Page 59 of Pretty Little Assassin

Fuck.

“Valentina,” Zero’s voice is more strained than I’ve heard it. “Don’t take the bait.”

Suddenly it dawns on me that the word “mate” wasn’t the only important claim in that bastard’s sentence.

“Wait—her mom?” Donnie abandons his commitment to keeping the line free from commentary.

The stakes have just risen. Her stepfather knows I’m here. As her mate. And my mate’s mother is in danger. I, who pride myself on my fast reflexes and strategic thinking, feel like I have just been bludgeoned over the head.

Valentina glances back at me; I can’t hear anything. No words are being exchanged. But the look in her eyes says enough.

“No,” I tell her—and then cut my words off. Don’t you do it. Don’t you go with him. Stay right here where I can see you.

“Wait, what is she doing?” Donnie can see her on the hacked security feed. We all know exactly what she’s doing.

Zero shoots me a look, but neither of us moves. Zero needs to keep her cover. I am frozen between protecting my mate and letting Valentina run point on this operation.

She turns away from me to face her stepfather, then walks toward the ballroom doors with him and his men.

Shit.

Just before they disappear, Johnson settles a hand at the small of her back, playing the courteous escort. Valentina doesn’t break his wrist; instead, she goes with him.

“Motherfucker.” The word comes out loud enough that someone beside me looks over.

If the scent match wasn’t proof enough, the need to kill every man who touches her is.

She is my mate.

No one touches her. No one but me.

The rage makes me feel alive in a way killing for money never has. Fuck this. Valentina can be in charge, but I am going after them in case she needs me.

“Oh shit,” Zero says.

“What? What’s going on?” Donnie asks.

I rip a tray of champagne flutes from a passing server and hurl it at the floor. Glass shatters across the marble.

“Oh shit. Yeah,” he says. “It’s about to get real, isn’t it?”

18

VALENTINA

All three voices in my ear order me to stay inside the ballroom. I ignore them.

“Wait,” Donnie says. “I need to pull the feeds from the other side of the venue. We never mapped those corridors.”

My stepfather doesn’t slow as he passes through the doors. Waiting isn’t an option.

“Valentina, don’t.” Zero’s voice drops into the tone she uses when she’s one bad decision away from dragging me home by the ear.

I hate disappointing her almost as much as she hates when I go off script, but sometimes a mission demands both.

Then Viktor cuts in.

“No.”