Her father barely tolerated me on my best days. And I’d had the nerve to fall in love with his daughter. Our public kiss and its unintended consequence would spark a PR storm that reached Moscow before her jet departed.
I took her hand anyway. “I’m sorry. I should’ve let him go. I’m sure you have insurance on your camera, and you could’ve canceled the cards. I would’ve given you back any cash you had.”
“What money? I’m a starving artist. And I capped the credit cards my pop forces on me. Plus, you saved all those amazing shots I took today.” She snorted, her attempt to make light of the moment weak. “Listen, you protected me.”
“Yeah, well, if we did things the”—I gritted my teeth instead of sayingthewimp way—“more incognito like our relationship, your dad would’ve taught him a better lesson.”
Because Vassili Resnov wouldn’t view me as her protector.Damn, daddy’s girls.I’d just given the Bratva Tsar one more reason to hate me.
3
LORENZO
I replayedthe viral social media video. Natasha with Lachlan MacKenzie. The reason for my current predicament. She clutched the bag he’d retrieved from a thief—shielding her chest. Her heart. But her eyes? They burned for him. The Scot.
“She told me things once. Too many things …” I tipped my Dos Equis, took one last pull, then slid it onto the counter, and signaled for another. Didn’t need another. Couldn’t afford another one, not in LA. Back in Carolina, a cold one didn’t gut your wallet. Here, the price was daylight robbery.
I’d just wrapped a private security gig—a breach of my military contract. Active service meant no side work. But I needed to stick around LA. Stay close.
For what? This girl isn’t even here!
Two years ago, I’d released the fantasy that vengeance could just be between me and the man who made me an orphan.
Vassili Resnov. The Tsar.
He moved with more strategy than his UFC submissions in his prime. Vassili’s enforcers didn’t tail him like an entourage. No cheesy mob-boss movie. No flashy suit, no meathead goonsto target. They watched from a distance. Circled around. A wall of eyes nobody saw until it was too late.
Charging him head-on? Suicide. And I wasn’t ready to hand him the satisfaction.
I built another plan a while back. One that didn’t end up with my corpse in an alley. One that put me in the path of the only person who could draw me closer to him.
His daughter. Natasha Resnova.
And when I saw her gorgeous smile, it hit me in places I couldn’t armor.
Still, Vassili had taken my family, so I’d separate Vassili from his blood. His weakness.Myweapon.
However, getting to her was more complicated than I expected.
I could wait. I was patient. A soldier-sharp mind didn’t bend to obsession. It observes. Calculates. And I wasn’t just any Marine. I was a cut above. A Marine Raider. Special recon, black ops, and tons more training prepared me for this.
I drained the next beer, slapped enough cash onto the counter, and muttered a sarcastic, “Merry Christmas,” on my way out.No tip. No cheer. Just the pressure of unfinished business clawing at me.
Two weeks later,I got my chance.
I’d followed Natasha to the hospital and noticed another car following her.
Underneath a hoodie and sunglasses, I drifted through the underground parking structure for the UCLA Comprehensive Cancer Center. Her AMG coupe sat empty. She’d gone inside. Less than a minute later, I watched the other vehicle’s dooropen. An ex-Jarhead exited. A Russian followed her toward the elevators, keeping his distance, but his body language gave him away.
Security detail.
How long would she be gone?
Ten minutes if she delivered something for the Whispers of Hope research team. Long enough if she didn’t double back to her car.
I was willing to risk it.
I dialed a friend. “Rain, I need to get into a vehicle.”
