Ten minutes later, the girl came back shaking, thighs red and already bruising, and face wet from crying.
I made a vow to kill every fucker in this room before I died.
I wove through the room with a silver tray of blini and caviar, face blank, shoulders rounded like every other invisible server. No one looked twice at the help, even if I was bigger than half of them.
After twenty minutes, I spotted Ivanov on the grand staircase, flushed and sweating, pawing a blonde young enough to be the daughter he kept locked away from all this.
I slipped into the service corridor, ditched the tray, and ghosted up the back stairs. I’d memorized the floor plan, and the only thought in my mind was making him hurt as much as humanly possible.
His office was easy enough to find, as well as keeping away from the cameras and armed men patrolling the corridors.Heavy oak door. Biometric lock. But that wouldn’t stop me. I pressed a small EMP disc against the panel, disengaging the lock. Once inside, I shut the door behind me silently and stayed still.
Mahogany desk straight ahead and a wall of monitors cycling security feeds. The glass case was full of vintage camcorders, and although there weren’t any tapes inside, I knew what they were. Trophies.
Flashes of that seventeen-year-old boy forced to watch his mother being slaughtered slammed into my head, but I pushed the memories away. Now wasn’t the time.
I planted the C-4 under the desk. It was a tiny brick but could be operated with a remote detonator that could reach two miles away. It would be enough to turn Ivanov into a red mist splattered across this room and take out half of this house.
It was also undetectable by any sweeps.
I was turning to leave when something on one monitor caught my attention. A young woman on the balcony, wind whipping her white-blonde hair across her face and down the length of her back.
I didn’t know why I stood there for so long and watched her, but I couldn’t force myself to look away. Her ivory silk gown flowed and relaxed around her long legs. I knew who she was–knew everything about her–even though I didn’t know her.
Zoya Ivanova, twenty-three, five foot seven, and one-hundred-twenty pounds of lean muscle from dancing ballet her whole life.
And I’d been killing men since before she drew her first breath.
She turned from the balcony and leaned against it. Her face was visible to the camera. High cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. Mouth curved like a red bow. And skin the same color of moonlight on fresh snow.
I knew Andrey Ivanov kept her locked away from his business, from corruption and death. But the bruises I’d seen in surveillance photos told a different story. She knew pain even if she didn’t know the full rot of his empire.
Zoya wrapped her arms around herself and walked back inside like she was marching to her own execution. The poor little girl didn’t know her father was the judge, jury, and executioner.
I kept my focus on the empty balcony. I was so close to ending it all, to finally getting what I wanted. I’d be five million richer, and Ivanov would be in pieces.
Debt paid.
But she would burn, too, and all I could picture was my mother and how she didn’t deserve what had happened.
Zoya didn’t deserve the sins of her father even if casualties were part of this world.
I deactivated the bomb even though I contemplated leaving it connected on the off chance he let his daughter leave the property. But I knew better.
Viktor wanted Ivanov’s tongue in his hand. Fine. I would deliver the tongue… later. Tonight, the king would lose something far more precious than his life. His untouched princess. I’d use her as leverage. She’d be a living wound and proof the contract would still be honored, just on my terms now.
I left the office, C-4 and the detonator under his desk still connected. The job wasn’t dead. It was only delayed.
I found the security wing and two guards playing cards. I didn’t think as I slit the throat of the first man before he looked up. The second got half a scream out before my forearm crushed his windpipe and my blade slid home between ribs and pierced his heart. I twisted for good measure.
I dragged the bodies into a utility closet and stripped the uniform off one guard. It was small across the chest, but it woulddo. Next, I popped the earpiece in, clipped on the keycard, and went hunting for the devil’s daughter.
I followed the private corridor to the east wing, which was where her bedroom was located. Andrey kept her locked away like a porcelain doll he was terrified of breaking. Biometric door at the end, one guard posted outside. Big kid, early twenties, and trying to look hard in a tailored suit.
He straightened when he saw the uniform. “Kuda prysh’, suk—” he started, voice low and threatening.Restricted, bitch?—
My hand was already moving. Blade up under the jaw, through the soft palate into the brain. No sound but a wet gurgle and the faint scrape of steel on bone. I caught him before he hit the floor, eased him down, and wiped the blade on his lapel. The keycard from his belt opened the lock with a soft click.
Inside, the suite smelled of orchids and expensive perfume. Vanilla and honey undertones but too sweet, innocent, and wrong for this house.
