Chapter 1

• NATASHA
• “Ayoo Natasha! Where you goin'?”
• Phil's voice was loud over the club song. That was no surprise, he was a whopping seven-foot Jamaican male who weighed nothing less than three hundred pounds. One look at those hulking eyes and no one in their right senses would mess up.
• But this was a nightclub. Half the crowd here were definitely not in their right senses, they were either drunk or high on shit.
• “It's twelve, Phil,” I yelled back. “My shift ended.”
• “Nuh-uh, not if I say so, missy,” He tsked, a playful glint in his eyes. “Get your pretty ass back here. I've got some special guests comin"
• “They can serve themselves! I'm not doing shit!” I blew him a kiss and as quickly as I could, moved out of the door.
• Working as a waitress in a nightclub wasn't exactly every girl's dream. And perhaps if I was the average American, I would share the same sentiment.
• But I sure as hell did not.
• I looked like the typical American bimbo. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and tall enough for a twenty-four-year-old. As a little girl, though, I never had dreams. I was never raised to have dreams. I was brought up to do one thing and one thing only - Not dream.
• I shivered as a cool breeze whipped against my exposed arms. I suppose wearing a single-strap top and ripped jeans wasn't fit for the cold autumn night, but it was all I had that seemed good enough for a club. I wasn't a fan of luxury, and I made sure to have only the essentials.
• I suppose it was a habit I had picked up. My past didn't allow for hoarding clothes and fancy shit like Jewelry.
• I walked down the road, moving as quickly as possible. People teemed like flies on either side of the road, yelling, hollering, and helping drunk friends into cabs, while I weaved through them, eager to get home and get some sleep.
• My phone vibrated in my pocket and I whipped it out, grinning when Alisa's name popped up on my screen. I swiped to receive the call.
• “Hey Ali,”
• "Ve... Nat, hi,” She said sweetly. I could imagine her toying with her Chestnut brown hair between her fingers while sitting next to her husband.
• Of us two sisters, only Alisa was allowed to dream. Everything I did, every mark, every cut, every single drop of blood was to ensure Alisa got the life she had today. A happy family and a stable job.
• Perhaps that had been my dream. The only one I had been allowed to keep. But of course, I would never tell Alisa that.
• “What's up?”
• “I… I was wondering if you wanted to pick up some groceries tomorrow. We got a little extra, and I'm sure Mathew and I can spare-”
• “No,” I said, stopping in my tracks. I didn't need her money. I hadn't crossed the ocean to rely on Alisa. Hell, it should be the opposite!
• “Natasha,” She hissed. “Don't be stubborn!”
• “I didn't want your money, Ali,” I snapped and resumed walking home. “I'm fine, and can manage on my own.”
• “But I want to help,” She whined.
• A chuckle slipped from my lips. She sounded so much like a twelve-year-old. At least she got to keep her innocence.
• “You can help me by staying pretty and living your best life ever. How's that?”
• I turned the corner that led to my one-room apartment and froze still.
• Someone had broken into my home, and they had been quite subtle about it. Hell, to anyone who passed by my door, it looked locked, but I could see the spaces in between and the reflection of the light.
• “Ali?” I called, cutting off her ramblings. “I'll call you later,”
• I ended the call and shoved the device into my pocket, approaching my door swiftly yet quietly. Why would anyone break into a shabby one-room apartment in the shady downtown part of New York? What the hell were they hoping to find? Gold? A pile of rubies?
• I peeked through the space to see if anyone remained inside, and groaned low in my throat when I couldn't make out a single thing. Taking a deep breath, I tried to pry the door wider. A sound I recognized all too well, the sound of a cocked gun filled the air and I felt the cool metallic surface of the barrel of a gun against the side of my head.
• I stiffened at the feeling, trying to even my breathing. “Who are you?”
• “I ask the questions here,” A deep male voice heavy with an Italian accent reached my ears. “Vera,”
• I laughed, shaking my head slightly. “I think you have the wrong person, Mister,"
• The gun pressed harder against my temple and I winced. It had been quite long since I had a gun against my head. So fucking long ago.
• “You might want to reconsider,” He rasped. “I wouldn't want to kill the world's deadliest assassin. Now open that door and don't try anything funny!”
• I followed his orders, pushed the door wider, and stepped into my home. It wasn't much. There was a ratty old mattress in a corner. Paper and clothes were strewn everywhere. There was a chair and desk that I used for dining in another corner, and shards of a plate I had broken the day before occupied them.
• I wasn't swimming in money or shit like that, but I was living just fine. I worked hard, I had enough money for booze and food, and I was fine.
• Until this bastard showed up.
• Once we were in, I turned around to face him, narrowing my eyes into slits as I scrutinized him. I had expected some grabby older man in his fifties or something, but the man before me was a hell of a fine specimen.
• He looked to be in his thirties, his eyes had enchanting black irises and his long brown hair was tied in a ponytail atop his head. His jaw was clenched as he held the gun pointed directly to my forehead.
• One shot and I would be gone.
• I held my hands up in the air defensively.
• “Seriously, who are you? And if you want money, I certainly don't fucking have it."
• The Italian man chuckled, tucked his gun into his waistband and gestured round the house.
• “I would say that is very clear, Vera. I have never seen a poorer home. Not even in the slums of Italy.”
• “I am not Vera,” I said simply, eyeing his movements. If I made a break for it while he was engrossed in talking shit about my house, I ought to get very far. He was slick, but there was no way he would be slicker than I was.
• No one was.
• “Oh please,” He scoffed, directing his attention back to me. “Sure you dyed your hair and shit, but you look exactly like Vera. I'm not stupid, woman.”
• “You're sure about that?” I grinned, kicking up a piece of cloth onto his face. He got blinded, and I seized the opportunity to drive my knee into his belly and between his thighs. He groaned, let out a Yelp, and crumpled to the ground.
• That was my chance. I sprinted towards the door and almost stepped out of it when a boot came from nowhere and slammed right into my chest. Pain shot through my ribs and I crashed to the floor. Before I had an opportunity to retaliate, two men grabbed my shoulders and arms on both sides and forced me to kneel.
• Ah, shit. I hadn't counted on the bastard having back up and judging from the look on his face as he struggled to stand on his feet, he looked mighty pleased about that.
• “Are you done being barbaric?” He spat, dark eyes flashing in anger.
• “Oh trust me, you haven't seen barbarity!” I seethed, baring my teeth at him. “What do you want?!”
• The Italian man sighed, rubbing a hand over his hair to smoothen the strands that had loosened. “I am Luca. And I have a mission for you.”
• “I am not Vera-”
• “You just kicked me right between the balls, woman! I know you're Vera, quit denying it, or I'll have my boys here teach you a very bitter lesson,”
• I glanced up at his 'boys' and shook my head mentally. They were giants. Fucking hulks! I had lived a life free of pain in the past few years, I didn't want a recap. So I turned back to Luca and smiled at him.
• “I don't do missions anymore. I'm retired. If you want a hitwoman, you'll have to find-”
• “I'm guessing that means you do not mind if I pay a visit to Alisa Ivanov Cooper?” Luca said with a cruel, menacing grin.
• My heart fucking stopped. Then it pounded wildly and violently against my chest. I growled, trying to break out of his men's hold on me. “Stay away from my sister!”
• “I will,” He said, raising his hands in his defense. “If you cooperate with me.”
• “I don't do this job anymore!” I yelled. “I'm retired.”
• “Then get back in,” He shrugged. “Fanculo, it's not that hard, is it? It's like riding a bicycle.”
• “You're sick!” I spat, disgusted with the look on his face.
• “Si, I am,” Luca replied, lowering himself to a stoop, so he could stare directly into my eyes. “I have a proposition for you, Vera Ivanov. I want you to kill someone for me. Just one person. And in return, I pay you a million dollars and your sister is safe. Pretty generous, isn't it?”
• A million dollars? What in the world? Who on earth did this man want to get rid of so badly?
• “You're out of your mind if you think I'll say yes to that.”
• “Oh I know you will,” He chuckled, whipping out a phone. “All I need to do is place one phone call, and your sister goes kaboom! You will help me, Vera.”
• Alisa. I closed my eyes, trying to picture her in my mind. She didn't deserve to die. I wanted her to live. I needed her to. She was the only reason I could find the human inside me. The only reason I had fought tooth and nail to leave Russia.
• Alisa was everything to me.
• And Luca knew that.
• I pressed my lips tightly in anger. I was cornered. I didn't have a choice. It was either this job or Alisa's life, and I would protect Alisa with everything I had.
• My eyes opened, staring blankly into his. “Who do you want dead?”
• “The lord of the Italian Mafia,” He replied. “Hell.”
• No fucking way!