The violin is the only piece of my soul Vadim never managed to stain. It is the one thing in this house of horrors that doesn’t smell of blood and betrayal. It is pure. And playing for her feels more dangerous than putting a gun in her hand.
But she’s looking at me with those grey eyes, wearing my shirt, her body still marked by my hands, and I can’t tell her no.
Fuck.
I lift the Guarneri from its case.
The first note is wrong—my fingers stiff—but I adjust and try again, and suddenly the music is pouring out of me the way it hasn’t in years. Tchaikovsky.Valse Sentimentale. My mother’s favorite piece.
I close my eyes and play through the ghosts.
For five minutes, there’s no war. No Vadim. No contracts on my head. Just music and the woman I—
The door bangs open.
Luka stands in the frame, phone in hand, face grim. “We have a problem.”
The violin lowers. Reality crashes back in. “What?”
“Vadim moved up the timeline. Three of our captains just switched sides.” His eyes flick to Anya, then back to me. “We need to go. Now.”
I lock the case. The music is over. Now the killing starts.
ANYA — Ritz-Carlton Moscow, 19:48
Three hours ago, we sent a man to steal secrets that could start a war.
Ash West is somewhere in Moscow right now, breaking into Vadim’s law office while Roman and I smile for cameras and pretend this is just another charity gala. If he’s dead, we won’t know until it’s too late. If he’s alive, he’s cracking safes while I try not to think about what happens if he gets caught.
Roman’s hand burns against the small of my back through midnight-blue silk, his thumb tracing slow circles against my spine. A brand. A warning.Mine.
“Stop counting exits,solnyshko.” His voice is low, amused, infuriatingly calm. “I bought the security firm last week. The exits are already ours.”
I look up at him and realize he’s not nervous at all. He’s three moves ahead of everyone in this room, including me.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Chaos is a ladder.” His thumb presses harder into my spine. “Everyone is watching us, which means nobody is watching the service elevators. Smile. You’re the distraction.”
I should be horrified that he’s using me as a decoy while a thief breaks into his uncle’s office. I’m fucking wet.
“Relax, Roman.” I keep my voice light, teasing. “I’m wearing your ring and your diamonds. Do you really need to bruise my spine to convince the room I’m yours?”
“I need to convince myself I’m not going to kill everyone looking at you.”
“Well, try to restrain the homicide until after dessert. I actually want to try the cake.”
His mouth curves and his hand slides up to settle on the nape of my neck, his large palm warm against the sensitive cord of muscle there. The pressure forces my head to tilt back slightly, and I know exactly what he’s doing—signaling to every man in this room that he holds my life in his palm. He could snap my neck or kiss it. I’m not sure which one I want more.
We move deeper into the crowd, and the room responds to him. Staff materialize before he even sets down his glass. Captains bow their heads when he passes. Conversations drop to murmurs in his wake.
A waiter approaches with champagne. Roman takes it, swirls it once, and sets it back on the tray without looking at the man.
“This is corked.”
His voice is pleasant. His eyes are empty.
“Sir, I apologize, I’ll—”
