I SHOULD have seen it coming.

Maybe having Christina back had distracted me. Maybe it was the dreams disturbing my sleep—they still hadn’t gone away. But that night, when I got the call to say there’d been more fires, not in restaurants and bars, this time, but in people’s homes, I grabbed Christina and raced over there to help. I never considered that I might be taking her into danger.

A few years before, I’d bought up some slum areas just before the city announced a big redevelopment scheme that made them triple in value. A typical backroom deal, for me: my contact in the planning office got a bag of cash and I made about eighty million. But when the redevelopment was done, there were still a lot of people living in crumbling tower blocks, trying to raise kids in a place with syringes on the landings and urine on the stairs. The mayor shrugged: those people weren’t likely to vote for him, so why spend money on them? I wasn’t happy about that. No one deserves to live like an animal.

So I used my own money and built new, safe apartment buildings for them, with a playground for the kids, and I had my people make sure no dealers came near it. It turned into a nice neighborhood.

And now someone had tried to burn it down.

When we arrived, the streets were slick with water from the firefighters’ hoses, and they reflected so many roaring tongues of flame, it looked as if the streets themselves were on fire. My heart sank. Four different buildings were ablaze and it wasn’t just a few apartments: flames poured from entire floors.

I checked in with the firefighters. No one was hurt: I’d insisted on the best fire alarms and everyone had gotten out in time. But the arsonists had spread gasoline up and down the hallways to ensure the fire spread fast: we’d likely lose all four buildings. Hundreds of people lined the street, shivering in their nightclothes as they watched their homes burn. Cinders started to drift down out of the sky: little fragments of what were once wedding photos and favorite toys.

I sent guards to organize hotels for them and then walked through the crowd, checking what people needed and reassuring them it was going to be okay. I turned to check Christina was alright and—

Before the accident, she’d always been sort of reserved, when it came to meeting the people who lived on my streets. I used to gloss over it and tell myself she was just shy, but she never seemed shy when she was at some party surrounded by celebrities.

Now... I watched as she helped to distribute blankets and organize hot food. The old Christina had thought she was above these people. This new one was... humble. How? How has she changed so much?

I was still thinking on it when the squeal of tires split the night. People scattered as three huge black SUVs roared up the street and skidded to a stop right next to me.

I knew who it was.

People think that bonds are formed of love but they can be formed of hate just as easily. You can’t do what he did without creating something permanent, something that’ll link us like a thread, across miles or continents, until one of us kills the other. I could feel him in that car, the raw evil of him throbbing out of it in waves, shaking loose the memories I work so hard to lock away inside me. And the memories unleashed the pain, jagged and violent, clawing its way up into my chest. By the time he finally stepped from the car, I was standing there with fists bunched and my breath shaking, fighting for control.

“Hello, Konstantin,” said Dmitri Ralavich.

I took a step forward without consciously willing it. The blood was roaring in my ears. I wanted—needed—to kill him and I needed to do it myself, to punch and crush and gouge until there was nothing left.

Eight men leveled guns at me. I froze. While I’d been focused on Ralavich, the other two SUVs full of his guards had emptied. I’d sent most of my guards off to help the victims of the fire and only three were close by. We were completely outnumbered.

This whole thing had been an ambush.

And the talk about Ralavich bringing lots of his men to New York was true. Why? Why bring an army here when he has no hope of winning?

Then a sudden, unexpected stab of fear cut through me. Christina! Where is Christina? I spun around and found her a few steps away, staring at Ralavich, her face pale.

Ralavich is an ugly man, in every sense. He’s strong, but he’s too fond of beer and gorging himself on platters of meat and cheese. His gut stretches out his shirt and the waistband of his suit pants and this thick, nicotine-stained fingers look like pale, uncooked sausages. But it’s his face that sticks in everyone’s mind.

He hadn’t been a handsome man even before Luka Malakov caught him running one of his “rape clubs” in Moscow. Luka had beaten him so badly the surgeons couldn’t fix it, and he’d healed with one side of his face sickeningly misshapen. No woman would willingly be close to him. But then—my stomach twisted in disgust—Ralavich never liked them to be willing.

Even as I had that last thought, I knew something was different. I was facing off against Ralavich like I’d done a hundred times before, the two of us glaring at each other, both refusing to move an inch. But even the soul-deep hatred for him was being overshadowed by something. Christina. I didn’t want Ralavich anywhere near her.

And so, even though I knew it looked weak, I took a step back. And then another. And then I could put myself protectively between Ralavich and Christina, and I felt immediately better.

Ralavich threw back his head and laughed. “The rumors were true, Konstantin. Your American’s made you soft.”

I looked at the burning buildings. “Why did you do this?”

“To send you a message. Change is coming.” He raised his voice for the benefit of the crowd and I realized this was an ambush on another level, too. He was making me look weak, saying to the people, Look! I’m the one who burned your homes and your protector stands here and does nothing!

One of my guards glanced at me. A few more of them had returned and it was five of them now versus eight of Ralavich’s men. Mine were better trained and more loyal. We could probably take them, kill Ralavich once and for all. God knows he deserved it. But—

Ralavich grinned. “What’s the matter, Konstantin?”

The whole street was lined with people. There were children there. If bullets started flying it would be a bloodbath. I gave my guards a tight shake of my head.

“That’s why you’ll lose,” Ralavich told me. “Your fucking morals.”

“Go back to St. Petersburg,” I snapped. “New York is mine.”

“You’ve done a good job preparing it for me.” Ralavich grinned. “Now I’ll take it from you. I’ll finish what my father started. Soon, the Gulyev name will be a memory.” He shuffled closer and peered around me to leer at Christina. “And when you’re gone, I might just try my cock in your American and see how loud I can make her scream.”

The rage burned through me, lit by his words, fueled by twenty years of hate. But then, as Ralavich came closer still, something else happened. I realized—

He’s close enough.

Fuck, he’s actually close enough.

In his arrogance, Ralavich had swaggered within grabbing range: I could break his neck before his men could stop me. It was the best chance I’d ever had, probably the best chance I’d ever have. Every muscle went tense, ready to spring. They’d kill me, but I wasn’t afraid to die, not as long as I took him with me.

And then, at the last second, I stopped.

Christina was right there. If I killed Ralavich, his men would be sure to kill her—or worse—in revenge.

He was so close. The best chance I’ve had in twenty years….

No. I couldn’t let them hurt Christina.

So I stood there, trembling, fighting to control myself, and watched my one chance for vengeance melt away. It felt like someone was slowly pulling my heart out of my chest.

Ralavich walked right up to me and grinned in victory. Then he climbed back into his SUV, gave me a mocking wave through the window, and they drove away.

I stood there panting. The loss was physicaI. I couldn’t believe what I’d done. And yet I knew I’d do the exact same thing again, if I had the choice.

My mind was whirling. I should have been worried about how Ralavich had humiliated me, how he’d made it look as if I couldn’t protect my people. I should have been trying to figure out his plan: it made no sense, he couldn’t hope to defeat the empire I’d built in New York. And why not just shoot me when he’d had the chance? But I didn’t think about any of those things.

I just turned, grabbed hold of Christina and pulled her close. My hands slid from her hips all the way up her sides until I held her cheeks. Then, without words, I leaned down and kissed her. Exactly the sort of kiss I never allow myself. The smell of smoke and the heat of the flames and the chill of the night all dropped away and she was all that mattered, soft and feminine and good.

She’d cost me everything I’d been dreaming of for two decades. And she was worth it. Being with her gave me an electric thrill I didn’t understand. Deeper than just lust. Like I was a teenager again.

We surfaced for air. Christina looked down the street towards Ralavich’s departing convoy. “What did all that mean? Why is he here?”

I scowled at Ralavich’s tail lights as they faded into the distance. And I said something I’d never say in front of my men. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “But now that he is...from now on, you don’t go anywhere on your own.”