She was smaller than I had expected, but there was something in the way she moved that screamed danger. Black hair was pulled back severely, her brown eyes missed nothing, and her body was built for speed rather than curves. She wore all black—slacks, a fitted shirt, and ankle boots, like she was dressed for either a business meeting or a funeral.
“Who the fuck are you?” she demanded, stopping just inside the doorway with her hand resting near her hip where she probably kept a blade, judging by the slight bulge in the fabric.
I didn’t move from behind the desk, didn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing me react to her attitude. “Drew Kamarov. Rafael’s cousin.”
Her eyes narrowed, calculating. She was scanning me like I was a threat assessment, cataloging exits, weapons, and weakpoints with the kind of efficiency that only came from serious training. “Nobody told me Rafael had a cousin coming in.”
“Nobody tells you everything.” I leaned back in the chair, letting my gaze travel over her slowly enough to make a point. “You must be the assistant I’ve heard about.”
Something flickered across her face—annoyance, maybe, or the recognition that I wasn’t going to be as easy to manage as whoever was here before. “Cassandra Miller. And I run Rafael’s world, so if you’re planning to be here for more than five minutes, you’ll want to stay out of my way.”
“How long am I planning to be here?” I asked, genuinely curious about how much Rafael had told his people about this arrangement.
“Two months, covering for Maxim while he handles family business in Italy.” She stepped further into the office, and I caught a hint of her scent—something clean and sharp, like steel wrapped in silk. “Try not to break anything while you’re playing office, flyboy.”
Flyboy. I almost smiled at that. She had done her homework, knew I had flown myself in instead of taking commercial transport. She had filed that information away for later use, no doubt.
“I’ll do my best, kitten,” I told her, deliberately using the kind of diminutive that I knew would piss her off. “Try not to bite.”
Her jaw tightened, and for a second, I thought she might actually reach for whatever weapon she was carrying. But then she smiled, and it was the kind of expression that would make smart men run for cover.
“Biting is the least of your worries, cousin.” She turned toward the door, then paused to look back over her shoulder. “Rafael wants to see you at nine. Don’t be late.”
She was gone before I could respond, leaving behind only the faint echo of her footsteps and the distinct impression that my next two months had just become significantly more complicated.
I checked my watch. Seven-thirty. Enough time to finish setting up my equipment and mentally prepare for whatever political minefield Rafael was about to drop me into. But first, I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts until I found Kirill’s number.
When he answered on the second ring, I didn’t bother with pleasantries. “You didn’t mention Rafael’s assistant.”
“Cassandra?” There was amusement in his voice, the bastard. “What about her?”
“You could have warned me.”
“Warned you about what? That she’s smarter than most of the men you’ve worked with? That she’s probably armed and definitely dangerous? That she runs Rafael’s operation more efficiently than anyone has a right to?”
All of those things,I thought but didn’t say. Instead, I asked, “How long has she been with him?”
“A couple of years, maybe three. Rafael pulled her out of some club in Seattle, saw potential where everyone else just saw another pretty face serving drinks.” Kirill paused, and I could practically hear him thinking. “Why? Is she giving you trouble already?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Famous last words, ????. Famous last words.”
He hung up, leaving me alone with the morning sun streaming through unfamiliar windows and the growing certainty that Cassandra Miller was going to be either the most interesting part of this assignment or the thing that got me killed. Possibly both.
I finished setting up my workspace, testing connections and security protocols with the methodical precision that had kept me alive this long. Every piece of equipment had its place, every file its proper encryption, every contingency plan its backup scenario. By the time I was finished, it was eight-forty-five. Time to meet with Rafael and figure out exactly what I had gotten myself into.
But first, I allowed myself one last look out the window at Chicago spreading beneath me like a chessboard waiting for the next move. Somewhere in this city, Cassandra Miller was probably planning ways to make my life difficult. Somewhere else, enemies I hadn’t met yet were planning ways to make my life short.
Two months suddenly felt like a very long time.
I straightened my tie, checked my weapons, and headed for the elevator. Time to find out what Rafael Kamarov needed badly enough to import family from halfway around the world.
And time to discover what Cassandra Miller was really hiding behind those calculating brown eyes.
Chapter 2 – Cassandra
The margarita glass was cold against my palms, condensation slipping between my fingers. I sat perched on a leather bar-stool in the back corner of Nocturne—the members-only club that belonged to Bratva and smelled like everything expensive men used to mark their territory: cigars, oiled leather, and aged scotch.
