Page 1 of Sinful Betrayal

1

NINA

Beinga Bratva princess means your life is never your own.

I always dreamed of being a ballerina, of dancing for the American Ballet Company.

Of being free.

Part of it, at least, came true. But at a cost.

Truth is, my father only agreed to put me on a plane to the US to attend the New York Institute of Dance if I got some vital information on one of his many enemies in return.

So, I’m stuck being a ballerina by day and Russian Bratva spy by night.

I slide off my bar stool and straighten out my skirt, running my hands over the pleats before sauntering over to the bar, making sure to swish my hips with every step.

I spend hours and hours every day pushing my body to the absolute limit, so I want to show off the results.

At least while my father isn’t here to scold me for it.

But tonight, my outfit serves more than one purpose. Not only am I wearing a short skirt and skimpy low-cut sweater to feel great, but I’m also hoping it will help catch the eye of one particular patron who frequents this bar.

“What can I get for you?” the bartender asks, his eyes dipping down to my cleavage.

“Four vodka tonics.” I offer him a warm smile as I flick my bangs out of my eyes.

I glance around the room as I wait for the bartender to make the drinks, clocking eyes with a few men sitting at neighboring tables.

I’m no stranger to male attention, and it only gets worse when they learn that I’m a ballerina. It’s like I’m talking directly to their cocks, their minds instantly going to all the positions they could put me in while we fuck.

While I have put my flexibility to good use in the past, that’s not what I’m interested in tonight. There’s only one man I’m hoping to run into and from the looks of things, he’s yet to make an appearance.

Hopefully, he won’t be long now.

I’m on a very strict timeline. If I don’t deliver, my father will put me on a flight straight back to Russia, and I can kiss my dreams goodbye.

This is my one chance of escaping my old life for good, and I can’t afford to blow it.

I knew that moving to the United States from Russia would be a big change, but I never expected for New York to feel like home so quickly.

I’ve only been at the Institute of Dance for three weeks, but it’s even better than I imagined. Getting to spend all day doing what I love is a great privilege, and I’ve even managed to make a few friends in the process.

Those were a rarity back in Russia, but it wasn’t for a lack of trying.

When your father istheBratva Pahkan, you’re destined for a lonely life filled with darkness and death.

I never had sleepovers or movie nights, my life was more about my father hosting late night meetings with his cronies while they polished their weapons and talked about illegal dealings.

That’s why I took to dancing from such a young age. It was a way for me to disappear for a while, to lose myself in the music and pretend that my real life didn’t exist. It’s probably why I became as good as I have, because I craved the escape. Always.

That, or because ballet reminds me of my mother. She took me to see the Nutcracker every Christmas until she died, and it’s where I first fell in love with ballet. Every time I slip on my pointe shoes, I feel closer to her.

I wish she could have watched me perform.

The thought often makes my eyes sting as I wonder what life could have been like if she was still alive. Perhaps my father would have been kinder toward me, or he might?—

“Cash or card?” The bartender’s voice snaps me back to the here and now.

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