She kisses me once, quick and fierce.
ANYA — Yacht Nerissa, Lab Deck Stateroom, 23:47
The laptop screen glows cobalt in the darkness, and the man hunched over it isn’t a guard or Vadim.
I freeze in the doorway with my hand still on the brass handle and my heart trying to crack through my ribs because Dmitri Volkov is copying files to a USB drive in the office where I was supposed to be alone.
Roman’s diversion bought me five minutes. Luka secured the corridor. Everything went exactly according to plan except for the part where Roman’s cousin got here first.
My Louboutins are hooked over my fingers because heels announce your presence. The marble is cold under my bare feet, and the midnight silk of my dress whispers against my thighs as I consider backing away slowly before he notices me.
Too late.
His head snaps up, and those whiskey eyes find mine in the shadows. Vadim’s eyes but emptier. They widen for half a second before something ugly slides across his face, something that tells me he’s been waiting for exactly this opportunity.
“Little cousin-bride. Playing spy in your pretty dress while Roman plays hero upstairs?”
He steps toward me, and suddenly the office feels smaller than it did three seconds ago.
“What are you doing with my formula?” My voice comes out steadier than my heartbeat, which is hammering so loud I’m surprised he can’t hear it.
“Your formula.” He laughs, short and sharp. “The weapon. The one you built. The one you’re trying to hide.”
“I knew exactly what it was.” I don’t back away. “That’s why I’m here. To destroy it.”
“Destroy it.” Another step forward, and now I can smell his cologne over something metallic. Gun oil. “While Roman’s busy creating chaos on the casino floor so his obedient little wife can play saboteur?”
“Put the USB down. Walk away. Pretend this never happened, and I won’t tell him.”
“You’ll tell him nothing.”
I’ve seen this look on Roman. But on Roman, it promises safety. On Dmitri, it promises a grave.
“Vadim wants to sell MX-42.” He’s close enough now that I can see the pulse beating in his throat. Roman wants to burn it. I want to use it properly. On people who deserve to choke on their own blood.”
“By stealing from both your uncle and cousin?”
“By taking what was always supposed to be mine.” His gaze drops to the sapphires at my throat, then lower to where silkmeets skin. “Including you. Eventually. Once Roman’s guilt eats him alive and you need a man who isn’t afraid of what he wants.”
“I chose Roman.” The words come out fiercer than I intended, and my fingers tighten on the hairpin I slipped from my hair when I saw the wrong shadow at that desk. Galina’s hairpin. Platinum tipped with what she called insurance. “I’ll choose him every fucking time.”
His expression shifts from calculating to hungry in a way that makes my stomach turn.
“You chose survival.” He moves faster than I expected, crossing the distance between us in two strides, and suddenly his hand is closing around my wrist. “Survival changes. Husbands die. Widows need… management.”
He yanks me forward, and I crash into his chest, bare feet sliding on marble, and the world tilts because this isn’t Roman’s arms where roughness means safety. This is a man who looks at me the same way he looked at that USB drive.
Asset. Leverage. Something to be acquired.
“Get your fucking hands off me—”
His palm cracks across my face, snaps my head sideways, and fills my mouth with copper. The second blow comes before I can recover, knuckles this time, catching my cheekbone with a sound that echoes off the marble walls. Stars explode across my vision, and my knees buckle, but his grip on my wrist keeps me upright, a puppet on a string.
“Roman’s wife should know how to take a hit.” His voice is conversational, almost bored. “He’ll give you worse once he realizes I had what was his. You think any man wants a wife who—”
I drive Galina’s hairpin into his eye.
The platinum tip sinks in. Pop.. Wet. Then the scream is the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.
