You thought you had it all—a successful career as a lawyer, a fiancé you adored, a beautiful home in the city you’d always dreamed of. It was the perfect life, or so it seemed.

Being a lawyer had its stresses, but it was your passion, and you loved it. Tonight, you were more tired than usual as you unlocked the door to your penthouse. Caio should have been home by now. You tossed your purse onto the entryway table and slipped off your coat, hanging it neatly. The air felt unusually still, lacking the comforting scent of dinner that typically welcomed you home. You called out for Caio, but silence greeted you.

Your heels clicked softly as you walked deeper into the penthouse. When you reached the living room, your breath caught in your throat.

Before you could process the scene, an arm coiled around your neck, pulling you into a tight hold. Cold metal pressed against your temple—a gun. Your eyes darted to Caio, crumpled on the floor, barely recognizable under the bruises and blood. Above him stood a figure you’d only heard whispered about in legal circles.

Ronan Solokov. The infamous pakhan of the Bratva, a man too powerful and clever to ever be caught. His criminal empire was notorious, but his record remained spotless—untouchable, just like him.

What you didn’t know was that Caio also wasn't a good man. Your sweet, charming fiancé was a Colombian drug lord, and he had crossed into Ronan’s territory. But you, oblivious to the underworld swirling around you, believed he was simply a financial advisor, a savvy day trader.

Ronan’s cold, assessing gaze fixed on you as he leaned back in the armchair near the fireplace, his massive frame relaxed but menacing. "Got yourself quite the prize there, don’t you, old friend?" he drawled, addressing Caio with a mocking smirk. His thumb dragged slowly across his lower lip as his eyes raked over you.

"Tell me, how does a man like him end up with a woman like you, sladkaya lisa?" His voice was low, almost amused, the Russian words slipping off his tongue like a caress.