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Hearing Sergei speak English was as foreign to Natalya’s ears as the idea that Dmitri would ever speak it. Though she knew he’d been born and raised in the States, they’d spent so much time embedded with the
Bratva
, she expected his thick Russian. And while his English held the
heavy accent required to maintain his cover, the very words jarred her focus.

She stared at him, certain he’d sprouted two heads.

He ignored her with fluency equal to his foreign languages.

“I can’t get a position inside the club,” he continued, his thumb stroking the back of Kate’s hand. “I asked around, and Aaron has locked down security. But I won’t be far from you or Natalya.”

“That’s so comforting.” Kate rolled her eyes. “I’m supposed to just sit back and wait for whatever’s supposed to happen to… happen?”

“No,” Natalya rushed to answer. “I’ll find a way to get Sergei hired if it makes you feel better.” She slid a sideways glance at her partner. “Though I’m a better shot than he is.”

“God!” Kate tossed both hands in the air. The pile of drooping curls atop her head threatened to topple down her shoulders. “You’re so cavalier about this!”

Natalya’s sigh stirred the loose tendrils of hair that had escaped her ponytail. She swiped them out of her face and frowned at her twin. “It’s what I do, Kate. If you panic, you make mistakes. Errors that inevitably lead to death. You’re just going to have to accept that we know what we’re doing, and as Sergei said, trust us.”

Kate sank into the couch in defeat. “I want to. But this isn’t just about me.” Her troubled gaze sought out her son.

“That’s exactly why you must have faith.” Sergei left his perch at Natalya’s side, moved to sit next to Kate, and settled a reassuring hand on her thigh. “You face no threat until the night of the twenty-fourth. The risk is mine and Natalya’s. You’re free to do all you do normally. The only exception is you must not reveal your relationship to Natalya. To anyone.”

“To my friends. I have to lie to them all. Pretend I know nothing. I can’t
do
that!”

Frustrated with Kate’s lack of cooperation, Natalia reclined with a groan. “I don’t get it, Kate. We went over this last night. Why didn’t you freak out then? Why now, Katey?”

“Don’t call me Katey.” She thrust her glasses back onto her face.

A glimmer of Kate’s inner strength crept out in the warning flash of her eyes. Natalya grabbed on to it with a pit bull’s determination. “Why, it’ll piss you off? Get mad. Maybe then something will click into place.”

As Kate’s scowl narrowed to a mere slit of green light, Natalya challenged her stare. Their gazes warred. Long moments of tense silence passed before Kate blew out a breath that mirrored Natalya’s earlier exhale, and her expression went blank. She looked out the window. “I can’t lie to Brandon, and I don’t understand why I have to. I’ve known him for a year. He’s a
cop
, according to what you said last night. All the management from Sadie’s is.”

Unease trickled down Natalya’s spine as she studied Kate’s faraway expression and the touch of sorrow that pulled at the corners of her mouth. Kate had mentioned Moretti spent time with Derek. Was there more to their relationship?

“Are you in love with him?” she asked quietly. Why she cared, she couldn’t answer. But the idea that Kate might have experienced Brandon’s hard body first hand tightened Natalya’s stomach into a knot.

Kate’s gaze swung back to Natalya. “With who?”

“Moretti.”

“Good Lord, no!” She let out a laugh that quickly evolved into amused chuckles. “Brandon? Are you kidding? He’s too… big.” She swept her hand to a framed picture of Erik and her on their honeymoon. “Erik was normal. Just your average guy. Incredible in his own way, but unobtrusive. Brandon walks into a room, and he’s
there.
You can’t miss him.”

A fact Natalya had deliberately tried not to acknowledge. When he’d stood behind his desk, he dominated the room. Not just in size, but in presence. Confidence and power radiated off shoulders that easily filled the doorframe. Emanated through the soft light in his eyes.

Crept into her veins at the slight touch of his hand.

Her cheeks warmed. Brandon was big otherwise too… The man
had a package that put every other lover she’d had to shame, and she hadn’t even seen him out of his jeans.

“Oh, my God, you like him.” Kate exhaled. She shrugged off Sergei’s hand and leaned forward to peer at Natalya. “You’re blushing.”

Perturbed by her twin’s too-keen observance, Natalya frowned. “He’s not to be trusted, Kate. Dmitri has connections in the force. How do you think the St. Petersburg casino manages to fly just under the radar?”

Always the voice of reason, Sergei leveled Natalya with a look of unmistakable warning. “There are eyes everywhere. Ears as well. Both of you can’t forget that.”

As Natalya opened her mouth to remind him she was more than aware of Dmitri’s connections, her phone chirped inside her purse. She fished it out and glanced at the display. Her stomach slowly turned over.

“It’s Dmitri, I’ve got to take this.”

Crossing the room and heading for Kate’s bedroom, she answered in her fiancé’s native tongue, “Hello, darling.”

A

s Kate left the couch in her sister’s wake and disappeared into the kitchen, Sergei watched Derek mimic fighting a fire with the hoses on his toy truck. His thoughts drifted to Natalya’s proclamation that she’d get him a job inside the club. He had no doubt she’d arrange it. But coming face-to-face with Brandon Moretti posed more problems than the blush that had infused her cheeks at the mention of Brandon’s build.

The possibility that Brandon would recognize him, though he’d been eighteen when he’d last spoken to his brother, could destroy the entire mission.

Worse, Sergei would have to explain what happened to Stefan Moretti. How the FBI agent that had placed their family in witness
protection had pulled him out of work that fateful day, less than thirty minutes before their mother and sister, and the agent, perished in their home’s explosion.

He’d have to explain to Brandon why he’d never let him know he’d survived. How, for a while, he hated himself for surviving and how he’d blamed his brother for causing the explosion. How, by the time he made peace with his inner demons, he’d been so wrapped up in the CIA he couldn’t contact the brother he’d once looked up to.

A year after the day their family shattered, Sergei had learned the truth. Brandon had nothing to do with the bomb. If anyone could be blamed, it was Carmina Moretti. When the FBI had ushered her off to Texas with a new last name, they’d never stopped to consider how a native Sicilian would blend into the landscape. They claimed they couldn’t send them to an Italian sector because Angelo Mancuso had too many connections—a fact Sergei now understood as true. But Texas? She didn’t have a chance.
They
didn’t have a chance.

When Angelo got word of her whereabouts, he extracted revenge. Twelve years of separation had hardened his love for his children—if he’d ever possessed any—and he issued the order to exterminate them all. Brandon escaped because he’d gone to college. If it hadn’t been for that FBI agent, who caught word of the plan, Sergei would have perished alongside his twelve-year-old sister and his mother.

But now… So much time had passed. So many memories had been put to rest. Sergei had no way of guaranteeing Brandon wouldn’t recognize him, even with his longer hair and adult size. And while he felt certain his brother would never align himself with the mafia, any mafia, he couldn’t chance exposure. He’d spent too many years gaining Dmitri’s trust. If Natalya’s plan failed, his role as Dmitri’s most trusted bodyguard must stay secure.

Yet, he saw no way around the necessity to be as close to both Kate and Natalya as possible. He couldn’t protect either one of them from a distance. He couldn’t confide in Natalya either. Too much chance
remained that she
would
fail, and somehow, through the inevitable torture Dmitri would exact upon her betrayal, she’d say too much. In doing so, she not only risked Sergei’s life, but the only living family he could claim. While years stood between him and his brother, that love ran too deep. Too fierce.

Four

N

atalya approached Fantasia alone. Behind her, Sergei watched from within a nondescript four-door sedan. He’d remain there until the club closed at four in the morning. Kate would arrive on her own sometime in the next fifteen minutes. For now, the less time she spent with her twin in public, the better the chances no one would notice their similarities, despite their outwardly different appearances.

She pushed open the door and stepped into the cool darkness. The surreal sensation she’d walked into the wrong place settled around her. Where incandescent light had given the club a sense of ordinary earlier in the afternoon, black lights, high spots, and strategically placed colorful LEDs gave Fantasia justification for its name.

Wispy fog rolled beneath heavy black curtains and cascaded off the stage where a petite Asian woman practiced a sequence. The tables were clean, upholstered chairs tucked in, brass ashtrays polished and waiting. Cocktail waitresses—identified by sequined miniskirts and skin-tight midriff shirts—laughed near the mirrored bar. An edgy pop beat filled the speakers.

Natalya smiled. Too many years had passed since she’d felt the pulsing bass and smelled the overtones of sex. She’d missed this. Missed the freedom of simply being a woman. The no-strings-attached enticement of standing beneath those bright lights and letting go. The carnal power of being comfortable with her body and not having to hide behind intricate lies.

“Try it again, Eddie. I can’t get this right,” the raven-haired woman onstage called.

From the glass-enclosed DJ booth a man replied, “Okay, Jill. Backing it up.”

A moment of silence passed, and then the music began again, spurring Natalya deeper into the club. She fished the keys Brandon had given her earlier out of her purse and cut a course through the tables to the door near the stage. A man she didn’t recognize from her brief interview stood beside it, arms folded over a boulder-sized chest. His cropped hair accented his sharp features and deep-set eyes. On observing her approach, he moved to block the door.

She lifted her keys, indicating her right to enter.

“Sorry, miss, waitresses aren’t allowed back here.”

So Moretti hadn’t seen fit to inform his security he’d hired her. Perfect. Just what she needed to deal with on her first night. She summoned a smile and jangled her keys once more. “I’m Natalya. The new housemom.”

Confusion pulled his thick eyebrows closer together. The hollow beneath his cheekbones deepened as he cocked his head and studied her. But when his expression cleared, and Natalya became convinced he was about to step aside and let her through, his deep baritone rumbled over the music. “Brandon!”

Natalya followed the turn of the man’s head and traced his gaze to the far end of the bar where Moretti leaned on one elbow, conversing with one of the men she’d seen that afternoon. He lifted his dark head, looked to the man in front of Natalya, then lowered his gaze to her.

A charge of excitement spiked up her spine. In the smoky light, he was more imposing. Larger than life, as Kate had said. And way too
there
. The square line of his jaw sharpened. The glint in his eyes darkened. Intense. Dangerous.

To her absolute horror her nipples tightened into hard little beads. Good Lord, the man was more intimidating than Dmitri’s entire arsenal
of hit men. She’d bet all the bullets in her Sig’s magazine Brandon would be formidable in the bedroom. A force to be reckoned with.

As if he sensed the live current that tingled through her womb, he abruptly straightened. A frown settled on his brow. “She’s good,” he called before he turned.

The guard in front of her offered a sheepish smile. He thrust out a meaty hand. “Scott.”

Doing her best to pretend Brandon’s stare hadn’t just singed her from the inside out, Natalya shook Scott’s hand. “A pleasure. If you’ll excuse me, I need to see to the girls.”

He stepped out of her way, allowing her to unlock the door and escape into the brighter, more active, back rooms. As she regrouped with a deep breath, the door swung open again. Kate burst through, pulling at her white fishnet stockings with one hand, adjusting a glittery shoulder strap with the other.

With all the falseness of a trained professional, she blinked at Natalya, then squinted. “Who are you?”

Good job, Katey.

“Natalya. Moretti hired me today. I’m your new housemom.”

“Oh.” Kate shrugged and readjusted her drooping strap. “I’m Kate, and I’m late. Gotta go.” She waggled her fingers, then disappeared into a lounge area where three other women wearing short kimono wraps sat on leather couches.

Natalya followed her sister’s path. As she stepped into the lounge, Jill entered from the opposite direction. She came to an abrupt halt, pushed her thick dark hair over one shoulder, and sized Natalya up with one head-to-toe glance.

“You must be Natalya.”

At best, her greeting was chilly. The frostiness in her voice set Natalya’s instincts on red alert. Rivalry? For what—the position? Or just meant to mark territory? Returning the woman’s cool detachment, Natalya replied, “Yes. Brandon hired—”

Jill pushed past her to flounce into an easy chair. “Your office is there.” She pointed through the open doorway to a closed door across a narrow hall. “Costumes are next door. Candy goes on in twenty minutes. She’s in there with Becca. Her bikini clasp broke, and Becca’s trying to fix it.” Picking up a bottle of lotion, she extended a leg and smoothed a dollop down her shin. “Angie’s period caught her off guard, and we’re out of tampons. She goes on second. The props for her set aren’t up here yet either. You’ll want to find Harvey about that.”

Natalya blinked. So much for chilliness—Jill was downright frigid. All too anxious to be relieved of her company, she strode for her office. “I’ll get started then.”