I’d tossed and turned all last night, memories of my babushka plaguing my dreams, filling me with guilt. Memories of her stroking my hair as I fell asleep as a child, telling me about how she met her true love …

“I was only a child really, Talia. But one look at your grandfather and I knew. I knew he was my soul’s other half.”

“You did?” I whispered in awe.

Babushka smiled. “I did. It was his eyes. He had the kindest of brown eyes.” Babushka huffed a laugh. “Of course, I knew who he was. He was a Tolstoi, every Russian knew the Volkov Bratva, but I remember seeing those eyes and knowing that as violent as his life was, he was not.” I watched as Babushka’s eyes filled with water and my stomach sank. She missed my grandfather so much. I could see the racking pain in her eyes.

“Babushka?” I whispered and she pulled me closer into her side.

“Your dedushka was my life, Talia,” she said in a sad voice, “And one day, a man will enter your life and you will know, without a doubt, that he is yours. I can’t explain it, but something will snap within you and from that day forth, you’ll be his and he’ll be yours.”

I smiled against my babushka’s chest, and echoed, “I’ll be his and he’ll be mine.”

“A good Russian boy. A man from our way of life. A man your papa will approve of, will welcome into the Bratva to stand but his side. A man your family will be proud to have as their son.”

“I can’t wait,” I said excitedly, and closed my eyes, trying to imagine what my true love would be like. I smiled further just picturing my father shaking my love’s hand, with a proud and happy smile on his face, my heart full with the knowledge that I’d chosen my true love well …

I blinked fast, trying to chase the tears from my eyes. Trying to swallow back the nausea creeping up my throat. But Babushka’s words stabbed at my brain. I can’t explain it, but something will snap within you and you’ll be his and he’ll be yours. My heart beat at a furious rate as Zaal’s face flashed in my mind and, at that one simple thought, my heart swelled and filled with warmth.

Something within me had snapped.

The minute my hand had touched Zaal’s skin, and those jade eyes had seared mine, I knew something within me had fundamentally changed.

Sighing in shame, I gripped the comforter in my hands and fought back my tears.

Why him? Anybody but fucking him!

You can’t do this, Talia. You can’t have him. You can’t want him like this! I scolded myself as I jumped from my bed, unable to sit in this goddamn room any longer, hiding, shying away from the overwhelming pull to the man in the basement. I showered and dressed, all the time replaying last night’s dream in my head. I thought of Babushka and guilt took its firm hold. She would be so ashamed of me. Me! Her favorite. I knew I was letting her down. And I couldn’t fucking bear letting her down.

Running down the stairs, I reached the kitchen, brushing my hair back from my face in nervous frustration. My hands were trembling and my legs had the consistency of Jell-O as I drank in the darkening sky outside the large-framed windows.

Just breathe, I told myself. Take a deep breath, close your eyes, and breathe.

I sucked in a breath. I closed my eyes. But all I saw when my eyelids drifted shut was him. His large olive-skinned body, his long black hair, and those green eyes. Those soulful green eyes that would fix on me as though he could read my mind, speak directly to my soul.

Shivers broke out along my skin at the mere memory of his taut body, at the sight of those three beauty spots beside his left eye that had me transfixed.

Snapping my eyes back open, my hand drifted to my precious, treasured necklace and I felt my eyes sting with betrayal once more.

I had to forget about him.

He wasn’t mine to have. He couldn’t be.

It was a stupid naive obsession.

The whip of the winter wind thrashed against the house windows’ glass as I stood motionless in the center of the vast kitchen. It howled and whistled and my hands curled into fists, only to slam down on the granite top island with my anger bubbling up inside.

I breathed hard, ignoring the throbbing of my now-injured hand, trying to rid my attraction to the damn man out of my mind. But the more I tried to expel the vision of him in my head, the more prominent his features became, every inch of him in perfect, infallible detail in my mind.

Whipping around, I searched the room for a distraction, my muscles jerking like a drug addict trying to avoid their next fix. My head told me to not go down and see him again, to not give in. My head told me to not go to the security room and check in on him on the basement’s surveillance feed.

But my heart propelled me forward, and with a careless abandon I found myself in the byki’s small security office staring eagerly at the main screen.

I stayed that way for a while; staring, trying to avoid the inevitable craving I knew I was going to cave into viewing.

Because I was obsessed.

I was obsessed with 221, and could no longer lie to myself that it was just intrigue, that it was simply a harmless bit of self-indulgent interest. It was more. I knew it was more.

I fucking hated myself for the fact that it was more.

Slowly reaching out, my index finger found the On button for the feed and the large screen came to life. And there he was, lying on the black rubber floor, wrapped in chains and static in motion.

As soon as my eyes found his slumped, broken frame, my heart raced in my chest and my lungs seemed to squeeze at the sight. My skin grew hot, and an ache formed between my legs. I wanted to touch him again. I wanted to hold him in my arms.

I stood there like a statue glued to the ground for what could have been hours, and as the minutes ticked by, the gold necklace around my throat suddenly felt like an open flame brandishing my skin. It was burning me, burning me with guilt.

And just like that, I knew I had to get away from this place. I needed distance. I needed to clear my mind. I needed to pull myself together, get away from the temptation.

Shit. I needed a Goddamn drink. Or two.

Seeing my byki, Ilya and Savin patrolling on the far west of the property’s extensive grounds, I knew it was my chance to get away alone.

Without hesitation, I ran to the kitchen closet that held the car keys and took the nearest set I could find: the Mercedes. Running toward the front door, I slammed my hand on the button that opened the electric security gate and, grabbing my purse, burst out of the front door and beelined for the Merc.

In seconds I was at the blacked-out C-Class 250 and, with a lead foot on the gas pedal, roared out of my family’s isolated Hamptons mansion, quickly hitting the open road. Destination: Brooklyn.

As the miles passed by, the trees a blurring stream of brown, a dull ache set in my chest.

I needed this, needed to breathe the Brooklyn air. And I needed my best friend. Keeping my eyes on the dark country road, I reached into my purse and pulled out my cell. In seconds I’d found her name and the call connected.

“Hey, girl!” Kisa’s soothing voice greeted. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Kisa,” I said anxiously, “can you meet me for a drink in a couple of hours?”

Kisa paused then asked, “Tal, what’s wrong? Where are you?”

“I’m driving back to Brooklyn. I … I just need to get back for a while, is all.”