,” I paused, “no questions asked.”

“I thought he was your friend,” Alisa protested, almost shocked at my offer.

“He is,” I confirmed. “But even friends make poor decisions I can help prevent.”

“I’m fine,” she reassured me, her hand dismissing any concerns. “It’s happening. I owe him a shot.”

You don’t owe him anything, I thought, but didn’t voice it. All I could do was hope her decisions aligned with what she owed herself.

A playful smile tugged at my usual poker face. “It’s still today. Why don’t we make the most of the night?”

Alisa lit up in excitement at my suggestion. “Yes, please.”

Hand in hand, we walked straight to the dance floor, kickstarting the night .

Ilya put a lot of effort into this place. His personal touch was why the club ranked among the most popular in the area. That and the fact that it was a known Bratva hangout.

The DJs were on fire tonight. When the next song started, Alisa and I lost ourselves in the music.

Dancing wasn’t something I particularly enjoyed or was good at, but tonight, it felt great to let go.

I lifted my hands in the air, swinging my hips to the rhythm.

Light reflected off my skin in shades of blue and green, and I traced the rainbows with my fingers.

Being on constant alert was tiring. But here, in this heated crowd, I let loose. Or at least, as much as my deranged mind would allow.

Occasionally, I scanned the upstairs for movement, but there wasn’t much to see past the railing.

Two or three figures leaned against the metal, glancing downstairs.

Enzo never left without saying goodbye, even if he found this evening’s entertainment.

He was somewhere around, most likely deep in his drink like the rest of them.

It had been a while since I allowed myself to get lost in more than just the music. To a stranger. A flavor of the night.

While I didn’t seek relationships, the same didn’t apply to sex.

I was hooked. Short of an addict. My body and mind were constantly at odds.

I wanted to overindulge, to try and keep on trying.

Taste everything there was to sample. The logical part of me wanted to reason, but the arguments weren’t strong enough.

There were no stoppers in place. No parents to worry about. No shame to drag me down. For this reason, I was grateful to be an orphan. Combined with the attitude I carried, it was a recipe for disaster. A delicious, hot mess I planned to enjoy.

I scanned the crowd. A few people gazed my way in open invitation, some I even recognized.

I was free to pick like a kid in a candy store, and this club was the headquarters of Haribo.

Men, women, couples. Point to the right one, and your life would never be the same. Your taste buds would change forever .

The problem? They all carried themselves with pride, but only a few knew how to handle me. Luckily, I’d never had an unsatisfactory experience.

If you possessed something, there was no need to prove the fact. But I enjoyed the game: the teasing, the power play. Easy wasn’t the way.

Disguised as prey, I began the manhunt.

But this time? The death I brought with me manifested in repeated orgasms.

Their lucky day.