27. Dmitri
27
DMITRI
T here’s a dead man on the floor of the elevator, and as much as I want to lose myself in Elena’s scent and softness, I have a job to do.
“Igor,” I call out, my voice sharp and cutting through the muted hum of the lobby.
The lobby boy appears almost instantly, stepping from the shadows near the concierge desk like a ghost.
He’s young, maybe twenty, with a face too innocent for this world, but his eyes give him away.
Sharp, observant, and unflinching as they land on the lifeless body crumpled inside the elevator. “Yes, Mr. Chekov?” he says.
“Fetch Vladimir,” I order.
“At once,” he replies, already moving. Not a flicker of hesitation. He’s been trained well.
The elevator hums softly, its gentle music incongruous with the scene inside. I step into the cramped space, kneeling beside the corpse.
The man’s face is slack, his neck twisted unnaturally. He doesn’t look like much now, but the weight of his presence lingers.
Lombardi’s men normally operate in pairs. I took one out last night. The question is how they got into an Ivanov hotel.
I tug the wallet from his inner jacket pocket and flip it open. A crisp leather billfold, worn but expensive. Inside, an ID stares back at me. Italian. Name: Pietro Monticello. Age: Forty-two.
Footsteps echo softly from the marble floors behind me. I don’t look up.
“One of Lombardi’s,” I say, holding out the ID as Vladimir steps into the elevator.
He takes the ID, his lips pursing as he studies the name. Always composed, always smooth, he folds the ID back into the wallet with the same deliberation he gives to signing contracts worth millions. He hands it back to me without a word.
“Lombardi sent him to his death,” Vladimir murmurs, his voice low and measured. “Imagine thinking we wouldn’t notice.”
“This one got too close,” I reply, rising to my feet. “You need to increase security.”
“I know. There’s two more in the bar right now.”
“The bar?” I think of where I just sent Elena, thinking she’d be safe. “Plan C, get moving.”
Vladimir’s sharp eyes flick to mine, curiosity glinting, but he knows better than to argue. Instead, he straightens his tie, smooths the lapels of his tailored suit, and nods. “It will be done. What about the other two?”
“I’ll deal with them now.”
He turns on his heel and strides out of the elevator, already barking orders to Igor as he passes. “Screen the elevators. Ensure all surveillance is wiped then inform the police we found a body. Move quickly.”
Igor nods, disappearing down the corridor with the precision of a shadow.
I take one last look at the body. A seasoned hitman reduced to this. I’ve sent plenty of men to meet their end, but this one bothers me in a way I can’t shake.
Not because of him, but because of her.
Elena.
Her wide eyes as the elevator doors closed. The way she trusted me to protect her, even though she knows nothing about me. She saw me kill a man. That terror in her eyes was genuine. She thinks I’m a monster.
She’s right.