About

I was Anna’s best friend, the one who had been asked to come to Russia to help her with the wedding preparations. She was marrying Mikhail Volkov, a Russian billionaire, and Anna had insisted that I come early to help her with everything. I lived in London and owned a large, successful company of my own. Throughout our conversations, Anna had constantly talked about Mikhail and his closest friend—a kind, wealthy man named Nikolai Romano. Now, I was sitting in the first-class section of the plane, on my way to Russia. The only thing bothering me was the language. I didn’t speak Russian. And from everything Anna had told me, Russians could be rather particular about foreigners not knowing their language. I stared anxiously out the window, wondering how I was going to manage once I landed. My Russian was nowhere near good enough for a country where even the smallest misunderstanding could become embarrassing. I was lost in my thoughts when the seat beside me was finally occupied. A wealthy, handsome man settled into the seat next to mine. At first, there was nothing particularly remarkable about him. I barely paid him any attention, keeping my gaze fixed on the window. That was, until his bodyguard leaned down beside him. “Mr. Romano.” My eyes flicked toward the man beside me. Then his bodyguard—clearly his right-hand man—started quietly discussing the disappearance of another man. The kind of thing that sounded unmistakably like mafia business. And then, instead of calling him Mr. Romano, the bodyguard casually used his first name. “Nikolai…” The name slipped into the conversation as naturally as a drop disappearing into water. But for me, it was like everything suddenly clicked into place. I mentally put the first and last name together. Nikolai Romano. My blood ran cold. I stared at the man sitting beside me, completely frozen. Nikolai Romano. The very same Nikolai Anna had talked about so many times.