Then we'll be ready.
Behind me, Sergei argues with Mila about whether pizza counts as a circle for geometry purposes, and her giggles fill the kitchen. This is what I fought for. What I'm protecting.
Five more days until the gala.
Then we end this. All of it.
Mother. Matthew. The empire they built on my father's corpse.
Burning it all down.
33
Izzy
“You wantto kill him at a charity gala?”
Sergei’s voice cuts through the war room—his office, but that’s what it’s become over the past two days. Maps, surveillance photos, Wesley’s intel reports spread across every surface like we’re planning a military operation.
Which, I suppose, we are.
“I want to end him where he feels safest.” I tap the blueprint of The Plaza’s ballroom and point to the Lighthouse Foundation gala marked in red on the calendar. “Surrounded by his peers. His protectors. All those society vultures who’ve been covering for him for years.”
“That’s not killing him. That’s spectacle.” He’s leaning against the desk; his arms crossed over his chest in that way that makes his shoulders look obscene. Black t-shirt stretched tight, tattoos visible on his forearms, silver threading through his dark hair catching the lamplight. “Spectacle gets you arrested.”
“Only if they can prove it was murder.” I move closer, invading his space because I can’t help myself lately. Because the heat between us is a living thing that demands proximity. “What if it looks like an accident? Or self-defense? Or?—”
“Or we’re overthinking this.” His hand finds my hip, pulling me between his legs. The casual possessiveness makes my stomach flip. “Wesley can just send everything to Detective Fraser. Audio recordings. Financial records. Your mother’s confession. Matthew’s finished. We don’t need to get our hands dirty.”
“Yes, we do.” I press my palms against his chest, feeling his heartbeat thunder beneath the thin fabric. “Cops mean trials. Appeals. Years of legal games while Matthew sits in minimum security, playing tennis. I want him to know it was me. I want him to see my face when his world burns.”
Sergei’s grey eyes darken, pupils blown wide with something that might be concern or desire or both. “You sound exactly like me ten years ago. Before I tried to go straight.”
“Maybe I learned from the best.”
“I taught you to protect yourself. Not to hunt.” His hands slide up my back, tracing my spine through my silk blouse. “There’s a difference,kotyonok.”
“Is there?” I tilt my head, studying the sharp line of his jaw, the scar bisecting his left eyebrow. “You protected your daughter by eliminating threats. I’m doing the same thing. Matthew killed my father. He’ll keep trying to kill me until one of us is dead. I’m just choosing which one.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, his hands still mapping my body like he’s memorizing every curve. Then his mouth curves into something too dark to be called a smile.
“You really have become dangerous.”
“Good.” I lean closer, lips hovering near his. “Match me or get out of my way.”
The challenge hangs between us. It’s electric and undeniable. Then he’s kissing me—hard, claiming, the kind of kiss that tastes like violence and promises. I melt into him because resisting Sergei is like resisting gravity. Impossible and pointless.
“The gala’s in five days,” he says when we pull back. “That’s not enough time to plan something that won’t get you killed or arrested.”
“Then we have five days to work fast.” I step back, needing distance before I drag him to the floor and forget about murder entirely. “Wesley’s already on it. Security layouts, guest lists, Matthew’s schedule. He’ll have blind spots we can exploit.”
“Blind spots.” Sergei straightens, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “You’re talking about assassination at a charity event with five hundred witnesses.”
“I’m talking about justice.” I move back to the desk, studying the blueprints. “Matthew’s going to be there. Cal Reznick, too, probably. They know we have the evidence. They’ll be desperate, making mistakes. We use that.”
“Desperate men are the most dangerous kind.”
“Then it’s lucky I married the most dangerous man in New York.” I glance at him over my shoulder, catching the heat that flashes across his face. “You’ve done this before. Eliminated targets in public settings. Made it look natural.”
