He was supposed to be my big break – not my total breakdown. Interviewing Anton Ivankov, the infamous kingpin, was my chance to outrun my broken past. I came ready, determined, but nothing truly could've prepared me for him.
Anton wasn't supposed to be so damned handsome. He wasn't supposed to have a heart. And he definitely wasn't supposed to make me a pawn in his prison break.
Now, he's making me question everything I've ever known, replacing common sense with raw desire. Can I escape before he's done playing wrecking ball – or will this mad need to leap into his bed ruin me forever?
ANTON
I never knew looks could blindside a man until I saw her. Sabrina was destined to be my ticket outta this hellhole and a secret weapon in our street war.
Except I'm not working for family fortune anymore. Every time we touch, it's lightning, dangerous and divine.
Hurricane Sabrina's blinding me to the mission. Her twisted uncle needs to pay big time, but she's got me so distracted I can barely think. I'll kill for this girl, anything to hear her beg for one dirty, reckless, unforgettable night.
Good thing I never fail. I'll do whatever it takes to finish this war and end this Romeo and Juliet crap for good. The only happy ending here is making sure her panties, her heart, her everything are mine, and I'm gonna have it all. I always do.
1
Interview to Die For (Sabrina)
The interview was totally crazy. Nothing less than straight-jacketed insanity.
I knew it, and I did it anyway, venturing to the huge prison about an hour north from Chicago.
I told myself I was ready to do wild things to jump start my career. A girl with an eye for journalism had to do the exceptional to get her name out there. And nothing was crazier than interviewing Anton Ivankov, the infamous Chicago bomber – especially when blood made us natural enemies.
I'd never met the man in my life, of course. But that didn't change anything.
We Ligiottis were born into rivalry and danger, the price of enjoying all the wonderful things the underworld has to offer. For us, nobody was bigger and badder than the Ivankovs, latecomers to the Chicago crime scene, vicious Russian bastards who made everything my family did for cash look like a gentle Florentine opera.
So I'd been told, anyway. I wasn't really privy to what went on behind closed doors and inside dark alleys to make us rich. Uncle Gioulio saved me from getting too close to the family business, a promise he'd sworn to my late parents.
Honestly, I didn't mind being sheltered. Partaking in the madness, the fear, and the murder didn't appeal to me. Raw, personal history did, and nothing was a bigger coup for me than when the letter showed up last week from Anton Ivankov. It was just a date and a time. Today's, five minutes to three o'clock sharp, plus two crabbed sentences.
ONE HOUR. NO RECORDERS.
By some insane miracle, he wanted to talk after more than a year in the slammer. Hell, he wanted to talk to me. I couldn't stop wondering how I'd gotten so lucky. I'd omitted my last name in my request, and he'd taken the bait.
All he needed to know about me was that I was just another young, hungry girl looking for a story. I wasn't about to fuck it up by spilling the beans about our families being mortal enemies.
Right place. Right time. Right luck? Well, it was time to find out.
A warden named Charlie walked me down a narrow row of lean, brutal men in their cages. Their rough eyes leered at me from the shadows. I suppressed a shudder, tried to tell myself it was about what I'd expected. It wasn't unusual for men who'd been locked up for a few months to eye any woman the same way a starving man gazes at a piece of prime rib, right?
Damn, if only there was an easier route to the visiting room. But it was an old prison, as Charlie explained, and there was no choice but to lead me through the small section where they kept their overflow creeps, felons, and killers.
“Right here, Miss Ligiotti,” he said, pulling open a heavy steel door. “You've got an hour. Mind if I ask whose balls you busted to make him talk to you?”
I smiled and shook my head. “Call me Sabrina. No balls were harmed making this happen, I can assure you. I just got lucky.”
“I'll say! All right, I'll let the chef keep her recipe a secret.” Charlie's wrinkles doubled as he beamed me a smile and a wink. “Good luck. Try not to rile him up too much – don't want to ship his ass back to solitary. He's only been out a week.”
Charlie closed the door behind me, and I was alone, taking the middle cubicle with the low, worn wood beneath the glass. Perfect spot for my notepad and the crappy marker clenched in my hands, the only things I'd been allowed to bring inside.
I'd read up on prison regulations before the interview, but I still didn't get it. The cameras were on us the entire time, so I couldn't smuggle anything in even if I wanted to. Besides, this glass between us looked thick, like something you'd see holding a gorilla at a zoo.