Chapter 1
Caterina
Rubbing my temples, I glare at the unsigned contract on my desk. When another minute passes with no signature in sight, I recline in the black leather chair and stare at the blank beige wall.
Despite the beauty of my office at the Cosmopolitan Museum of Art—hardwood flooring, window with a picture-perfect view of the park, glass desk holding a state-of-the-art computer—the calming neutral tones and floral potpourri fail to soothe my nerves today.
I’ve already sweated through my white blouse. Which sucks. I just bought this for myself as a Christmas present, and I’m about to end up with pit stains.
I don’t indulge in many luxuries, but this shirt helped perk me up this winter. Between my job as the curator’s executive assistant and helping my brother Nino handle the family business, I’ve run myself ragged. Worrying over my father’s health is just the icing on the cake.
You’d think a family like the Riccis—with all our reach and influence in the city—would be capable of keeping their boss healthy. Instead, no matter what we do or try, he weakens a little more each day.
I run my fingers over my diamond tennis bracelet, a twenty-first birthday gift from my father. The cool gemstones under my fingertips ground my spinning mind.
You’ve got work to do, Caterina.
The Roguilin contract glares from the top of my glass-top desk.
Nino seems to think that climbing in bed with the Russians is a good idea, but I’d rather take my chances under the sheets with Edward Scissorhands.
But what do I know? Ever since he became such a wrathful man, I’ve had zero control over my little brother.
My late mother used to say,“It’s our job to keep our hotheaded men calm.”
So, treating my mother’s words as gospel, I built my life around catering to my father and brother.
That tactic has proven especially helpful these last few years with Nino. I love my him, and whatever his faults, he’s our father’s second-in-command. When Father’s unable to lead, we defer to Nino.
This contract is just one in a string of agreements between Nino and Oleg Belinski, the Bratva’s representative. Another concession, another sliver of our souls sold to former enemies.
Despite Belinski’s promises of wealth and power, I fear we’re playing a long game we can’t win. We’re outnumbered eight-to-one and up against enviable Russian firepower. As soon as we’re not useful anymore, they’ll chew us up and spit us out.
No matter how hard I argue against these deals, Nino just won’t listen to me.
So I have no choice but to do as he says.
“Us women are meant to be seen, not heard.”
Yes, mother.
I check the time, sigh, and signEmiliano Riccion the dotted line. The black ink shines like fresh blood as I fold the contract and slip it into an envelope.
After texting Nino so he can update his precious Russians, I shift into my role as Professional Cat.
I scoop up a handful of prints for the redesign of our west wing, grab my long-cold coffee, and head out the door?—
Only to slam right into a thick wall of a person.
“Shit!” Coffee splatters across my chest, staining my skinandmy shirt. Damn.
At least I managed to save the blueprints.
“Sorry. Are you okay?” A smooth, silky voice hovers above me.
I glance up to find a tall, muscled, sharp-jawed god standing just outside my office door, his suit completely free of coffee stains.
Inky hair tumbles over deep brown eyes in soft curls that don’t quite reach his broad shoulders. His lips spread into the prettiest smile I’ve ever seen.
