Chapter 1

Paris, France

Why is he here?

He’d never once shown up at any of the exclusive nightclubs Sophia had been in. Why now? Her head ached from the heavy bass and the whirlwind of thoughts vying for her attention.

The flashing lights and simulated fog filtering up from two stories below wasn’t helping anything either. Excès was the hottest nightclub in Paris at the moment. Crystal chandeliers dripped from the ceilings, catching the lights of the DJ’s show. Models in glittery, barely there dresses danced with moguls or lounged in the darkened private balconies, the beat of the music drowning out illicit conversations. If only she were focused on any of that.

Sophia gritted her teeth. She had a job to do, one that required her to get her mind off the damned Russian currently staring at her from his own private balcony, or she’d risk losing the chance to uncover the secrets of her elusive prey. The loud, thumping beat pulsed in her gut.

Taking a deep breath, she ran a shaky hand under the back of her hair, lifting the thick dark mass away from her hot nape. In that instant, she stilled, her breath frozen for a moment before she slid her hand away, shocked at the realization the man had her fidgeting like an awkward teenager.

Get it together, Sophia. You’re a damned princess. You were raised in the public eye.

At twenty-four, a crowd of flashing cameras no longer had the ability to shake her, yet one man’s bold perusal seemed to have the power to dismantle her entire serene persona. No other man had ever had such an effect on her. But Viktor Petrovich Popov had never been like other men. The dangerous billionaire had been her obsession for nearly a decade, which had been fine, harmless even, when he’d paid her no attention.

With great effort, she eased her biting grip on the delicate stem of her champagne flute, trying not to look at him again. Focusing on him wasn’t going to stifle either the arousal or the agitation twisting in her stomach.

“More champagne?” Tiffany’s exuberant shout rang out over the heavy beat of the music, jolting Sophia from her thoughts. The other woman brandished a bottle in Sophia’s face.

Sophia managed a smile for the blond socialite while waving away her offer. “No more for now, thanks.”

Tiffany nodded with a wink and a grin before angling back to the other girls. The women smiled and laughed as they spoke, their words mostly lost in the hum of the music. Sophia made every effort to give the right responses, and judging from their expressions, they were either too buzzed to notice or Sophia was hiding her emotions well.

Sophia pushed back a pang of guilt for using the women as props.

Tiffany and the others held coveted spots on her mother’s list of acceptable companions of appropriate breeding and desirable behavior. As far as Sophia’s options went, they were the easiest of her set to be around, and they were always eager and available for a photo op. It was a win-win situation, considering Sophia’s real friends had been stricken from that approved list over two years ago—only two weeks before she would have graduated from university.

The instant her brother, the cold and unwavering king of Porenza, had learned that Sophia’s childhood friends, Irina and Riot, had posed for the cover of a famous rock magazine, he’d ordered her home from university. He’d refused to listen to reason, as she’d known he would. It hadn’t mattered that Sophia hadn’t even been near the photo shoot, nor had she starred in the sexy image that was splayed all over the internet, having been leaked to the media before the magazine was actually published.

Sophia and her friends had known what would happen when the scandalous magazine cover—showing the two friends clad in skimpy bikinis and licking dripping ice cream cones—was released. Overnight, her friends had cemented a spot in the party-girl socialite set, perfect covers for their covert work. But it had also made it impossible for Sophia to be seen with them.

The resulting two-year separation had become a bigger challenge than Sophia wanted to admit out loud, though she knew her friends were aware. She’d chosen her path. That she was isolated—more so when in her family’s clutches in Porenza—hadn’t been without purpose. Though if it weren’t for Jen, the one guard on her security team who knew about her secret life, she might have snapped.

Maybe she was kidding herself. Have I already lost my mind? What else explained her wandering thoughts and schoolgirl reaction to Viktor Popov being so close?

She swore she could feel his eyes on her body. Her imagination only made things worse. She wished his strong hands were gliding up her legs to grip her ass. Would he pull her into his lap before letting those hands roam to her breasts? Would he torment her, make her writhe and beg for more? Because that was exactly what he’d done in her dreams a thousand times.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Her breathing had grown erratic, and her nipples ached as she snapped her mind away from the fantasy and back to real life.

Over the past eight years, she’d never once let her mask fracture, but she’d never been in such a situation. It wasn’t the job throwing her off. It was Viktor Popov making her cheeks flush. The man had starred in her dirtiest fantasies for those same eight years. In all that time, she’d indulged in what seemed like a harmless and innocent infatuation with a man who was completely off-limits and had never once given her a second glance.

Until tonight.

“Oh my God, this DJ is brilliant!”

Sophia wished she could muster the same enthusiasm as her companions, who bounced to the music. She’d instructed her guards to keep the privacy curtains pulled back from her VIP alcove on the third floor, allowing a full view of the flashing lights surrounding the DJ console below.

For the moment, Sophia hovered back from the edge of the balcony, shrouded in partial darkness. A part of her wanted to sink into one of the leather couches situated farther in the shadows, but she was supposedly there for the entertainment. She had to be seen so her prey would come to her.

Instead of retreating, as she wanted to do, she moved forward, gazing down at—but not really seeing—the crush of club-goers grinding to the beat two stories below.

Observers with a view of her balcony wouldn’t detect any hint that Princess Sophia of Porenza was so tense they would have to pry her fingers from the stem of her barely touched glass. She’d long ago perfected an appearance of amused composure, one she prayed remain intact. Sophia sucked in a breath and released it slowly, easing the tension from her stance by sheer force of will. If only she could drink enough to relax. But that wasn’t an option. If it had been, she would have swiped the bottle of champagne right out of Tiffany’s hand and downed it as soon as she saw Viktor sitting in the alcove across from hers.

She hadn’t expected to have to battle her response to being practically undressed by her childhood obsession. The man shouldn’t even be in the club. It wasn’t his scene. Unfortunately, it was most definitely his younger brother’s.

The club erupted with a wave of heavy, thumping bass. The DJ, Feliks Petrovich Popov, was skilled and a celebrity in his own right because of his creative music mixing. His brother’s financial empire only added to his fame. She blamed Feliks for her obsession with his brother. The DJ was an old boarding-school acquaintance of hers, which was where she’d first laid eyes on the Russian eyeing her. The two men were polar opposites, possibly because of their ten-year age gap. Feliks was playful, fun-loving, and boyishly handsome, while his older brother was dark, intensely sexy, and extremely dangerous.

She caught her guards eying the area where Viktor sat, which meant he was still focused on her, a fact that would undoubtedly get back to the palace and her self-righteously conservative brother, William. She wondered whether William would dismiss Viktor’s interest or blame her for somehow encouraging it. Her brother’s potential reaction was another reason not to get caught staring in the Russian’s direction and yet just one more reason she wanted to. Reckless impulses like that seemed to be dogging her every step these days, and they needed to stop.

The Russian billionaire was said to be incredibly ruthless, deadly even, with old family ties to the Bratva. He was definitely not on her mother’s list of suitable companions.

She mentally sighed. It had been eight years, and he’d only gotten sexier since the first time she’d seen him.

Sophia stood at the edge of the quad, the whoop, whoop of the helicopter blades signaling a guest. Her long hair whipped against her cheeks as the massive black beast landed. She was just as curious as everyone else about who was visiting La Couronne, their elite Swiss boarding school. Bodyguards, including hers, stood protectively between the students and the newcomers, which seemed odd since the dean was already there to greet whatever high-profile guest had arrived.

When the door opened, she’d found herself rooted in place. The air left her lungs in a rush. There was something almost electric and very dangerous about the man who stepped onto the lawn. His long wool coat sat on wide shoulders. The material whipped in the air behind him as the powerful rotors wound down. His hair was shorn short enough that it didn’t move in the wind, almost as short as the manly stubble on his strong, hard jaw. His was not the face of a mere boy. She’d guessed he was in his early twenties, though he held himself like a full-grown man.

She felt her heart rate speed in a way she’d never experienced with the boys at her school. Even from a distance, she could see that his eyes were sapphire and hard, warning any sane girl away. Those eyes had likely seen very bad things. She shivered, knowing there was every chance he’d done those very bad things. That intent gaze scanned the area, searching for something, completely overlooking her and the other girls standing stunned at her side.

Never in her life had she encountered a man like him. Diplomats, politicians, princes, and heads of state—yes. Though this man wore a dark suit just as perfectly tailored as those civilized men and held himself with the same demanding confidence, his eyes said he was of a different breed altogether.

Suddenly feeling warm in her snug navy sweater, Sophia shifted the collar while sucking in a deep breath of crisp fall air. It was impossible to take her eyes off the man as he stalked forward with old Chadwick at his side. Geez, the dean’s graying head only reached the other man’s wide shoulders.

Her friends’ low voices trailed off into the wind. Sophia was too focused on the man in front of her to pay them any attention. Several tattooed and scarred men surrounded him, guarding a man who didn’t look like he needed anyone’s protection. She caught glimpses of leather holsters and the butts of weapons inside their coats.

Her own guard stood ahead of her, watchful, his suited shoulders tense. Somewhere through the din in her mind, she’d heard Tony instruct her to head back into the building. She ignored the guard as she waited to see why the newcomers were there. Helicopters came in fairly often, bringing family members of students or taking students home for breaks. Who could he possibly be there to see?

From the corner of her eye, she saw Feliks Petrovich Popov, a boy two years younger than her, exit the school. She knew him as a well-liked and happy guy, always playing jokes. When he ran to the man from the helicopter, her mouth gaped open. This could not be the boy’s older brother, the one Feliks bragged about any chance he could. They’d all thought his tales were mostly lies since the boy was far too happy to belong in a family that was part of the seedy underworld.

The way the man’s eyes warmed as he clasped the boy on the neck and pulled him in affectionately made her insides flutter. The action was protective and loving.

Viktor… She remembered the name Feliks had used. She shook her head at the way he looked down at Feliks as the boy beamed up in sheer adoration. The two were nothing alike, but their affection for each other was obvious.

She felt a pang in her chest, and her hand moved to subconsciously ease the ache. She couldn’t imagine her brother giving her his attention like Viktor was giving Feliks. Neither William nor her parents had ever touched her with any semblance of affection unless it was for cameras. If she’d been waving her arms, completely immersed in the excitement of some story, as Feliks was, her family would have admonished her harshly for not behaving like a princess.

Sophia shook off the memory. She’d been so enthralled by him in that long-ago moment that she could actually remember the scent of the fall leaves that had fluttered in the air. That had been the first and only real time she’d lusted after a boy, and he’d been anything but a boy then.

That he was even more devastatingly tempting at thirty-two was proof that life wasn’t fair. His hair was longer, his features sexier with age. His eyes were only slightly less deadly than they had been eight years ago, yet the intensity banked there was like a raging wildfire roaring straight through her bloodstream.

Sparing an assessing glance in her entourage’s direction, she confirmed that Tiffany and the other women were dancing, their attention on the light show and the crowd-pleasing enthusiasm rolling off Feliks as he hopped to the beat.

With all attention currently off her, she raised her glass again and allowed her gaze to drift in Viktor’s direction. She held the glass suspended at her lips as their eyes connected. Even with the distance and his dimly lit seating area partially obscuring her view, she felt a shot of electricity slide over her skin, sending tingles of awareness coursing through her body. How was that kind of chemical attraction even possible? She’d lusted after him for years, but to be on the receiving end of his bold appraisal was something very different and far too enticing.

It made her crave something she couldn’t have.

Viktor was seductive in a way no man should be. He lounged in a chair, his long legs stretched before him, and all she could think about was climbing over those strong thighs and straddling him before ripping his shirt open and using his body. It didn’t matter that he was surrounded by men and women, to whom he paid no attention, or that armed, tattooed guards stood at the private stairs going to his section and beside his leather seat.

She groaned mentally.

Having him in her sphere was rapidly becoming a harsh lesson in frustration. The space between their VIP alcoves could have spanned an ocean, and they’d have been more likely to interact. There was enough firepower between his guards and her own to ensure their worlds could never collide.

A “prim” princess of a small country and a ruthless Russian billionaire with a dark history—it was definitely not a match for the storybooks.

Was he playing some kind of game? Seeing if he could unnerve her? Was that the reason for his sudden, blatant show of interest? Annoyance and a hint of disappointment trickled through her at the thought. She didn’t want her fantasies of him ruined by reality. It was time to end whatever this was.

Steeling her spine, she spared a thought for her guards. Jen glanced over, but Sophia wasn’t worried about the female guard. The others were her brother’s pawns—men who would protect her while reporting every detail of her life to her family. After ensuring Antony and Marco were focused on the crowds, their backs to her, she stepped back a fraction to obscure her actions from those on the floors below. All permanent security surveillance had been dealt with so that no one could sell the feed to the paparazzi.

Taking advantage of the moment, she turned her attention to the Russian, finding his eyes still on her. She tilted her head a fraction then lifted her glass in a slight, challenging toast. He only had the power to unnerve her if she gave it to him, and she couldn’t allow that to happen, so calling him out seemed the best move. She returned most of her attention to her guards and the women she’d invited, but not before she caught the barest nod from him before he lifted his tumbler to those firm, sexy lips. He hadn’t returned her toast, but she hadn’t expected him to.

One of his men leaned down to speak to him, thankfully diverting his attention.

Now she could focus. She had to.

Jen cocked an inquisitive brow in her direction. With a miniscule shake of her head, Sophia indicated everything was fine.

Tiffany spun around in excitement, jolting Sophia for a split second. The woman was saying something, though, honestly, Sophia couldn’t hear most of it. It had something to do with the show. She grinned and nodded. Relieved when that appeared to be the right response, Sophia forced her breathing to slow and her tense shoulders to relax.

Her mask of amused composure set firmly back in place, she edged closer to the other girls as they danced in front of the iron railing overlooking the stage and suspended walkways linking the balconies. Flashes of camera phones flickered in the distance.

After more dancing and another glass of champagne, she felt Viktor’s eyes again. Only this time, she was in the right headspace to prevent the attention from getting to her. It was too close to showtime for her to continue acting like a teenager.

A few moments later, Jen cast her a pointed look. Only Jen knew Sophia’s real agenda for the night, and she relayed the silent message with practiced ease.

Her prey had arrived.

An instinctive calm settled over Sophia, and she welcomed the sensation.

She turned in time to see Jean Luc Richelieu, France’s slick-dressed minister of foreign affairs. The way his interested gaze swept over her sent a familiar shiver up her spine. His presence was her reason for being in Paris, and she wanted him to approach, but staying in character was imperative. She and her friends had intel that he was meeting with France’s president very late that evening but was coming to the club first to meet a Belgian diplomat.

Her guards allowed the minister to step into her space. He was on her mother’s approved list, as Jean Luc was from a very old family with a great deal of wealth beyond his political ties.

She leaned toward him, accepting his kisses on her cheeks while stifling the instinct to recoil from his touch. His cool palms settled on her arms above the gloves her friend Riot had designed to match the delicate straps of her designer heels. The gloves looked to be made of thin straps that crisscrossed her arms, with sheer, nearly invisible fabric in between. They weren’t any more comfortable than her four-inch heels, mainly because the gloves had an added feature. They were lined with clear latex meant to keep fingerprints and any hint of DNA from transferring to the technology concealed on the inside of her index finger.

“Your Royal Highness.” The dark glint of interest in Jean Luc’s icy gray eyes was unmistakable. She would be treading a dangerous line with him tonight. In the last two years, she’d artfully rebuffed several of his advances and seen his interest morph into something darker each time, a shadow of something sadistic hidden just beneath the political charm. “It is always a pleasure to have you in our fair city.” He was her height in heels, putting him at about five feet nine inches, with a lean bicycle-enthusiast’s frame and perfectly styled brown hair.

He’d be attractive to anyone who didn’t know he was a snake in a fifty-thousand-dollar suit. At best, he was a murderer, protected by those even higher in power. At worst, he was a serial killer, protected by the elite for some unknown reason. She and her friends had spent months trying to uncover the full extent of his crimes and who exactly was protecting him, with very little success. His home had proven clean, aside from a hidden room containing a cache of illegally acquired artifacts. His staff turned over often enough that they didn’t know much about the man. And all that her people had discovered was the fact that at least two of his ex-employees had gone missing around the time they were let go from his staff.

She pushed her dark thoughts aside to focus on the man before her. Flashing a royal smile, she responded, “I love it when my schedule brings me to Paris. I had no idea you would be here this evening.” Polite small talk was a skill honed from birth, but tonight she made sure her words were a fraction slower, her smile just a fraction brighter than usual, as if she were slightly inebriated.

His gaze seemed to flash with something she couldn’t put a name to. Calculating… Yet he’d never made the top of her mark list. Until now.

When his body angled closer to her, she held her breath, praying she wouldn’t have to withstand his touch again. This was where her “prim” persona came in handy. Most people maintained a respectable demeanor when in her presence. That was the one situation in which having an ultraconservative brother worked to her advantage.

Before he moved too close to her, her companions closed in around Jean Luc, vying for his attention. Sophia had to force back the desire to yank them away, but she needed to play her part. Which meant she appeared completely ignorant about his sadistic side. He’d been extremely cautious in his darker dealings over the years, to the extent that he actually had a near flawless reputation, as far as politicians went—a red flag if she’d ever seen one.

To high-ranking society, Jean Luc was an attractive thirty-eight-year-old man with a prominent pedigree, wealth, and a political standing that afforded a great deal of influence and clout in their world. That her social friends were flocking around him made that point very clear, and she didn’t like that she was the one dragging them into his scope.

People had a tendency to go missing around him. Sophia’s group had been monitoring the Frenchman’s dealings, so when one of his business associates went missing, her operatives had delved deeper. The missing man’s last actions were to sell Jean Luc a prime property that, by all accounts, the man hadn’t wanted to sell. A team had been sent to investigate. They’d found no mention of Jean Luc having even been questioned in any police reports, and the family had clammed up.

The whole thing was far more blatant than any of the other disappearances they’d linked him to, which only added to her unease. Was he becoming more brash in his activities because he was sure of those protecting him?

How many elite members of society were even shielding him, and why?

To take a man like Jean Luc down, they would need as much information as they could get.

All signs indicated that the Frenchman was being shielded by high-ranking officials, possibly all the way up to the president of France. His untouchable status wasn’t coming from family ties. He was the last of his line, considering his father and uncles were conveniently dead. But again, they’d yet to find any solid evidence that he’d had anything to do with those. Deaths due to heart attack and cancer were not ruled as suspicious.

Even as he charmed the others, his eyes kept trailing back to Sophia with a dark kind of intensity that made bile rise in her throat. He’d always made her uncomfortable, just not this uncomfortable. It made her wonder if they’d made a big mistake all these years. Perhaps he should have been higher on their mark list.

They needed to find out what exactly they were up against. Quickly.

Precision was key to her current task, so she forced her body to relax. The next few moments seemed to move in slow motion. She signaled Jen to her side. The guard whispered in her ear before retreating out of the way. Sophia’s next movements were choreographed based on Jen’s instructions so that, when she turned, she stumbled directly against Jean Luc.

With a practiced movement, Sophia trailed her gloved fingers inside his lapel, sliding the short pin of the nearly invisible piece of technology into the expensive material. Then she retreated, a wide-eyed look plastered on her face. She kept her other hand on her nearly empty glass, allowing it to splash haphazardly. In less than a second, Jen was there to help extricate her from Jean Luc’s almost biting hold.

It took all her skills not to flinch at the look in Jean Luc’s eyes. It was icy and calculating for a fleeting second before it turned to something far scarier. Sophia’d seen lust before, but that look was some twisted perversion of lust that made her crave a bath. The other women didn’t seem to notice. Tiffany was smiling and taking Sophia’s glass. The gesture was kindly meant.

Sophia smoothed the material of her black dress as if embarrassed. “I have to blame my clumsiness on your incredible champagne. I believe I have had my limit tonight.” She was grateful that her male guards had turned at the exchange and were widening the gap between her and the minister.

“Everything is fine,” she informed the guards, smiling even as she fought back the anxiety tightening her chest. She would likely hear about her uncharacteristic overindulgence when she returned to the palace, but receiving a lecture about propriety was well worth having completed her task.

No one else in her organization could have planted the bug as easily as she had. Jean Luc rarely allowed anyone close to his person, and his own guards saw that people kept their distance unless the minister initiated contact himself. The guards in question had been eyeing Tiffany and the other women and had stiffened to act the moment Sophia bumped into the minister, but they hadn’t stepped in. Royalty were allowed leeway others were not afforded, though she knew the Frenchman likely also allowed her touch because of his interest.

She was relieved when Jean Luc’s attention diverted toward the stairs. With a glance in that direction, she noted a squat man with thinning black hair. The Belgian diplomat and a couple of men, likely security, ascended the stairs to their tier of balcony sections, and Sophia had never been more grateful for a distraction.

When Jean Luc’s gaze slid back to her, his eyes heated, sending another tremor of unease through her. “Regretfully, I must leave.”

Sophia managed to suppress a flinch when Jean Luc moved in to kiss her cheeks again, his hold on her arms more like steel bands this time.

He barely moved back before practically purring, “Allow me to show you the true highlights of the city.” Extricating herself from his grasp seemed more urgent as the seconds ticked past. All she wanted was a breath of fresh air. The scent of his designer cologne would be linked with death and depravation from now on.

She injected a note of prim propriety into her tone. “Another time, perhaps. I return to Porenza in the morning.”

His gaze had cooled as he moved back from her cheek, though his charming smile was still in place. “Pity. Do inform my office the next time you visit.” He bowed politely before turning to the stairs.

It wasn’t until he was safely past her guards that she released the breath she’d been holding. Tiffany and the other women were standing close as they watched him exit, likely calling dibs on the Frenchman. That thought was enough to make her shudder. She’d have to distance herself from him as much as possible, not only because his gaze and attitude had mutated dangerously, but because that was what she did in this part of any operation. The operatives did the real work. She and her friends provided marks, a bankroll, and access to locations, the best in covert technology, and planes for doing mercenary work no one else would touch.

When Jean Luc was finally taken down, it would be best if her interactions with him had only been brief, chance encounters. Eight years of experience proved that removing a man with his kind of power could get very messy. In the end, everyone in Jean Luc’s world would be scrutinized by government agencies all over the world, not to mention the media and other watchdog groups.

Her status and proper persona protected her. She was, after all, the “prim princess of Porenza.” Who would think she and her friends had anything to do with taking down powerful, elite members of society the authorities wouldn’t, or often couldn’t, touch?

She only had a few scant moments for her tension to ease before another visitor, a designer at whom she smiled fondly, was already sashaying toward Antony. Sophia waited for him, her lips quirked in welcome, while surreptitiously tracking Jean Luc and his group as they headed into another private balcony section. His security closed the privacy curtains once the men were ensconced in their space.

Sophia sucked in a deep breath and greeted her flamboyant designer acquaintance while she prepared to endure another hour in the club. The need to escape her guards and her gilded cage, for even a few hours, was more necessary than she would ever admit. Freedom in whatever form she could get it was becoming more important to her than air nowadays. It didn’t matter that she’d be working, hopefully uncovering some of Jean Luc’s secrets with her team, or that she’d be sleep deprived when she faced her mother the next day.

Though she could think of a better reason to be sleep deprived. But the Russian was definitely off-limits, no matter how much he wanted to stare at her ass.

She stifled the urge to squirm as she felt his eyes running all over her skin.

With a fortifying breath, she focused on John Paul, her designer friend. He would require little conversation on her part, which was something to be grateful for since the hour ahead would likely test her in more ways than one.