Page 1 of Between Power and Passion

Chapter 1 - Valentina

"Happy birthday, my darling daughter." Father's deep voice rumbles behind me.

I spin to face him, the layers of my crimson ballgown swirling around my ankles.He looks every inch the powerful crime boss controlling the Moscow underworld in his impeccably tailored tuxedo that hugs his broad shoulders. His dark eyes glimmer with pride as he extends a calloused hand.

"May I have this dance?"

I place my palm in his, letting him whisk me onto the glistening parquet dance floor. Chandeliers overhead cast a warm glow over other swaying couples. The gilded ballroom, decked with garlands of my favorite deep red roses, is filled withlaughter and clinking champagne glasses. Papa really outdid himself this year. It almost feels like we haven't been at each other's throat for the past month. Papa can be controlling, and if I want to break free from these puppet strings, I must stop asking, "How high?" when he says I should fly.

Father pulls me close, and the familiar cedar and smoke scent of his cologne assaults my senses. I scrunch my nose at the intensity.

Arrrgh, I hate this smell.

My chin barely reaches his shoulder despite my ridiculous five-inch stilettos. We glide in rhythmic circles, and my body instinctively moves to the waltz Mother taught me before...

I swallow hard, shoving thoughts of her away. Not tonight. Tonight is for celebrating the life she gave me 25 years ago.

I lose myself in the swell of violins, letting the melancholy notes buoy me across the shining floor. For a fleeting moment, everything feels right in the world. Almost.

An unexpected chuckle rumbles through Father's chest. "You've become such a radiant young woman, Valentina." He brushes a rogue curl from my face with surprising tenderness. "Just like your mother."

I blink. Papa doesn't compliment a lot. Well, never. Papa has never complimented me, ever. A lump rises in my throat as I study him, hunting for any hint of deception. His warm mahogany eyes remain sincere, crinkling at the corners.

Before I can answer, the music swells louder and then stops. Father dips me low, holding me up with one strong hand.

"I have an announcement to make." His eyes glint as his lips curve upward.

Suddenly, tuxedoed servers line the edges of the ballroom floor, proffering trays laden with fresh champagne flutes—as if on cue. Since it's a ball my father planned, I know it was deliberate.I shiver, a frisson of unease trickling down my spine at the anticipation sharpening Father's features.

What's he up to? Please don't ruin today for me.

My heart thrums with a sense of foreboding as he hauls me upright and steers me toward the stage dominating the far end of the ballroom. Hundreds of faces from Moscow's criminal elite and power-hungry socialites gawk at our procession across the gleaming parquet. I can't place most of them. They're all strangers wearing avarice and ambition like concealed weapons.

The conversations in the hall quiet as Father tightens his grip on my elbow, propelling me up the carpeted steps and into the spotlight. I blink against the brilliant stage lights blazing down on us. My mouth goes cotton dry as the expectant crowd focuses their predatory stares my way.An icy trickle of dread slithers down my spine, but I straighten up, squaring my shoulders as my heels click against the aged oak stage.

Get a grip, Valentina. You're the daughter of Sergei Makarov. Show some pride.

Father grasps my shoulders, steadying my trembling limbs. He leans close to say, "Breathe, my love." His voice softens, just for me. "Tonight is a celebration, one our family has anticipated for years."

Anticipated for years? What does that even mean?

Before I can question his words, he plucks a crystal flute brimming with Veuve Clicquot from a server's tray and turns to address the teeming ballroom.

"Brothers and sisters!" His stentorian voice booms like rolling thunder. "Tonight marks a joyous day for our family. My only daughter and greatest treasure, Valentina Makarov, has reached her 25th year." His chest inflates with obvious pride as he beams down at me. "She has blossomed into a rare rose, one of supreme strength and beauty."

The crowd bursts into rousing applause and raucous cheers. My cheeks go ruddy, heating beneath the gaze of so many probing eyes. I clutch the skirt of my ballgown, anchoring myself as his next words cleave the air like an axe.

"And today, as you become a woman," he swivels to face me, "I present to you your husband, the next Pakhan of our Kozlov branch, Mikhail Kozlov."

Husband? Is this really happening. My mind whites out, "husband" echoing like shattered glass in my skull. But I'm only 25! He can't be serious...

A collective gasp hisses through the room as someone climbs the stage stairs behind me. I turn to see who it is, the man my father has pledged my future to.

Mikhail is a strikingly chiseled man with an intense gaze that makes me want to run.His slate gray suit strains against his broad shoulders and strong arms. Though he is undeniably intimidating, I'm sure a lot of women would be swooning for this opportunity.

I shrink away instinctively from his scent of sandalwood and cloves when he finally stands beside me.As if my father senses the emotions stirring in me, he grips my elbow in a vise, and with a sharp tug, he jerks me forward until I'm pressed against Mikhail's chest.

I gape at him, lightheaded, as Father seizes my hand and stretches it toward Mikhail in a grotesque mimicry of courtship. A sheen of sweat breaks out across my brow as I battle between hysteria and unconsciousness.

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