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It must be my lucky day. Stepping outside for a smoke, and who do I find but the youngest Milov, Anya. I’d know her anywhere, even if I’ve only seen her in surveillance photos and dossiers of the Milov family before. I’ve studied every one of their family photos a hundred times.

She’s even more beautiful in person: dark hair, blue eyes, legs for days. That dress she’s wearing leaves nothing to the imagination, but I’m imagining it anyway, just like every other man in this place. No bodyguards. No brothers. Anya is here like a gift. Or like bait.

I have to play this carefully until I know which one it is, so I take a chance and let her make her own mind up about whether or not she wants to follow me to the bar.

She does. I pull her chair out and help her into it, letting my eyes linger as she crosses her legs.

For a moment, I can pretend I’m not an Abashin and she’s not a Milov—just a man buying a drink for a woman at the bar.

She’s way too young for me, though, even in this little fantasy.

“What will you have?” I ask, leaning in under the pretext of hearing her in this place.

Her eyes flare in a challenge. “Vodka. Two shot glasses?”

If this girl thinks she can outdrink me, she’s got another thing coming. But fine, it’ll only make my job easier. I nod at the bartender and wait for him to return with a bottle from the top shelf and two clear shot glasses. He pours us each a shot to the brim and leaves the bottle.

She clinks her glass into mine and downs the shot in one without so much as a flinch. “So, how old are you?”

I set my glass down beside hers and refill our glasses. “Thirty-seven.” I know the answer, but I’ll play her game anyway. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.” She downs the next shot, and I follow suit.

Even if I didn’t have a file on her, it’s clear she’s young.

Porcelain, unlined skin, eyes that still sparkle with innocence, and that body…

well, it’s clear she takes care of herself.

She doesn’t have the roughness I’d expect from growing up in one of the most ruthless crime families, and that puts me on edge. This could all be an act on her part.

This time, she fills our glasses and hands me mine. Our fingers brush over the cold glass. Shit. I’m a little turned on. Something about that sweet face downing vodka like it’s water is doing it for me, and that’s a problem when she’s nothing more than a target.

“Why’d you get me in the door?” she asks, angling her body toward mine.

It makes it way too easy to look right down her dress, which is already cut low. Small, perfect breasts and no bra in sight. I’m a man on a mission, but I’m still a man.

I drag my gaze up slowly, shamelessly. “Why do you think?”

Her cheeks turn pink, and I smooth the surprise from my face.

Maybe the innocent act isn’t an act after all.

Everything I know about Anya Milov suggests she’s the spoiled princess of the family, doted on and protected by her brothers.

That means she’s their weak spot and the ultimate target.

Taking her would bring them to their knees.

After their recent alliance with the Shevchenkos, the Milov family became priority number one.

The Abashin family is small, up and coming, and taking on the Shevchenkos for this territory was already stretching us to the limit.

Add in a powerful family like the Milov’s and we’re screwed if we don’t get out in front of it. That means fighting dirty.

“So you thought I was cute and let me in?” She wrinkles her nose like she’s offended.

I pour and slide her glass over. We’re making a dent in the bottle, but I’m not feeling it yet. She’s less than half my size, but I don’t see any signs of it affecting her, either.

“Like you weren’t about to bat your eyelashes at the doorman,” I remind her. “I just saved you a step.”

She sits back, lips pursed like she’s about to argue, but we both know I’m right.

“What were you doing there anyway? Were you leaving?” Her fingers wrap the empty shot glass, small, delicate fingers with pink-tipped nails.

Nosy little thing, but there’s no harm in answering. I’d rather keep her focus on meaningless shit like this. Saves me some lying.

“I was going out for a smoke,” I say, sliding the pack from my pocket and palming it. “And some fresh air.”

“What a contradiction.” She eyes the pack of smokes like the poison they are and plucks them from my hand. “These will kill you, and you’re already getting up there in age.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

I reach for the pack, and she jerks it out of reach like a teasing older sibling.

Irritating. Ballsy. Rather than play her game, I grab hold of her wrist before she can react and slide the pack from her grip.

Something keeps me from dropping her hand the moment I have it, and I can’t resist dragging my fingertips down the inside of her wrist as I release her.

She grabs the spot like she’s been burned.

“Rude,” she says, with the first hint of heat I’ve seen from her. She doesn’t like not getting her way.

I cock one eyebrow and pocket the smokes before refilling our glasses. “Says the thief.”

She twists a lock of hair around her finger, and I try not to stare. “So why me? All those girls standing out there in line, and you pick me?”

Is she fishing for compliments? With a face like that, there’s no way she needs them. I can’t answer her honestly—the sister of my enemy practically fell into my lap—so I opt for flippant.

“You looked cold.”

She bursts into laughter, drawing the attention of the other patrons at the bar. It’s so contagious that I can’t fight a smile forming on my face.

“I was cold,” she admits. “Honestly, it’s not that much better in here.”

Her bare arms are covered in goosebumps, and she rubs her hands over them for warmth.

“The thermostat is set for dancing, not sitting,” I say, sliding out of my leather jacket. “And you’re a tiny thing.”

I step behind her and wrap the jacket around her shoulders. It dwarfs her, covers her more than her dress ever did, and she nestles down into it like a little woodland animal in a nest. Fucking adorable.

When I sit back down and see her from the front, I realize the problem: she looks hot in my coat. Her eyes are bright from the vodka, and she’s tugging at her bottom lip with her front teeth in a way that’s too damn distracting.

“That was sweet of you,” she says, then flashes a wicked smile. “Almost paternal.”

“Ah, fuck off,” I groan, because I can’t predict this girl. Sweet one minute and sass the next. “I’ll take it back if you’re going to keep on with the old man jokes and let you freeze to death. Serve you right for wearing that.”

“You don’t like it?” Anya slips one finger beneath the neckline of her dress and runs it down over the front, flashing just the hint of pink around one nipple.

My mind goes blank. Did she really just do that? The front of my pants grows tight in a response that says yes, she did, and she knew exactly what she was doing. Young, but not so innocent.

The next shot I pour for us is to steady myself, and I pour a second in quick succession, just for me.

Focus on the mission. This is too good an opportunity to blow just because Anya Milov is way hotter than I realized.

Pictures couldn’t capture the way she moves, the way she looks at me, that fucking smile.

“None for me?” She pouts, waving her empty glass.

Looking me dead in the eye, she uncrosses her legs and flashes me a view of lacy, dark panties beneath that short, short dress. She recrosses them a heartbeat later, but I’m still staring, still trying to unscramble my thoughts that she just shorted out.

“I think you’ve had enough.” It comes out more like a growl, but she isn’t cowed by it.

The girl has no sense of danger at all. Coming out here all alone, unguarded, never mind the skimpy outfit.

If I were one of her brothers, I’d lock her away for a year until she learned how to take care of herself.

Negligent. I’m almost pissed at the Milovs for letting her out like this, a feeling I will have to unpack at a much later date because right now, I’m just struggling to keep the upper hand here. Keep to the plan .

No part of the original plan involved seducing Anya Milov in a nightclub. We’d intended a straightforward kidnapping, grabbing her on the way to her car one day when Milov security slipped. This… situation makes things a hell of a lot trickier, but I’m not going to blow it.

“Come on, Dad—”

I press my finger to her lips before she can get the rest of that word out. “Don’t you dare.”

The tip of her pink tongue darts out and she sucks my fingertip into her mouth.

Shit. My cock had just started to go back down after that flash and now this?

Blood runs right from my brain to my dick and doesn’t start to flow back in the right direction until she takes my finger out of her mouth with a soft pop.

“You never did get that fresh air,” she reminds me, getting to her feet, surprisingly steady after how much vodka we’ve had. That bottle is more than half empty, and she went nearly shot for shot with me.

I get up and follow her. Men turn to stare as she passes by, but she’s completely oblivious to their lecherous gazes, hands tucked into the pockets of my jacket. I shoot the worst offenders a death glare that has them looking at their feet.

Outside, most of the crowd that was waiting when Anya arrived has either gone into the club or left to try elsewhere, leaving just a few stragglers on the sidewalk and a bored-looking doorman.

“Well?” she prompts when I stop beside her, nodding at my pocket. “Are you going to smoke or what?”

“You just said it was going to kill me.” I tap a cigarette out of the pack and bring it to my lips, cupping my hand around the tip to shield it from the wind as I light it.

The flame lights her face, all big blue eyes and tousled hair. There’s an alley on the east side of the club that cuts through to a back street, and I jerk my head in that direction.

“Are you taking me somewhere to kill me?” she asks, and I almost trip over my own feet in surprise.

Does she know who I am after all? I glance back, taking in the handful of people milling about who would definitely notice if she started to scream.

But she’s only joking, smiling up at me as she steals the cigarette from my fingers and takes a drag.

Just when I didn’t think she could get any hotter.

“I wouldn’t want to get blood on my jacket,” I counter. “It’s a good jacket.”

The alley is empty, with one dim light flickering over a doorway to an old apartment building.

She passes the cigarette back to me, but before I can lift it to my lips, she’s there, standing on tiptoes to kiss me.

Her lithe little body presses against me, needy hands on my chest, and I can’t stop myself from kissing her back.

The kiss deepens, becoming hungry, feral—a tangle of tongues fighting for dominance.

Mine wins, and her moan into my mouth is desperate, sending a hot flare of desire straight through me.

I want to hear her moan a thousand different ways, want her panting in my ear as I pound into her.

I slide my hands beneath that pathetic excuse for a dress and cup her bare ass. Of course, she’s only wearing a thong.

All I can think about is taking her. Right there in that alley. In the backseat of my car. In the nearest hotel. Whatever it takes to get her wrapped around my dick.

Her hand slips down between us and brushes over my hard cock, palming it. I move my mouth from her lips to her neck, sucking at the sensitive skin beneath her ear.

“I don’t even know your name,” she gasps, her other hand cupping the back of my head as I bend to reach her throat.

What the fuck am I doing? Her words are like a bucket of cold water poured over my head, shocking me back to reality. I can’t do this. I can’t have her like I want without screwing my entire family over.

I move my hands up to her waist and bring my mouth to her ear. “Anya Milov, you shouldn’t leave the bar with a stranger.”

Her hands stiffen and fall away from me. Her eyes flare with something resembling terror, but she’s frozen, not running yet.

“How do you know my name? Who are you?” She searches my face and I feel a sharp, uncomfortable pang of guilt nail my chest.

I stifle it and carry on with the plan. “Matvei. That’s all you need to know.”