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She’s all vixen, shedding the victim guise so fast my head spins and I’m left wondering which version of Anya is the real one.

Just when I think I know what to expect from her, she throws me off.

I don’t like it. It makes it difficult to stick to the plan when she doesn’t act how I’d expect her to.

Take right now, for instance. I thought she’d burst into tears the moment we got up here, resign herself to her fate, and never look at me again.

Instead, the look she’s giving me is fuck-me eyes, and damn if I’m not thinking about her pert little ass in my hands again.

So much for the innocent, sheltered Milov girl I’d been banking.

That’s the problem with her being the most reclusive of the Milov family—we don’t have a ton of information on her. She’s a wild card.

I need to get us back on solid ground, but the sight of her bound hands, tiny dress, and my jacket is making that a challenge.

“I’ve removed most of the potential weaponry,” I say, double-checking the room’s security. I wouldn’t put it past her to turn a statue into a shiv. “Though after your attempt to skewer me with a shoe, I know your imagination has no limits.”

She glances down at her broken heel, then lifts her tied hands in a helpless gesture. “Mind taking those off for me?”

Anya extends one toned leg forward. I keep one eye on her as I kneel to remove the battered things, fully ready for her to clock me if she sees an opportunity.

The delicate straps of the shoes wrap around her ankle, and she leans her weight back against the door as I lift her foot.

Her skin is soft and butter smooth. I want to slide my hand up her calf, over her thigh, to that shadowed holy ground beneath her dress, and she knows it.

“Taking your time down there,” she teases, haughty. “A girl might get the wrong idea.”

I remove the broken heel first and toss it aside. Given how long and narrow it is, I’m lucky she didn’t do more damage. “And what idea is that?”

She extends her other leg, lifting it higher onto my knee. I’m eye level with her hips. With her leaning back like that, I can just see the lace trim on her panties. I drop my gaze back down and quickly unbuckle the second heel, tossing it beside the first.

“Well,” she says slowly, inching her dress up a little higher with a wiggle of her hips, “that you’re enjoying yourself, Matvei.”

In any other situation, I’d take her right against the bedroom door, if she were any other girl.

But she’s a Milov. She might be my wife now, but that’s only the first step in the plan and getting physically or emotionally involved with Anya could put everything at risk. As an Abashin, I put family first.

“Only doing what I was asked,” I reply. “As a show of good faith.”

Before I get up, she presses down with her bare foot against my leg and drops her bound hands in front of my face. “So obedient,” she purrs. “Now, how about unbinding these? As another show of good faith.”

I set her foot on the ground and rise to my feet, towering over her. She doesn’t even flinch. “I think you’ll find my obedience has its limits.”

There’s a challenge in the flare of her eyes. Despite her situation, I see no hint of fear, and I don’t think it’s because she’s too stupid to realize the danger.

She presses closer, until I can smell the lingering scent of the vodka we drank and the light, floral brush of her perfume. Lilies, maybe.

“Mine doesn’t,” she promises sweetly. “Take these off and you’ll find out how good of a girl I can be. How good of a wife.”

The pout of her full lips is begging for a kiss and she’s got one hip cocked to the side, making the most of her modest curves.

Blatant as her ploy is, it’s working. How could it not?

She looks like my filthiest dream come to life, fantasy made reality.

God, I wish she had been the docile, innocent thing I’d expected, just to make my life easier for once.

Taking control of Miami should have been simple.

The place was practically unclaimed, ripe for us.

Then, the Shevchenkos got wind of what we were doing just as we were putting our operations in place, and the larger family has had us against the wall ever since.

Their alliance with the Milov family could be the final blow if I don’t find a way to save us. Anya is my way through this.

I grab her by the knotted fabric between her wrists and pull her against me. The surprise of it knocks a gasp from her, eyes widening.

“Is that right?” I lift her hands with one of mine and cup her neck with the other, feeling the quick jump of her pulse beneath my fingers.

She swallows, nods, and I get the gratification of hearing her breathing hitch.

Her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip.

I could kiss her right now, and fuck do I want to.

Without her heels, she’s even smaller, more vulnerable, and I feel a dangerous thread of guilt weaving its way around my stomach, tightening with every second I keep her here.

“Please?” She swirls her hips forward, right against my crotch, and my pants immediately tighten. “I’ll behave.”

“That,” I reply, tugging the knotted rope loose, “seems very unlikely.”

The rope drops between us and she rolls her wrists, sighing happily. Despite my efforts to tie her as gently as possible, angry red lines crisscross her skin from where she must have tried to wiggle free. Of course she did.

I thought she’d skitter back the second she was free, having gotten what she wanted, but Anya continues to surprise me. Instead, she takes hold of the front of my shirt and grinds against me again, standing on her tiptoes to make up for the height difference.

It would be all too easy to resume our activities in the alley, and my dick is screaming at me to do just that but I force my hands down by my sides, clenching them into fists to keep from grabbing her and throwing her back against that door.

“Behave,” I warn.

Now that she’s unbound, she can cause all types of trouble, so I probably should have kept her tied. Even with her bedroom door locked, I wouldn’t put it past her to come up with some sort of escape plan.

She smiles, a flash of her pointed canines peeking out above her lip. “Is that what you want?”

I’m afraid she sees the answer in my face before I can hide it, or feels it pressing against her hip. I could sink and drown in the depths of those blue eyes. Without even realizing it, I’m leaning forward, moving toward her lips like a man possessed.

It’s the flash of triumph in her face that makes me pause a second before our lips touch, makes me pull back from that all too tempting press of her body. Shit. That was close. The primal part of my howls in frustration.

“Yes,” I say, moving past her toward the door. “Behave. Stay in here. There are books and magazines, and meals will be delivered.”

She sighs, slumps a little. “Fine. Lock me up, Matvei, but we both know you’re denying yourself something you want. And that sort of self-restraint? Well, it can only last so long.”

Anya walks over to the bed and sits down at its edge, leaning back on her hands, unperturbed. I walk out of the room feeling like somehow, despite our roles in this situation, she’s the one with the upper hand. I lock the door behind me.

***

“Shit,” I swear, slamming my fist down on the table. “How bad is it?”

Boris winces and hesitates before answering. “Still waiting on the most recent update, but the fire was spreading fast. The Shevchenkos must’ve used an accelerant all over the place, which begs the question, how’d they get in in the first place? Do you think we’ve got a traitor?”

I’d barely had a minute to compose myself after sealing Anya away before Boris arrived, smelling of smoke, ash on his face, with news of the Shevchenko’s attack on one of our gambling dens.

Bastards waited till the early hours of the morning to strike, and the place went up in minutes, the fire completely unmanageable.

It was the fourth attack in as many weeks.

“Maybe,” I say, considering the idea. It would explain how they always seemed to know our weak spots, but I hated the thought of a betrayal. “Could just be good intel. Good surveillance. I trust our crew, so unless you’ve got someone in mind?”

Boris shakes his head. “Just an idea. Bad luck we’ve been having lately.”

“It’s the fucking Milov alliance.” I’m sure of it. They’ve gotten bolder ever since teaming up with the other family. Between the two of them, they’re trying to run us completely out of Miami. “Made them bolder. Probably gave them some new resources, too.”

Makes me feel less shitty about kidnapping Anya. Both those families have manpower and resources we just don’t have yet, and that means playing dirty. Underhanded. I can’t let my morals get in the way, and I definitely can’t get distracted by Anya’s attempts to butter me up.

That’s all it is, after all. There’s no real connection between us.

The kitchen door opens, and Timofey walks in, bedraggled. He sets his gun down on the table and slumps over it.

“I take it you’re not bringing us good news,” I quip, wondering just how much worse it could be.

Timofey straightens. “Pour me one, Boris, and one for the boss, too.” He waits for Boris to pour us each a drink before continuing. “The whole place is gone, Matvei. Burned to the ground. There’s no rebuilding, and we lost a few men to the blaze.”

I drain my glass in one swallow and let the alcohol burn a trail down my throat. We don’t have the resources to just buy up real estate and rebuild whenever something gets hit. We work for every place we’ve got.

He carries on, but I’m not paying attention now, lost in my own head, making calculations.

Have we lost too much to sustain ourselves here?

No. I just need to capitalize on this kidnapping.

That’ll provide the pressure we need to bring the Milovs into an alliance with us, breaking their pact with Shevchenkos.

Once we’re aligned, we can swiftly dismantle the local Shevchenko operations.

It just hinges on Anya. She can’t be allowed to escape.

“You listening?” Timofey frowns, waving his hand. He shares a confused look with Boris, who shrugs. “What’s going on with you?”

I run my hand over my face. “Nothing. I just need an hour or two of sleep. Don’t take any action until I’m back. They won’t hit again today.”

I walk out and pray that’s true. Exhaustion looms, compounded by the shit news and the stress over Anya, and I pass out the moment I lie down.

***

When I wake, it’s early afternoon. Anya. I need to get her more food and check in, make sure she’s not fastening a rope out of her curtains to climb down the side of the house. Rubbing sleep from my eyes, I head toward the kitchen to cobble together something.

Voices from inside make me pause. Timofey. And the other? I’d know it anywhere. Anya. I know that tone, too. Flirtatious, teasing. I can picture her elbows on the table, leaning across it to give Timofey an ample view of her cleavage, batting those thick, dark eyelashes.

Shit. I wanted to keep her presence a secret for a day or two. How did Timofey find her? Bastard probably went snooping around after I passed out. His curiosity works out when it comes to surveilling our enemies, but it bites me in the ass sometimes, too.

I listen for a minute longer, hating the burn of jealousy that comes from hearing her flirt with another man.

Completely illogical. She’s my prisoner, nothing more.

Just a bargaining chip I can use to gain the upper hand in this city.

Then why does the sound of Anya’s giggle, brought on by something completely unfunny from Timofey, make me see red?

I barge into the kitchen and stop at the scene before me.

It’s almost like I’d imagined, but somehow worse.

They’re close. Anya reaches past him to grab the bag of chips from the counter, and Timofey…

Timofey is staring right down her dress.

She left my jacket in her room and let her hair down, and the lack of sleep has done nothing to detract from her looks.

I can’t blame him for drooling, but I do anyway.

“What the fuck is this?” I growl.

Timofey straightens, surprised, but Anya only blinks innocently at me.

“Your friend heard that I was hungry and took me down here for some lunch, isn’t that right, Timmy?” She pops a chip into her mouth.

I grab Timofey by the front of his shirt and shove him away from her. “She’s our captive, you idiot. She stays upstairs, in her room, door locked, and you don’t go anywhere fucking near her, got it? Now get out of here.”

Timofey scurries off, leaving us alone. Anya looks, if anything, annoyed by my outburst. Probably pissed I ruined her escape plan before it could get off the ground. I round on her next, barely restraining myself from dragging her up the stairs.

“You’re not where I left you,” I say, rounding on her.

“Get used to that.” Anya pulls open the refrigerator door and starts rooting around in it like she lives here.

That simple plan of mine is beginning to seem like a distant dream.