Page 11 of Killer Love

Never let a snake loose in Moscow.

The Lutrova name isn’t as powerful as it used to be. My grandfather, Viktor, ran this business with an iron fist. He never cowered away from anything or anyone. Nikolai Lutrova should be the same way. He should be just as eager as I am to find out who the men in black were, but he yields to them instead — just as he yields to the Zappias and their ways.

Blood leaves a trail.

If there’s anything to be found out there, Markov will find it. He’ll surely destroy it, however, the second my father orders him to. There’s no one more loyal to my father than Markov. They grew up together, went to war together.

I’d have a better chance at meeting a nice girl in Italy than I would be of convincing Markov to help me hunt down the kobra.

Chapter 3

Sofia

Ever since I was a child, I pictured what my wedding would be like.

I suppose every little girl does. The bouquet of pink roses. The white dress. The black veil you have to wear that covers every inch of your skin for two weeks before the wedding, so you look like a goddamn porcelain doll on your wedding day.

Oh, wait. That’s just the Zappia way.

A Zappia woman is brave, never tortured or fearful.

A Zappia woman is focused, never careless or rash.

A Zappia woman is wise, never arrogant or cold.

A Zappia woman is a slave.

I added the last one myself.

“Sofia?”

I turn around to see Rosalie peeking her head into my room. Her expression changes from one of pleasant interest to quick judgment as soon as she sees me on the balcony.

“What are you doing?” she snaps, closing the bedroom door behind her. She motions for me to come back in. “You’re not supposed to be outside.”

I roll my eyes, not caring that she can’t see them behind the thick, black veil, and stay in place on my balcony. “I’m not supposed to leave my room,” I say. “Last I checked, this balcony was included in that.”

“You’re not supposed to speak either.”

I look at her again and sigh. Her long, brown hair hangs about her adolescent face, strands clinging to the sweat-covered cheeks. “What have you been doing?” I ask her.

“Dressing the guest rooms,” she says, pushing the hair off her face. “The Lutrova family is coming today.”

I nod as my memories instantly rush back to that day in the garden. That was the last time I saw the Lutrova boys. They’ve been here a few times since then, but I was never allowed to go near either of them again. Beatrix feared I was too tempted.

I can’t say she was wrong about that.

I gaze into the garden again, following the trail all the way to where the shed in the back sits between the trees.

Rosalie joins me on the balcony. “Perhaps my future husband will be among the wedding guests…” she muses with fantasy in her eyes.

I scoff. “Well, as your life maiden, little sister, believe me when I say you don’t want to be a bride.”

She slaps my shoulder. “Don’t be foolish, Sofia. I’d kill to be in your black shoes right now. Gio is dreamy…”

I bite my lip to hold back my disgust. My little sister is young and stupidly naïve. The perfect Zappia bride, in theory.

“If you want him, he’s all yours, Rosalie,” I say.

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