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ANASTASIA

E very year, the Remizova gala is one of New York’s largest—if not the largest—galas.

It’s been a yearly tradition started by my great-great-grandparents and has served as a hub for my family to make significant charitable donations, gaining huge favor in the public eye.

My father always told me that it was one of our most essential duties because the only reason we’re able to operate so smoothly between other families is because, to the public, we’re a generous family.

I’ve attended the gala every year since I was old enough to walk.

Each year, I’ve shaken countless hands, smiled endless fake smiles, and answered too many questions about my dating status and how I’m running out of time to have a child.

Last year’s gala was the worst.

Not because I had to field questions about when I would make my father proud and marry a good husband or because three tables ended up with food poisoning thanks to bad shrimp.

It was the worst because I learned my father had sunk to unthinkable depths with the family business.

I overheard him on a call talking about the expansion of our empire and to this day, I can still recall the sickly chill that consumed me when I realized he was talking about trafficking children.

Children.

The skin trade is horrific enough, but learning that my father had no qualms about adding children to the mix completely destroyed my shaky faith in that man.

So I started digging.

It didn’t take me long to find the plans he’d laid out for this business expansion, and I made copies of them all.

Once I learned who he was planning this with, I intended to present them to the other families.

Only, I never found out the identity of his partner, and the original plans were nowhere to be found.

And since his death, this mysterious partner has vanished.

I haven’t stopped searching because Viktor’s words from a few weeks ago ring in my ears.

If I’m not careful, my family could crumble and someone worse will take our place, which leaves the world wide open for that mysterious partner to step in and implement my father’s twisted plans.

For all I know, they’re the ones behind the assassination attempt, so I can’t let that happen.

I need a plan.

“You busy?” Soft knuckles rap against the door of my office, derailing my trip down memory lane.

I push back from the desk and massage lightly at my temples.

“Come in.”

Faina hurries in, closing the door behind her, and she shudders her shoulders in a wave.

“Gives me the creeps.”

“Who does?”

“Viktor.” Faina stops when she reaches my desk.

“Why do you even keep him around?”

“You know why. He’s a wealth of history and knowledge and he was my father’s underboss. No one knows more about my father’s dealings than him.”

“And you think that makes him trustworthy?”

Resting back in my chair, I study Faina and squint slightly.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know. He just gives me the creeps, that’s all. Him and Erik too.”

That catches my attention more than Viktor and I lean forward, one elbow on the desk.

“What about Erik?”

“He follows after Viktor like a puppy,” she remarks, dropping down into the seat before me.

“It’s pathetic.”

“They’re close,” I say.

“Besides, he saved my life.” Just thinking about that makes my heart flutter.

“Like, really saved it. If anything, they’re probably the only two people in the entire world that I can trust.”

“I’m not so sure,” Faina murmurs, drumming her fingers against her thigh.

“Maybe I’m too suspicious.”

“You’re my underboss. It’s your job to be,” I say gently, offering her a rare moment of softness.

“This life makes you suspicious of everyone, but if either of them wished me harm, they could have done something countless times.”

“You’re right.” Faina sighs.

“But that doesn’t mean I have to like them.”

“True.” I chuckle.

“I’m only as sharp as you, y’know. You’re my second pair of eyes in this hellhole.”

“Speaking of hellholes.” Faina digs her phone out of her pants.

“You remember the nightclub we lost to the Irish?”

“How could I forget?” A deep sigh rises in me.

“Having to deal with all this shit on top of Cormac Gifford thinking I had time to murder his brother. If only I were that skilled.”

“Well, we’re halfway through the rebuild and they want your feedback on some of the designs.”

“Aren’t we just rebuilding the whole thing?”

Faina shrugs.

“It’s your chance to put your own mark on the place, don’t you think? I mean, everything you’re working with right now is your father’s history. This is your chance to make something your own.”

“Not my only chance,” I say, taking her phone from her and typing in an address.

“Have you seen these?” I handing the phone back to her, and Faina’s eyes widen.

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“You’re insane.”

“Maybe. But we meet with them on Friday, so read up on all that and see what you can do on your end. The sooner we find buyers, the sooner money starts rolling in.”

Faina’s smile widens.

“I’m on it.”

“Condos.” Three days later, Erik stands in front of me with his hands on his hips, staring around the largely empty building in the middle of being prepared for further construction.

“Yes.” I adjust the hard hat on my head.

“The important thing is the construction side of things. I won’t bore you with the details, but all those men down there?” Approaching the makeshift balcony, I peer over the edge of the scaffolding.

I’ve barely leaned an inch when Erik’s hand closes firmly on my upper arm as if he expects me to topple right over.

“I see them,” Erik says.

“Well, they now work for me. In fact, we have seven construction companies operating under the Remizova name and I’m hoping to secure more.”

“Construction,” Erik repeats, and his tone suggests he doesn’t quite believe in this new direction.

I lean back and pull my arm from his grip.

“Don’t sound too enthusiastic. But I’ve been working hard on this. There’s a housing crisis, y’know, and construction is a much safer way to make money. Shutting down my father’s old businesses has left us with a hole I need to fill, and what better way to fill it than with luxury condos, housing extensions… well, anything we can get our hands on, really.”

“I’m not judging,” Erik says genuinely.

“I’m just surprised. Out of all the routes you could have taken, I didn’t think you’d commit to something so… ordinary.”

“Why?” I challenge immediately, and my body heats up.

“Do you think it’s weak? That my business ventures don’t hold the same weight because I’m not exploiting someone?”

“No, I’m not saying that at all,” Erik replies immediately, not shying away from my gaze.

“I merely meant that I’ve seen the pressure you face from all sides. Crime is easy, that’s all. This is… decent.”

“Viktor doesn’t think so.” I sigh tiredly.

“You should have seen his face when I told him yesterday.”

“Is that your way of saying sorry for going for my throat?” Erik chuckles, moving beside me as we head toward the stairs.

“Because I’m on your side, remember. I’m just security, sure, but I think this is good.”

“I’m… sorry,” I say tightly, and the word is oddly hard to say.

I spent so long saying it to my father that after his death, a part of me closed down and adopted his cold approach to everything, including being wrong.

“I’m on the defense all the time because I’m so used to pushback the moment I make a suggestion.”

“You’re the boss,” Erik says, taking the steps down faster than me.

“Don’t suggest. Order.”

“You forget that I’m a woman.” I snort softly.

“My orders aren’t taken as smoothly as you might think.”

“Host another dinner.” Erik grins slyly up at me as we reach the next floor.

“That’ll make people listen.”

“Are you suggesting I start killing more of my team?”

“Maybe don’t kill people this time.” Erik laughs.

“But it couldn’t hurt to?—”

His words fail as a sudden boom echoes below us, shaking the entire building.

Dust and cement drift down around our shoulders, and our eyes lock.

“Construction?” Erik asks, although his tone already betrays what he suspects.

“They’re on pause today,” I say tightly.

“Because of my visit.”

“Who knew you were coming here?” Erik grabs my hand tightly and immediately starts dragging me down the stairs.

“No one,” I gasp, stumbling to keep up with him as he takes the steps down two at a time.

“I have no one to tell.”

“We’re going out the back,” he says, his voice tight.

On the next floor, Erik stops abruptly and I crash into his unmoving body.

Clutching at his shirt to steady myself, I peer around his arm to see smoke pouring out from one of the vents high in the wall.

“Accidents happen in construction, right?” I say breathlessly.

Another explosion is my answer.

A column of fire suddenly explodes through the open elevator shaft on the other side of the floor.

Distant yells and alarms begin to blare through the air, and Erik pulls me closer against him.

“You stay right on my ass, you understand me?” he orders, turning to face me.

“We’re going to run down to the next floor and then take a left. I saw scaffolding at the end on the way up. We run, okay?”

The floor beneath our feet gives a terrible shudder and the entire building—consisting of the bare shell outline of a towering condo block—sways.

“Okay,” I gasp, quickly erupting into a coughing fit as dust and dirt fill the air in a matter of seconds and flood my lungs.

Erik weaves our fingers together, unholsters his weapon, and we run.

Explosions pop off beneath us and the thick, black smoke from the spreading fire soon consumes the entire building.

The stairwell we run down quickly becomes overwhelmed with smoke, and I’m barely able to see Erik despite his being right in front of me.

All I have is his hand to guide me, so with streaming eyes and terrible coughing, I focus as hard as I can on his hand.

We make it to the bottom, but as we reach it, the next step I expect isn’t there.

There’s nothing to greet me, and Erik yells out above me as the floor disappears and I fall down into darkness—abruptly stopped by Erik’s grip on my arm.

“Erik!”

“Hold on!” he yells, briefly visible as the smoke swirls around us.

“Don’t you let go!”

My heart thunders in my ears as my stomach lurches upward like it’s trying to escape out of my body.

I can barely breathe through the smoke, and while Erik’s grip is like iron, a wall of orange forms behind him.

Dangling above a dark abyss and with more brick and cement crumbling around me, a sudden cold fear grips me.

“Erik, look out!”

I glimpse him as he turns his head, and his grip on my arm becomes painful as he takes in the growing fire behind him.

“Anastasia!” he yells, turning back to me.

“I’m going to pull you up and?—”

Something heavy and warm suddenly wraps around my legs, adding an impossible weight to Erik’s arm.

His eyes widen and his mouth opens in a yell as the sudden extra weight around me jerks my arm out of his iron grip.

I fall with a scream into nothingness.

By some stroke of luck, it isn’t far to fall.

I hit some rubble with a grunt and roll as the weight around my legs drags me down an incline that’s impossible to see in the smoke.

Dust and ash clog my lungs, tearing up my throat with each desperate breath as I fall and roll down into the depths of the building.

By the time I come to a stop, the smoke has somewhat cleared and I taste fresh air on my tongue.

I open my eyes and scream just as a masked man scrambles up from beside me and launches himself at me.

Is this the extra weight that dragged me away from Erik?

I roll to the side, narrowly avoiding the stranger’s fist.

It slams into the cement where my head was half a second earlier.

All thoughts of self-defense that try to rise in my mind are smothered by the gagging, choking need to breathe through the smoke and the dirt.

I cough so hard that saliva dribbles out of my mouth while I crawl on my hands and knees, desperate to get distance between myself and the stranger.

I follow the cool breeze drifting over my bare arms—air means outside and outside means people—but hands close on my ankle and drag me backward.

“No!” I yell, wincing as the impact of the stranger’s hands on my back flares up the lingering pain from my freshly healed ribs.

He rolls me over and punches me so hard in the face that I see stars.

I’m blinking through a dark haze when hands suddenly seal around my throat and all chance of breathing is robbed from me.

My hands lock around his wrists and I plant my feet, thrusting my hips upward to try and dislodge my attacker, but he’s much heavier than me and barely moves.

His thumbs crush hard against my windpipe, and a sharp pain explodes through the back of my throat.

My eyes flood with tears.

His grip tightens further.

I desperately thrust my hand up, catching him under the chin and sending his head snapping back.

Suddenly, I’m breathing.

Crisp air drags painfully down my throat like I’ve swallowed a thousand needles.

I cough harshly, and the taste of blood floods the back of my throat.

Rolling over onto my side, I continue to cough violently.

One blink and the tears rolling down my cheeks allow me to see the masked stranger picking himself up and shaking his head as if my blow stunned him.

I scramble across the ground, and my hand closes over a broken brick near the wall.

It’s all I have.

He launches himself at me, and I swing my arm out, catching him on the side of the head with the brick.

He yells in pain and falls to the side, and when he climbs back onto his feet, he’s suddenly tackled into the wall by a figure that flies in out of nowhere.

Erik!

His fist collides several times with the stranger’s face, then he throws him to the ground and pulls his gun out from where he tucked it under his singed shirt.

“Wait!” I gasp out, struggling to get my knees under me.

“I want him alive!”

“What?”

“I want him alive!”