I work at an upscale bar where powerful men think money means ownership.
Most nights, I can handle them. Until the night he touches me. Kazimir Baranov. Bratva king. Silver hair. Dark eyes. My father's best friend. When a drunk creep gets too handsy, Kaz doesn't hesitate. He drags the man outside. Comes back with blood on his knuckles and murder in his eyes. Then he cups my chin. "Anyone who touches you without my permission loses his hand." I should be terrified. Instead, I'm shaking for an entirely different reason. Because he's been watching me. For months. Coming here in secret. Lying to my father. Stalking me. When he backs me into a dark alley and whispers what he'd do if I were his—my body stops fighting him. And now I'm wearing his ring. A fake engagement, he says, to protect me from his enemies. Until it's safe. Except nothing about the way he looks at me feels temporary. And everything about his touch feels like a danger I don't want to escape. Somewhere between the stalking and the saving… Between the jealousy and the possessive vows… Two pink lines appear. And I realize walking away from him was never an option. Because a Bratva king doesn't just protect what's his. He keeps it.
