A shadow fell over Kathleen Glazov’s exquisite profile as she lay sleeping. Blissfully unaware that she was being watched, she sighed and shifted slightly, just enough to free the sheet from beneath her arm and expose a rosy nipple to the silvery moonlight.

The male silhouette at the window straightened and took a step toward the bed, bristling slightly as the ever-present, familiar sexual heat practically crackled in the night air. He reminded himself that this woman was his for the taking, had always been his, even before their paths had crossed decades earlier. His claim to her defied the meaningless constraints of time and would continue long after the sun had set on this life. She belonged to him, would always belong to him. And he to her.

These were the thoughts that occupied Alexander Glazov’s mind as he watched his beloved Ptichka sleep. He liked watching her sleep. It filled him with a serenity and peace that only she could evoke within him. She was his tangible peace in an otherwise tumultuous world of lawlessness. The mere thought of his Kathleen coming to any harm was enough to send him into a tailspin of fury.

It was enough to wake him from a deep sleep, as it had tonight.

She was his rock, his stability; hell, she was his sanity. To be without her would be to surrender himself to the beast that still roared within him. As it was, it was all he could do to not give his life over to the demons that plagued him – until he looked upon her there in his bed, where she belonged.

Maverick Vetrov had almost succeeded in taking her away from him. He had become obsessed, even delusional, as he fought Glazov for power that he felt was his birthright. But his delusions had been, of course, proven false and the Glazovs had done what they always did: they closed ranks against the enemy, hunted him down, and killed him.

Maverick’s elimination didn’t change the fact that, this time, the enemy had gotten entirely too close. Any belief Glazov ever entertained that his dark demons had been laid to rest were cast aside like an old, ill-fitting coat. His possessive instincts were seething just beneath the surface these days. Hell, even now his fingers were flexing as he resisted the compulsion to touch her skin, to stroke her hair, to move his body over hers.

Glazov would never allow himself to believe there could be peace. To do so would mean letting his guard down and embrace complacency, and that was never going to happen—especially not after this last episode. It only took one mistake to wipe out years of work. It was the sole reason he demanded perfection when it came to matters of business.

Glazov was hard on his people, but he was twice as hard on himself. As Pakhan, he shouldered the responsibilities of life and death and he took those responsibilities seriously. Ghosts from the past were always lurking around unseen corners, waiting for the opportunity to destroy him—Maverick Vetrov had proven that to be true.

His cock stirred when his wife moved beneath the covers, kicking the covers off one of her legs. She still excited him as much if not more after many years of marriage. He wanted his children to find the same deep, lifelong connection with their own spouses.

Yes…all was good in Glazov’s world, for now. It was time to shore up the final details of his fledgling diamond import venture. He hadn’t told anyone yet, but he had decided to bring his sister Vladimira over from Russia. Glazov knew there was strength in numbers and Vladimira was one of the most ruthless killers he knew. She would be an asset to them. Now…he just had to convince her.

Of course, Glazov had a plan. It seemed Vladimira had a secret: Yafon. Although they had thought they had kept their wedding weekend rendezvous under wraps, it hadn’t gotten past Glazov’s all-seeing eyes. He had noticed their stolen glances over the years, but knew they hadn’t acted on their chemistry until her most recent visit for the Glazov weddings. He had been surprised at first, but upon further reflection had decided it was a union that made sense.

Yes, she would see things his way—he’d sweeten the pot until she did. He knew she might play hard to get just because she could – something Yafon had, no doubt, discovered by now. But she shared her brother’s unflinching belief that family came first—always. She would come to America. He liked the idea of her being close. But he wondered if America was ready for her.

Sometime later, Glazov moved away from the window. He prowled over to the bed, smiling softly at how the sheet had shifted even lower to expose the curve of his wife’s delectable ass. Her porcelain skin shimmered in the moonlight, practically begging for the crimson imprint of his hand. He rested a knee on the edge of the bed, his fingers flexing in anticipation. Time to think about something other than business…