"I'm an assassin. A very expensive one." His words carry a matter-of-fact delivery, like discussing the weather. "In this business, you can outsource hits or you can have your own resources. The Basovs used to outsource those types of contracts, but not anymore."
Pieces are suddenly clicking into place. His skills. His confidence. The way other dangerous men defer to him.
"The Basovs outsourced to me and my team," Anton continues, gray eyes never leaving mine. "They were hesitant at first since I was young, but my team was very effective at what we did. The Basovs were willing to pay me more than what I was making independently, so I decided to take the job. Yuri and others came with me."
"Do you kill for them all over the world?"
"Sometimes, if the task requires it. But I'm in charge of all the teams across the globe that the Basovs have for these types of assignments."
The magnitude hits me. "Holy shit, you're not just an assassin. You're the head of international operations."
"You could say that."
For a moment, I feel like I need to take deep breaths. Oh my God, I was really missing a lot of data points.
"Does my father know this? Lorenzo?"
"They know now. Which is why you're here." His voice drops to that protective tone. "I wanted you by me, where I have direct eyes on you."
Confusion swirls through my mind. "I don't understand. For the last six months, I saw you take orders from Maks, work for my father like a soldier."
Anton's jaw tightens slightly, the first sign of discomfort he's shown during this conversation.
"After Katya passed, I buried myself in work. Assignment after assignment. I burned my men down, Yuri, Dominic, Alexei, Viktor." His voice grows quieter. "So I decided to take a break. I've known Maks for years, told him I'd work by his side. We made a bet. Maks told me I wasn't going to last being a soldierunder him, that I don't take orders from anyone. I bet fifty thousand that I would obey him."
"And?"
"The night I met you is the night I lost my bet. I allowed Sage to go downstairs against Maks' orders, to meet you." His eyes grow warm as they meet mine. "And thank heaven for that, because I met you. I stayed around, tried to be a soldier, just to see you more. I could have taken the time off, or just surveil you, but this way, I could at least see you closer without scaring you."
The words hang between us like expensive perfume, intoxicating and impossible to ignore.
An assassin. Not just any assassin, but the kind governments hire when they need someone erased from existence without a trace.
And he wants to court me.
"I can't believe you lost fifty thousand dollars," I whisper, the enormity settling in my chest like warm honey.
"Best money I ever lost. Worth every penny to have you sitting in my kitchen." His voice drops to that gravelly tone that makes my pulse skip. But then he gets closer. "Do you want out?" His question slices through the air, filled with an intensity that makes the room surge with energy. "Knowing who I really am, do you want to walk away?"
"No," I answer, the word heavy with truth.
Anton's eyes hold mine with devastating intensity. "I could have anyone, Fee. Hookups in every city, women who ask no questions and expect nothing." His thumb traces along my jawline, the touch gentle despite his words. "But I've seen enough death, caused enough of it, to know that life is precious. That real connection is rare."
I process the weight of what he's telling me. Before me stands an assassin who chose to keep playing soldier just to be near me. A man who travels the world ending lives, yet grows herbs in a garden because his late wife loved them.
Anton's thumb continues its gentle path along my jaw, his touch adoring.
"I feel a connection with you, Fee." His voice drops to barely above a whisper, each word deliberate. "A real one. Something I thought died with Katya."
The honesty in his stormy eyes steals my breath. This is raw and pure vulnerability.
"Do you feel a connection with me?"
His thumb stills against my skin, waiting. Everything around us fades. My throat constricts. Every rational thought screams warnings about competing with the ghost of his late wife, about diving into waters too deep for my inexperience. But my heart drowns out logic entirely.
"Yes."
The syllable emerges breathless, the only sound I can manage with his eyes burning through me like a brand.
