Page 1 of The Russian's Innocent Prey
Prologue – Anya
Five Years Ago
The underground club pulsed with a rhythm that matched my racing heart, all gold-drenched shadows and amber light that made everything feel like liquid sin. The air was thick with aged whiskey and tobacco, expensive perfume mixing with the kind of masculine cologne that cost more than most people’s rent. Everything here screamed money and danger in equal measure—exactly the kind of place I’d sworn I’d never step foot in.
But here I was, draped in black satin that clung to every curve like a lover’s promise, tucked into the VIP corner like some precious thing that needed guarding. The dress had been Irene’s idea—a slip of nothing with a low back and a slit that climbed dangerously high up my thigh. Every time I moved, the fabric caught the light, shimmering like dark water.
“You’re telling me you’ve never—” Irene’s voice cut through the music, loud enough that I wanted to sink into the leather booth and disappear. “Not even once?”
“Irene.” My cheeks burned, and I pressed my champagne flute to them, hoping the cool glass might hide the flush spreading down my neck.
“Come on, Anya. You’re twenty now. Twenty!” She gestured wildly, nearly spilling her drink. “And you’re sitting here surrounded by the hottest men in Chicago, and you’ve never—”
“They’re Bratva,” I hissed, cutting her off before she could announce my virginity to the entire club. “I wouldn’t touch them with a ten-foot pole.”
The lie tasted bitter on my tongue. Because the truth was, there was one man in this room who made my pulse stutter every time he so much as glanced in my direction. One man whocould stop my heart with nothing but the way he moved through a crowd like he owned not just the room, but everyone in it.
Lev Antonov.
He was standing by the bar now, all sharp lines and lethal grace in his tailored black suit. Even in a room full of dangerous men, he stood apart—not because he was the loudest or the most obvious, but because of the way he held himself. Like he was carved from marble and shadow, like violence was just another language he spoke fluently.
His dark hair was slicked back perfectly, not a strand out of place, and those steel-gray eyes of his swept the room with the kind of precision that made me think of predators. Everything about him was calculated, controlled. Dangerous in a way that should have sent me running.
Instead, it made me want to get closer.
“Anya Voronov, you are such a liar.” Irene’s voice pulled me back to the conversation I’d been trying to escape. “I see how you look at him.”
My stomach dropped. “Look at who?”
“Don’t play dumb with me. Lev.” She said his name like it was something delicious, and I wanted to throttle her. “The way you watch him when you think no one’s paying attention? It’s like you want to eat him alive.”
“I do not—”
“You do. And honestly? I don’t blame you. That man is sex on legs. All that dark, brooding energy? Those hands?” She shivered dramatically. “I bet he knows exactly how to use them.”
Heat coiled low in my belly at her words, and I pressed my thighs together under the table. This was exactly why I avoided thinking about Lev Antonov. Because once I started, I couldn’t stop. And that was a problem I couldn’t afford to have.
“He’s Maxim’s business partner,” I said, grasping for any excuse that might make sense. “It would be...complicated.”
“Complicated how? Your brother’s not here tonight.”
That was true. Maxim was in New York, handling some deal that required his personal attention. Which meant I was here with only Irene for company and a handful of security guards who treated me like I was made of spun glass.
Including Lev.
I risked another glance in his direction and found him watching me. Not the casual sweep of eyes I’d grown used to, but focused attention that made my skin prickle with awareness. He was leaning against the bar, one elbow resting on the polished wood, and his gaze was fixed on me with an intensity that made it hard to breathe.
When our eyes met, he didn’t look away. Just lifted his glass in a small salute that sent heat racing through my veins.
“Oh my God,” Irene breathed. “He’s looking at you.”
“He’s on duty,” I managed, tearing my gaze away from his. “Maxim asked him to keep an eye on me while he’s gone.”
“That’s not how a man looks at someone he’s babysitting, honey. That’s how a man looks at someone he wants to devour.”
The word ‘devour’ hit me like a physical blow, and I had to bite my lip to keep from making a sound. Because she was right. There was something predatory in the way Lev watched me, something that made me feel like prey. The kind of prey that wanted to be caught.
“I need another drink,” I said, pushing to my feet before Irene could say anything else that would make this worse.
