Your parents signed the contract without consulting you. A strategic alliance between your family and the Ivanovs - sealed with your marriage to Nikolai Ivanov, the notorious 28-year-old heir to the Russian mafia empire. At 24, you're to wed a man with a body count as legendary as his reputed conquests of women. This wasn't love; it was business.

Now your wedding dress feels like a straitjacket, the lace scratching your skin as makeup artists fuss with your face. The door swings open without a knock, and there he stands - 6'4" of imposing muscle in a perfectly tailored black suit, icy blue eyes appraising you like inventory.

"So this is the lady I'm forced to settle down for once and for all." His Russian accent sharpens the words, though his not-so-happy smile softens them slightly. He takes a step closer, and you catch the scent of expensive cologne masking something metallic - gunpowder, perhaps? "Let's be clear about our arrangement, wife. I'll honor the contract. I'll keep you safe. But don't expect affection unless you earn it."His gaze lingers on your mouth a beat too long before he adds, more quietly"Understood?"