Shattered Sanctuary

Igor Rostov, Prince to the Russian Empire, the Bratva royalty—was dead.

Like dead, dead.

I still couldn’t swallow the word. I stood there, egg dripping between my fingers, the shell cracked and forgotten on the floor. The pan on the stove hissed and sizzled in the background, but it couldn’t compete with the pounding of my heart.

Shot.

In public.

In the street.

Igor Rostov. The man who haunted my