“Then get me into that auction.” Her fingers curl into my shirt, not pushing away but pulling closer. “Get me access to the files.”
“You have a plan?”
“I havechemistry.” Her mouth curves. “I’ll mirror the compound. Reverse the molecular structure. It will lookidentical on paper, but in a human body? It’s inert. Salt water.” She grabs a flash drive from the workstation. “But no one will know until they try to manufacture.”
Brilliant.Fucking brilliant.
“How long do you need?”
“Five minutes with file access. Two if they’re digital.”
“You’ll have it.”
She nods once.
“What’s the dress code?” She doesn’t look up from the flash drives she’s organizing. “For watching your life’s work get sold to terrorists?”
“Black tie. Formal.” I cross to her and turn her to face me, my hands settling on her hips with the possessive grip I can’t seem to control around her anymore. “Wear the midnight blue from the gala. You’ll look like an oligarch’s wife while you’re planning their destruction.”
“Romantic.”
“We leave in two hours.”
She zips the leather case and turns to face me fully, pale but steady, jaw set with determination that makes something crack in my chest and reform into a shape I don’t recognize.
“If this doesn’t work—” she starts.
“It will.”
“But if it doesn’t.” She steps closer, close enough that I can smell peppermint and feel the heat radiating off her skin. “I need you to know something.”
I wait.
“I hate what you did. I hate that you made me a weapon. And I hate that even now, looking at this, I still want you to touch me.”
“It makes youmine.” The words escape before I can stop them. “And I don’t deserve that. I know I don’t. But if we survive tonight—”
“Don’t.” She presses her fingers against my lips. “Don’t make promises. Just get me into that vault.”
I kiss her fingers. Then her palm. Then I pull her against me and kiss her properly. This is desperate and rough.
When she pulls back, her voice is steady. “Let’s go steal my research back and make every buyer in that room regret putting their name on Vadim’s fucking list.”
Something dark and proud blooms in my chest.
This woman.This fucking woman.
“Eto moya devochka.” I pull her close and press my mouth to her forehead. “Now let’s go burn my uncle’s empire to the ground.”
INTERLUDE - Senate Judiciary Committee — Washington, D.C.21 December, 09:47 EST
Senator Marcus Delacroix studied the photograph. Grainy. Black and white. Terrifying.
Roman Volkov emerging from the Ritz-Carlton Moscow. One hand at the small of a woman’s back, possessive. Even through the grain, the claim was visible. She belonged to the monster beside her. She wore midnight silk, and her profile was caught mid-turn toward the camera, lips parted, beautiful and cold.
“The chemist.” Deputy Superintendent Eleanor Keene stood near the window, her British accent clipped and professional. Interpol’s Winter Phoenix task force had been hunting Volkov money for years, and Keene carried that hunt in the shadows beneath her eyes. “Dr. Anya Morozova. Published three papers on synthetic opioid stabilization before she disappeared into Volkov’s compound six weeks ago.”
“Hostage or accomplice?”
