Ben got zero sleep that night, torn between rushing to Lucy’s door to apologize for his boorish behavior and berating himself for breaking his own cardinal rule. Never fuck the targets.

Jesus, if his Bratva trainers could see him now, they’d kick his ass from here to Moscow. Nik too. Not that he was planning on telling his older brother about this huge error in judgment any time soon.

After hours of tossing and turning, he got up before dawn and showered before pulling on fresh jeans and a clean T-shirt. Must have been the vodka. That was the only reason Ben could think of for throwing all his carefully laid plans out the window. He sighed and sat in the folding chair along the wall to put on his black motorcycle boots.

Shit. Just shit.

As he jammed his feet into his boots, he knew the lie for what it was. Alcohol had little to do with him taking Lucy to bed last night. If he was honest, he’d wanted her since the first moment he’d seen her—bravely facing down those men who were twice her size all to save that mutt of hers. Ben shook his head. There was something about Lucy and her brilliant smile and beautiful green eyes that spoke to him, spoke to the tiny part of him deep inside that longed to break free, to live and laugh and love without caring about the rules.

And that’s exactly why this could never continue between them.

The kind of freedom Lucy made him want? That kind of rebellion wasn’t allowed in the Bratva.

Rebellion got good men killed.

Just look at fucking Mishin.

Exhaling slowly, Ben pushed to his feet and headed out of his bedroom and down the hall to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. Once that was brewing, he grabbed the mail he’d pocketed the day before from Mishin’s place and sat at the breakfast bar to go through it. The digital clock above his stove read five-thirty. Based on how late Lucy had slept in the day before, he hoped to have a little time to get his day in order before she got up. She messed with his control, which was another reason they needed to keep their distance from each other. Ben lived by his hard-won control.  Nik had warned him too, warned him not to make plans, warned him life did not always adhere to his strict rules. God, he was an idiot. To have her so easily make him want to throw caution to the wind was unacceptable, no matter how tantalizing the prospect might be.

He glanced at her closed bedroom door down the hall, then scrubbed his hand over his face before squinting at the first envelope in his hand. There was a date scribbled on it and a logo in the upper left-hand corner—Deco Treasures Art Gallery. It was possible Mishin was trying to hide his stolen two million dollars by funneling it into fine art.  Wouldn’t be the first time someone had tried that scheme and it would make the funds much easier to transport.

Ben had never heard of the gallery, but maybe Nik had. He fired off a quick text to his brother then moved quickly through the rest of the mail. Nothing but bills and junk solicitations. The coffee maker beeped and he poured himself a generous cup, then took a seat in his living room to watch the sun rise over the tops of the high rises in the distance while he waited for Nik’s response.

He didn’t have to wait long.

His phone buzzed just as the first streaks of pink and yellow crested the top of the Hancock building. Nik’s answer was brief.

West Fulton Street. Old Speakeasy Location. Grand Opening Tonight. Costume Party. 20s Attire. Check Website for deets. Never text me this early again.

Ben snorted. And plugged his phone into its charger in the kitchen then glanced over as Lucy’s door creaked open. Pavlov ran out and made a beeline for Ben in the kitchen while Lucy stumbled her way down the hall toward his bathroom, looking mussed and sleepy and entirely too adorable.

He cleared his throat then crouched to scratch the dog’s head. “You need to go outside and go potty, boy? Yeah?”

Pavlov panted and twirled around in circles.

“Right.” Ben grabbed his leash and clipped it on then lead the enormous pooch toward the door, making sure he had his keys and wallet just in case. He considered letting Lucy know where he was going, but she’d already shut the bathroom door, so he hurried outside with the dog, figuring he’d be back before she realized he was gone anyway. “Come on, boy. Let’s go do your business.”

By the time he returned with Pavlov, Lucy was dressed and in the kitchen, fixing herself a cup of coffee. He did his best not to be hurt by the fact she didn’t look up as he walked back into the loft. After all, this was what he’d wanted, right? Separation, distance, no dwelling on the incredible sex they’d shared the night before.

After unhooking the dog’s leash from his collar, Ben hung it on a hook by his door then strode over to get his phone from the charge on the counter. He couldn’t help glancing up at Lucy, admiring the snug fit of her jeans and the way that gray hoodie of hers hugged her curves in all the right places. He also couldn’t help noticing that she had on the same clothes as the day before. They’d not had a chance to make it back over to her apartment yet, but he’d need to add that to his to-do list for the day. Either that, or a shopping spree to get her some new things to tide her over until she got her stuff. Then again that might send the wrong message, might make her think he was considering making their arrangement into a relationship.

“Good morning,” he said, squeezing past her to refill his own cup from the coffee pot.

She mumbled something which sounded halfway between good morning and go fuck yourself. Ben raised a brow at her retreating back as she shuffled in her stocking feet to the living room to plop down on his sofa. Perhaps she wasn’t a morning person. Nik wasn’t either.

Then again, he supposed he deserved that after the awkward way he’d ended things last night. He cringed then gulped his hot coffee, relishing the burn in his throat as his just punishment for acting like such a dick.

Still, he didn’t want to bring up last night for fear of having “the talk.” That was not what he wanted first thing this morning, nor would it fit into his packed schedule for the day. He took his mug and walked into the living room. Pavlov had taken up residence beside Lucy on the sofa, stretching his long body over the other two cushions and leaving Ben no choice but to lean against the windowsill since there were no other seats in the room. He hadn’t gotten that far in his decorating yet.

“You hungry?” he asked, watching her over the rim of his cup.

Lucy shrugged, still not looking at him.

“Is that a yes? If so, we can stop on our way to the costume shop this morning.”

Her gaze darted to him at last, her green eyes wary. “Costume shop?”

“Yes. It seems your father visited an art gallery recently. They’re having their grand opening tonight and because it’s located in an old warehouse that used to hold speakeasies back in the 1920s, you have to be in costume to attend.” He sniffed and winced as the dog scratched his nails across the soft suede covering the sofa. “I have reason to believe your father might make an appearance at this gallery opening and we need to be there to catch him if he does. Therefore, we need costumes.”

Lucy stroked the dog’s head, currently resting in her lap, and cooed to him softly.

Ben couldn’t stop the rush of memories invading his mind—Lucy moaning softly as he’d licked and caressed and loved every inch of her the night before, the spicy flavor of her arousal on his tongue, the sexy slide of her fingernails against his scalp as he’d brought her to orgasm after orgasm. Heat rose from beneath the crewneck collar of his black T-shirt, prickling his skin and tightening his throat.

He coughed and Lucy gave him a knowing stare. Had she been imagining their night together as well? The glint of heat and hurt in her eyes said she had.

Frowning, Ben pushed away from the windowsill and strode back to the kitchen, determined to stay on track and away from dangerous territory. “We need to get a move on. We’ve got lots on the schedule today and I don’t want to get off track again.”

“Right,” Lucy muttered, kissing Pavlov’s head before gently moving him aside and standing. “I know how much you hate to get off track.”

He didn’t miss the sarcasm in her tone or the bite in her voice.

She went back into the guest room and emerged a few minutes later with her dark hair slicked back into a tight ponytail and her shoes on. For an instant, he missed the flighty, free-spirited girl he’d met that first day, with the glowing pink streak in her hair and her bubbly, brave attitude. Now, the only attitude she was giving him was of the keep away variety.

Lucy walked past him without looking and headed for the door, leaving Ben on his own to lock up. By the time he’d joined her at the freight elevator, she’d already managed to get the heavy door open on her own and stood in the corner inside, arms crossed and gaze lowered.

They grabbed a quick breakfast at one of the food trucks lining the street then caught the El to Fullerton Avenue and the brightly painted costume shop on the corner. Lucy barely said two words to him the entire way, just stared out the window or at the toes of her shoes. Ben did his best not to let it bother him. Hell, two days earlier he’d not even known Lucy was alive on planet Earth. Why should she affect him so much now?

Trouble was, she did.

He sighed and followed Lucy down the sidewalk toward the building covered in garish neon yellow paint and fuchsia and lime green daisies. The bright orange awning above proclaimed Windy City Costumes. He was just glad Nik couldn’t see him right now, heading into this ridiculous store. He’d never hear the end of it.

They went inside and were met with aisle upon aisle of makeup and wigs and masks and boas. The place was enough to give control-freak Ben hives. Rather than deal with the chaos, he took Lucy by the arm and tugged her toward the front register.

A portly woman with purple hair and a smiling sun drawn on her cheek grinned at him. “Howdy, welcome to Windy City. How can I help you today?”

“We need costumes.” Ben said.

“Duh.” Lucy rolled her eyes.

The woman snorted. “What are you looking to do? Cosplay? Maybe some boudoir adventures?”

This time, it was Lucy who snorted. “Don’t go anywhere near this one’s bedroom. Trust me, you won’t like what you find.”

Affronted, Ben growled low in his throat. “Watch it, milen'kiy.”

“Don’t call me that!” Lucy glared at him. “You made it perfectly clear I’m not your sweetheart last night, buddy.”

“Will you please stop talking,” Ben hissed between his teeth. “I’m trying to conduct business here.”

“Yeah?” Lucy crossed her arms. “And here I thought you were just being an asshole.”

“Dostatochno!” Enough! Ben exhaled slowly as his loud voice echoed around the otherwise quiet shop. The clerk stared at him wide-eyed, Lucy rolled her eyes, and Ben wanted to punch something—namely Mishin’s face for making him get involved in this mess in the first place. “We need costumes from the 1920s for a party tonight. Do you have anything?”

The startled clerk eased out from behind the counter, her gaze darting to Ben’s tattooed hands before flying back to his face. Color drained from her cheeks and her steps were wary as she led them back through the store to the costume rental section near the back. “This is all we have in stock right now. For her, I’d suggest this red fringe number. And for you…” She flipped through a rack of suits. “Try this one.”

He grabbed the pinstriped suit she handed him, along with a fedora and a plastic tommy gun and headed behind the curtained area in the corner to change while Lucy did the same with her flapper dress. When they both emerged, it took a moment to catch his breath.

Lucy looked… Well, Lucy looked incredible.

The knee-length, curve-hugging dress fit her just right, and the crimson color brought out a hint of rose in her creamy cheeks. Coupled with her midnight black hair and that single pink streak, she looked like a pin-up girl come to life.

She sighed and dug the toe of her stocking foot into the tile floor. “Is it that bad?”

“Uh…no.” Ben cleared his throat and tried to get his mind out of the gutter where all he could think about was stripping that dress off her and taking her again right then and there in the dressing room, and instead forced a smile. “You look amazing.” He spun fast, fake gun raised, then tipped his hat to her. “How about me?”

Lucy eyed him up and down, appraising him, and damn if he didn’t feel that stare like a physical caress. He waited, more anxious than he cared to admit. Finally, she gave a reluctant smirk. “That style suits you.”

Ben checked his appearance in a nearby full-length mirror. “Thanks. We should fit right in tonight.”

“Do you really think my father’s going to be there?”

“At the gallery?” Ben met her gaze in the mirror. “Yes, I do. He’s got two million dollars to hide and what better place to do it than in some art. We’ll find him tonight. Don’t worry.”

They changed back into their regular clothes then paid the rental fees at the counter before heading out again. Ben made a stop at the grocery store for basics like milk and butter and convinced Lucy to stop in a small boutique to pick up some much-needed clothing and supplies for herself until they could get back into her place—by him having a “talk” with her landlord or, if worse came to worse, picking the lock. With luck, they’d find Mishin tonight and soon this whole fiasco would be done and he wouldn’t have to deal with either option.

Strange, but his chest pinched at that thought.

Not with relief, but with regret.

By the time they got back to his loft—who knew shopping for clothes took so long—it was nearly time for dinner. According to the gallery’s website, the party didn’t begin until eight p.m. That gave them two hours to eat, change and catch a taxi to the gallery. He didn’t fancy riding the El dressed as Al Capone.

Pavlov had made himself right at home in the loft, taking up residence in the corner near the heating vent and squirreling away one of Ben’s dirty towels from the laundry basket and one of Lucy’s socks as his security blankets.

At seven-thirty he and Lucy were in their 20s garb and saying goodbye to Pavlov again. Ben had made sure to take the dog for a nice long walk around the block, to make sure he was good and tired for the night while Lucy did her hair and makeup.

“Off again,” he said, feeling like some gawky high school kid out with the prom queen for the night. Lucy looked radiant with her hair piled on her head and the glittering headband nestled in her ebony curls. And those lips. They were lethal enough in their usual pink. Now painted and shined bright cherry red, all he could think about was kissing her silly then having her lick her way down his body, wrapping those luscious lips around his rock-hard…

“What are you going to do to my father when you find him?” she asked, breaking him out of his erotic fantasies. “Nothing violent, I hope.”

Ben looked away, forever grateful his suit jacket was long enough to hide the evidence of his rampant desires. “I don’t plan to do anything to him.”

She frowned. “Wait. So, you’re saying there’s going to be other Bratva there too?”

“Of course. I’m not stupid. What they will do to Mishin, I can’t say.”

Lucy grew quiet again as he hailed a cab outside his building and gave the driver directions to the gallery. When they arrived twenty minutes later, it was to a packed house. Ben paid the fare then helped Lucy from the taxi, scanning the crowds for familiar faces, both friend and foe. He spotted Nik, hovering near the far wall, along with several other new enforcers they’d brought on recently and who were still in training. Operations like this were part and parcel for the Bratva and newcomers needed to learn fast how to handle these situations without drawing the attention of law enforcement.

A waitress passed by with a tray of champagne and Ben grabbed two flutes, handing one to Lucy. “Let me know if you spot your father.”

She nodded as they mingled through the large crowd. They made a full circuit of the main room and were about to head back into one of the smaller display areas when Lucy stopped short. “There. Over behind that sculpture. He’s here.”

Ben narrowed his gaze on the older man, thinning dark hair—the same shade as Lucy’s—the expensive cut and quality of his tailor-made suit visible even from across the room. Quickly, Ben glanced over his shoulder toward Nik and gave a slight nod and tilt of his head toward the next room. Nik gathered his men and headed in that direction too. Their plan was to whisk Mishin away before anyone noticed and question him elsewhere.

Ben turned back to Lucy…only to find her gone.

Fuck!

The sway of bright red fringe caught his eye in the crowds as Lucy made a beeline for her father. He watched in horror as she stalked up to the older man and tossed the contents of her champagne glass right in his face.

He rushed over, but the damage had already been done.

“You make me sick! You’ve been a terrible father to me. I deserved better. And now I find out you’ve stolen money as well. From the Russian mafia no less. Do you have a death wish or what?”

Mishin looked shocked. “Lucy, you must keep your voice down. Other people are staring. And I didn’t steal anything. I took out a loan. That’s it. I’m going to pay it back.”

“Enough of your bullshit, Mishin,” Nik said, flanking the man on one side, while Ben squeezed between Lucy and her father to take the other. “Now you will face your punishment.”

Pop!

The loud bang of a champagne cork had the crowds jumping and the Bratva newbies panicking. Before Nik could get them under control one of the men drew his gun and fired in Mishin’s general direction, missing by a mile. The first bullet lodged in the wall about a foot from where Ben stood. Immediately the other enforcer did the same, his ammo going wide and shattering one of the lights in the ceiling. The room filled with screams as people scattered and Mishin seized his opportunity, shoving Nik hard into the nearby sculpture then darting out a nearby fire exit.

Ben dove for Lucy at the same time as the second shot was fired, acting on pure instinct and knocking her to the floor, keeping her beneath him to shield her from the bullets flying everywhere. “Jesus fucking Christ, Nik!” he yelled above the screams and melee. “Get those bastards under control before they kill any innocents!”

“Look out!” Lucy screamed from beneath Ben as a large canvas fell from the wall beside them. Ben covered his head with his hands, but the sharp edge of the frame still left a nasty gash on his forehead. Dazed, he sat back on his heels, blood running warm and sticky down the side of his face. Lucy grabbed a nearby napkin from the floor and pressed it to his wound. “Oh, God. Are you okay, baby? We should get you to the hospital.”

“Nyet,” he said, slipping back into Russian. “I’m fine, milen'kiy.” He took the napkin from her and wiped his face then struggled back to his feet. Dazed, he couldn’t quite believe he’d chosen to protect Lucy instead of racing after Mishin alongside Nik. “Where’s my brother?”

“He ran out after my father. Those dumbass guards of his went with him, thank God.”

Sirens grew louder as the party dispersed. The gallery was in a shambles, debris and damaged artwork strewn everywhere. No blood, thankfully, other than Ben’s. Feeling a bit dizzy from the blow to his head, Ben put a shaky arm around Lucy’s shoulders and steered her toward the fire exit. “Let’s get out of here before the cops arrive.”

She eased him out the back of the gallery and managed to hail a cab back to his loft. The driver, apparently used to seeing injured, costumed freaks in his backseat, never said a word to them. Good thing too, considering Ben’s head was pounding so badly now it felt like it might pop off. A visit to the ER probably would’ve been the wisest move, but growing up in a Bratva family, you learned to avoid hospitals like the plague. He had a well-stocked first aid kit and medicine cabinet back at his home and with Lucy as his nursemaid, calling him ‘baby,’ he couldn’t imagine getting better treatment anywhere.

They arrived back at his loft and Lucy helped him through the door. He’d already fumbled his keys twice when she’d slipped them from his shaking fingers. Pavlov greeted them with his usual boisterous enthusiasm and he nearly tripped over the mutt on his way to the sofa. Lucy shooed him away then got Ben situated on the couch before excusing herself. She quickly changed clothes then helped him off with his suit jacket and tie before tending to his wounds. It all reminded him of when he’d been a kid, falling off his bike, his mom cleaning his scraped knees and giving him a kiss afterward to make it all better. Nostalgia blended with the fuzzy disorientation spinning inside him. This was nice, being tended too, cared for, coddled.

The cut, as he’d suspected, turned out to be nothing. Head injuries, though, were notorious bleeders. As she dabbed the area with an alcohol swab, he hissed through his teeth at the harsh sting and leaned back against the cushions, closing his eyes.

Even with the total fuck-up of his plans, tonight could’ve been so much worse. Someone could’ve been killed. Lucy could’ve been killed. His concerns over Nik’s welfare slammed into him again, sucker-punching him right in the gut. He needed to check on him, make sure he was okay, get an update on the Mishin situation…

“Hold still,” she said, leaning over him, filling his head with her sweet floral scent and the soft brush of her skin against his. The warmth of her made him woozy and he rested his hands on her hips to keep from toppling over. “This isn’t big, but it is a bit jagged. You may have a scar.”

“Good. It will make me look tougher, right?” he murmured, biding his time until he could take some painkillers and hit the sack.

“Hmm.” She folded a gauze pad carefully and placed it atop the cut then tapped it down. “There. That should hold you for tonight.” Lucy sat back and began repacking the first aid kit. “Did your brother catch my father?”

“Don’t know.”

Lucy nodded then got up to put the kit away. When she returned she held a phone in her hands. “Here. I nabbed it from my father’s pocket before he took off.”

Ben frowned. “You stole Mishin’s cell phone?”

“Sure did.” She tucked herself into the corner of the sofa, still keeping her distance from him. “If your brother didn’t catch him tonight, I’ll help you lure him out.”

“No. I’m not putting you in any more danger than you are already in.” He held up the device. “Besides, we should be able to get something about his location off this.”

“Even so, I want to help.”

Sighing, Ben rubbed his eyes then straightened, clutching the edge of the sofa cushion until the world settled around him.  “I’m not sure that’s wise, milen'kiy.”

“Why not?” Lucy narrowed her gaze. “And don’t give me any more of that keeping you safe crap. Mishin’s my father and now he knows I’m working with you. He saw us together tonight. The way I see it, I’m not safe until he’s caught. End of story.”

He wanted to argue, really, he did, but his head pounded and his heart ached and there was no way he could escape from a wet paper bag tonight, let alone have a battle of the wits with Lucy. He eased passed her and headed toward his bedroom. “We’ll talk about it in the morning. Good night, milen'kiy.”

“Oh, you’re not going anywhere by yourself, buddy.” She smacked him on the back as she walked past him to grab Pavlov’s collar. I’m keeping an eye on you tonight to make sure you don’t have a concussion. That painting knocked you for a loop.” Lucy glanced back at him over her shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s get you to bed.”