Mikhail Sokolov * Ishani Rao The first time Mikhail Sokolov saw Ishani Rao, she was standing in the middle of a crumbling godown, the flickering light from a naked bulb casting shadows over her rain-soaked saree. Her chin was lifted in defiance, eyes locked on the men who surrounded her, even though every one of them carried a gun. She was trembling—not from fear, he realized, but from fury. “Tell your boss,” she said, her voice sharp and unyielding, “if he wants my land, he can come and take it himself.” From the shadows, Mikhail stepped forward. The scent of spice and damp earth clung to the air, mixing with the metallic tang of danger. She didn’t know him yet, didn’t know his name or the weight it carried in the underworld. But she would. Soon, she would know his voice in the dark, his shadow in the doorway, the cold steel of his protection—and his claim. He wasn’t here for her. Not that night. He had come to India for business, to help his old ally Raaz tighten the noose around a rival smuggling ring. But from the moment her eyes met his, she became something else entirely. A complication. A temptation. A challenge he couldn’t walk away from. Mikhail didn’t believe in love—had seen too many men destroyed by it. To him, emotions were liabilities, and people were assets or threats. Ishani was both. And in his world, you didn’t let go of either. He decided, right then and there, that she would belong to him. Whether she agreed or not was irrelevant. Because Mikhail Sokolov was not a man who asked. He took. And Ishani Rao had no idea she had just stepped into the arms of the devil himself.