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He kisses me again, slower this time. I lean into his touch, completely safe.

How beautiful it is that a man’s hands can hold me without trying to break me.

From the outside, Kosmos is a black door with no sign. There’s no velvet rope, no bouncer, and no indication that anything exists inside. Zevran presses a button and we wait, presumably being stared at through a camera I can’t see, and then the heavy door clicks open.

The air inside is cool and faintly scented with jasmine. There’s dark polished marble underfoot, and jewel-toned curtains are drawn tight, absorbing the light from the crystal chandeliers overhead. All the noise of the city melts away, replaced by an expensive hush.

The hallway opens up into a bar bathed in tones of deep blue and gold. The women have sharp shoulders and sharper eyes. The men are large and watchful, holding glasses of whisky in hands adorned with heavy signet rings. Nobody raises their voice. Nobody laughs too loudly. Everyone wears tailored shades of black and charcoal. They track us across the room like resting predators.

I tug self-consciously at my floral-print dress. Earlier, in the mirrored walk-in wardrobe in Zevran’s home, I felt cute, and was still unable to believe I owned an expensive Italian designer dress. Now, under the cold, assessing stares of the Bratva elite, I wish I’d chosen something more unassuming.

Zevran’s hand is warm at the small of my back as he steers me toward the bar. “One moment, printsessa. I need to check my weapons before we’re allowed into Dragan’s office.”

I nod and watch him move to the other side of the room where a cloakroom attendant waits behind what is probably bulletproof glass.

There’s a mirror behind the bar, and I catch sight of my reflection. My eyes have a deer-in-headlights look, and I try to arrange my face into something that says I feel perfectly at home in a secret mafia bar.

“What an unusual dress.”

I turn and see a tall woman in her thirties approaching me. She’s dark-haired, elegant, and wearing a structured, slate-gray pantsuit. She’s smiling at me with the confidence of someone who has never once been uncertain about her place.

“Thank you,” I say hesitantly.

“So adorable. Very you.” A small, fond laugh.

The way she says “adorable” doesn’t sound like a compliment. There’s a razor-sharp look in her eyes, like she’s dissecting me piece by piece.

“I’m Natasha. What’s your name? I wonder if I know your family.”

“I’m not—I’m not in the, um…” Am I allowed to say Bratva out loud? Is that against the rules? I glance nervously toward the other side of the room, where Zevran is still standing with his back to me.

She follows my gaze, and just like that, the polite mask slips.

“Oh. You’re one of Zevran’s jobs.” She gives me a small, patronizing smile. “How sweet.”

She turns and glides away before I can even open my mouth.

I turn back to the bar, pretending I want to order something, but that woman’s voice calling me “sweet” and “adorable” is echoing in my ears, and so is the familiar ease with which she said Zevran’s name. I want to go after her and correct her, but what would I even say? I was a job, sort of, but now I’m not, and he’s going to marry me?

I realize the bartender has asked me three times if he can get me anything. I order a glass of iced water, and he prepares it with a sprig of mint and a slice of lemon before passing it to me.

I belong here, I remind myself firmly, taking a steadying breath. I’m here for Viktoriya. I can be brave for her.

As I take a sip of water, I catch sight of my reflection again, and I don’t convince even myself.

“Are you ready, printsessa?”

Zevran is suddenly right beside me, his broad frame blocking out the rest of the room.

“Oh—yes.” I put my glass down on the bar and prepare to follow him.

He takes my fingers and squeezes tight, his thumb stroking my knuckles. “Remember, you’re doing Dragan a favor. I won’t let him treat you like you owe him anything.”

“As long as he listens to me and passes on what I have to say to Viktoriya’s father, I don’t mind.”

Zevran leans down and presses a firm kiss to the top of my head. “I mind.”

With my hand locked in Zevran’s, he leads me down a corridor, past two towering security guards, and knocks on a thick wooden door.