Two rival Bratva pakhans. One holiday. Zero self-control.



What could possibly go wrong?



Five years ago, my daughter ran off with Yuriy Orlov's younger brother. I should've wiped the Orlovs off the map for that alone. Instead, I'm stuck under the same roof with Yuriy, playing nice for Christmas like we're not one wrong move away from bloodshed . . . or from me dragging him into my bed.



Because Yuriy isn't just my enemy. He's reckless. Arrogant. Infuriatingly beautiful. The kind of man who smirks like he knows exactly how far he can push me—and gets away with it.



I should hate him. God knows I've tried.



Because the only thing more dangerous than loving a Zhukovsky . . . is wanting an Orlov.



Contains mature themes.