I'm not sure anyone is strong enough to survive Samuil Litvinov. Not when he looks at you like you're everything he wants and everything he can't trust. Not when his touch sets your skin on fire even as his eyes freeze your blood. Not when he carries you like you're precious cargo one minute and eyes you like a potential threat the next.
Least of all me, the girl who can't decide if she wants to kiss him or knee him in the balls.
The girl who betrayed him and still can't stop wanting him.
The girl who no longer has a choice.
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The last yacht party I attended in Sardinia ended with two dead bodies and a forty-million dollar deal to import black market firearms.
Tonight, The Sofia carves relentlessly through the Mediterranean, her hull as black as the secret
