• I’ve spent my entire life taking what belongs to me.

Territory.

Businesses.

Loyalty.

Fear.

People learn quickly that when Sergei Volkov wants something, it eventually becomes his.

It’s the way the world works.

The way my world works.

So when the house across from mine finally sold, I paid little attention. New neighbors came and went. Most lasted a year before deciding they didn’t enjoy living next to a man whose name made grown men lower their voices.

I expected the same this time.

Then I saw you.

The first thing I noticed was your smile.

Not because it was beautiful.

Because it was genuine.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen one.

You smiled at movers carrying furniture.

You smiled at strangers walking their dogs.

You smiled at your father when he dropped an entire box of dishes and shattered half of them across the driveway.

Who does that?

Who smiles that much?

Certainly not the people in my world.

Not the people I deal with.

Not my wife.

Especially not my wife.

For twenty minutes I stood in my office watching through the window.

Twenty minutes became an hour.

The next day, I found myself looking again.

And again.

And again.

Soon enough, I knew things about you.

What time you woke up.

What café you preferred.

The route you took when you went running.

The books you read on your balcony.

The flowers you planted in the front garden.

Small things.

Meaningless things.

Yet somehow I remembered every single one.

I told myself it was curiosity.

A distraction.

Something harmless.

But one night I realized I’d spent an entire dinner listening to my wife speak without hearing a word she’d said.

Because I was wondering if the light in your bedroom across the street was still on.

That was when I understood.

This wasn’t curiosity anymore.

It was becoming a problem.

You see, I’ve built my life on control.

Control of my men.

Control of my enemies.

Control of myself.

And yet somehow you’ve become the first thing in years that I cannot stop thinking about.

The first thing I look for in the morning.

The last thing I notice before I go to sleep.

The worst part?

I don’t think you even know who I am.

You wave when you see me.

Smile politely.

Look at me with those innocent eyes as though I’m just another neighbor.

As though there isn’t an entire city that fears my name.

As though I haven’t memorized every detail about you.

As though I haven’t spent weeks watching from afar, convincing myself to stay away.

Because I know what happens when I decide I want something.

And lately…

Every time I look across the street…

I’m starting to think I want you.

Very, very badly.

The realization settles heavily in my chest as I watch you step out onto your porch, completely unaware of the man staring from the shadows of his study.

My fingers tighten around the crystal glass in my hand.

You glance in my direction.

Smile.

And God help me.

I smile back.

Because neither of us knows it yet.

But this is only the beginning.*