I would give just about anything to swim in that crystalline blue water. Just once. Sometimes I fantasize about what it would be like to live here. It’s such a beautiful house. Modernist but warm, with gold accents and richly colored furniture. What a shame the place is empty so much of the time.
I step into Alisa’s enormous closet and begin tidying her shoes. One of the only signs of life is the way her collection of high heels gets thrown about willy-nilly, as if she’d tried them all on and then couldn’t be bothered to put them back. Today, I slip my foot into one red-soled shoe with a five-inch spike heel and totter upright. It fits pretty well. Guiltily, I step out, then crouch down looking for its mate.
She has such gorgeous clothes I could scream with envy. Life is not fair. I know that; I’m not stupid. I didn’taspire to clean houses; it was the only work I could get when I desperately needed to support myself and my sister. Quickly, I finish tidying the shoes, yet I hesitate to look at that lovely pair with the French name I can’t pronounce. With a sigh, I turn away and run my fingers along the row of hangers to straighten them. My fingertips stop on a strip of the softest fabric I’ve ever touched in my life.
When I slide the clothes apart to get a closer look, I gasp. I’ve never seen such a beautiful dress. Shimmery red silk, like liquid blood. I pull it out just a little, just far enough to see the full glory—then I immediately put it back and stride away.
There could be cameras.
But who puts security cameras in a closet with no windows?
I turn back to gaze longingly at the silk gown I will never be able to afford. Who would know if I tried them on? Just one time. I won’t be caught. There’s no way for a burglar to sneak in, and why would anyone bother? There are no real valuables—used clothes generally sell for a fraction of their original price.
Besides, you wouldn’t want the security guards ogling the lady of the house, right?
With my heart in my throat, I take the dress off and hold it against my front, half expecting the wail of sirens to signal my arrest.
On me, it would come to about the knee. Before I can really think about it too much—or what the consequences would be if I’m caught—I take off my uniform and pull the red silk dress over my body. I’m curvierthan the mysterious Alisa. Shorter, too. The zipper doesn’t quite close, which is fine. If I hear one single sound, I’m going to have to get this thing off me in an instant. With my heart pounding, I slip my feet into the high heels and wobble to the mirror to examine my reflection.
The woman looking back at me is almost beautiful. Quickly, I take down my ponytail and finger-comb my dark-brown locks into waves. That’s better. Add gold jewelry, and I’d be ready for the Oscars.
A movement behind me sends me whirling around with a shriek of surprise, teetering on the spike heels. My pulse races so fast I nearly pass out—and worse, a hand clamps over my mouth.
“Should’ve picked a white dress, Alisa. Your wedding day has finally arrived,” a man’s voice growls low in my ear.
2
NIKOLAI
A muffled thump comes from the white sedan’s trunk. Alisa’s a feisty one.
I can’t believe my luck. I’d been looking for an opportunity to sneak into the Morozov compound in Los Angeles when this nondescript car markedCleaning Servicerolled in. I crouched and ran right through the open gate alongside the car, then peeled off and hugged the walled perimeter. Easy.
Too easy.
I push the thought away. Why shouldn’t it be simple and straightforward to kidnap my brother Maxim’s longtime fiancée? I’ve never met Alisa. Bratva marriages are made the traditional way. You’re told who and when based on alliances negotiated without your input. You show up, or you plunge your family into an inter-faction war.
You do your duty, or you risk death.
I, the youngest Orlov son, am sick and tired of being the household laughingstock. Taking Maxim’s womanisn’t going to win me any points within the family, but I’ll worry about that later. I have a chance to prove myself every bit as ruthless as my brothersandhead off my insufferable eldest brother’s claim by marrying his woman first.
At our father’s funeral this morning, our mother said that leadership of the Orlov family would not be decided by who was the firstborn son, Maxim, who has been dodging his obligation to marry Alisa for years.Mamushkahad hardly finished delivering her decree before he was on the phone ordering his arranged bride to get her ass to Vegas. I’m sure that went over well.
Clearly, Alisa didn’t exactly jump on the next plane.
I did. Went straight to the airport and got a flight to Los Angeles. The Morozov family’s general movements are known to us. We’re longtime allies, mostly. Maxim and Alisa’s wedding was intended to cement the partnership.
The Morozovpakhanrules the West Coast from San Francisco, where they have a front operation working as a tech company. Their technology gives us plausible deniability to the State of Nevada.See? We’re upstanding casino operators with an online crypto gambling arm.
But after the marriage arrangement was struck, Maxim showed no interest in moving forward with the bargain. Neither did Alisa. She moved to Los Angeles to pursue her acting and modeling careers. The family dutifully bought her a compound for her personal security, which clearly they don’t take very seriously, or this cleaning service would have had to badge out, too. Instead, all I did was approach the gate, and the metalbarrier lifted without checking who was leaving the premises.
Now, if I could just get through traffic and onto the fucking highway, we can get our asses back to Vegas and get married before midnight. By my calculation, we can make a quick stop at the nearest drive-in chapel and show up at breakfast, thus cementing my control of Orlov Enterprises.
Maxim is going to have an absolute shit fit when he sees I’ve married his arranged bride and wrested authority from his grasp. I grin, picturing it.
My cold brother has no idea how good he could have had it. Alissa’s long brown waves and dusky skin, those velvety amber eyes and full lips, fuller tits, and that sexy little pooch where the red silk hugged her belly… I’m trying not to bite my knuckle just thinking about what a complete package she is. Not to mention those legs. He could have had them wrapped around his waist for years. Now those pretty ankles are going to be locked around my waist, with my dick buried in her sweet pussy?—
The car in front of me slams on the brakes. My premature victory comes to a screeching halt inches from the car’s bumper.