Chapter 8
Kirill
I flick my Zippo open and shut, the metallic snap the only thing keeping me from losing my fucking mind. The cigarette between my lips burns low, smoke curling lazily around me as I lean against the side of my car, parked across the street from the hotel entrance.
When I got the call from my spy inside the Embassy of the Republic of Belarus in Washington, D.C.
, telling me that Sergei would be in my city for one night before heading to Bogotá to start his new post as ambassador, I knew this was my shot.
My one chance to finally kill the bastard.
What I didn’t account for was me driving to UChicago and inviting Stella to tag along.
And because of that brilliant decision, my eyes keep dropping to my watch, tracking every second that ticks by.
Still no sign of Stella.
Maybe she changed her mind. Maybe I didn’t make the offer tempting enough.
Maybe she decided she was done with our little dance.
Maybe, Maybe… Maybe. All these fucking maybes are doing my head in.
And the worst part? I don’t have time to wait for her much longer.
This kill is too important to fuck up. Not even for her.
Ever since Vasily died, Sergei has eluded death at our hands because of his diplomatic status.
He’s hidden his true nature behind political smiles and alliances, even hiring Chechen bodyguards in case his ambassador title wasn’t enough to keep him safe.
D.C. kept him untouchable since killing him there would bring the feds down on the Bratva fast. Colombia is another story, though.
It’s outside FBI jurisdiction. But that doesn’t mean Sergei hasn’t taken every precaution he needs to stay breathing.
I wouldn’t put it past him to make a deal with the cartel to make sure none of us can ever get to him.
Which means tonight is all I get. My one chance to kill the last loyal lieutenant who followed Vasily’s orders to the letter.
Sergei might not have lifted a finger to kill my sister, but that doesn’t make him any less guilty of her death.
After all, it was his men who found her in Chicago and alerted Vasily to her whereabouts.
He was the one who delivered Katya to Vasily.
That alone earns him a slow, merciless death.
Sergei has walked around as if none of that blood were on his hands long enough.
And seeing him holed up in a five-star hotel tonight, parading around under some bullshit alias like he’s untouchable, only fuels my wrath.
If the ublyudok thinks he can eat, fuck, and play in my city and get away with it, I’ll be here to remind him that he can’t. Not if I have anything to say about it.
Normally, I’d bring backup for something like this, but tonight… Tonight I want it to be personal. I want every second of it to be mine. I want his last second to be mine. No witnesses. No interference. Just me and my rage.
Stella was the only person I was willing to make an exception for. But she’s apparently a no-show.
Midnight.
Times up.
I push off the car and cross the street, tossing what’s left of the cigarette to the ground. I snap shut my Zippo with a sharp click before pocketing it and heading toward the hotel entrance. My focus is solely on Sergei, and on the satisfaction I’ll get from hearing him beg for mercy.
However, all thoughts of vengeance are momentarily interrupted when I see the woman who somehow managed to get under my skin. Sitting in the waiting area in the lobby, looking like sin dipped in jet-black ink, Stella rises from her seat the moment she spots me walking through the door.
“Sure took you long enough,” she says once I reach her. “I almost thought you weren’t coming.”
“I could say the same about you,” I shoot back, fighting the squeeze in my chest at the way her green eyes light up for me.
“And miss out on all the fun? Not a chance.” She hooks her arm through mine, eyes glinting. “Shall we?”
I’ve never wanted to kiss a woman more.
I lead her toward the elevator, but before calling it, I pull out my phone and bring up Sergei’s picture.
“This one is mine. Understood?”
She studies the photo for a full beat, memorizing every line of his face, then nods.
“If he’s yours, what’s left for me?”
“A dozen guards, give or take. Think you can handle that?”
“Oh, Kill, you have no idea,” she purrs, running a finger along my jaw.
I catch her by the wrist, holding her in place. “I know you’re excited, but this isn’t a game. These men won’t go easy on you just because you’re a woman.”
“Good. I don’t want them to.”
Stella’s confidence shouldn’t rattle me, but it does. She has no idea what these men are capable of. And if they somehow get the drop on me and catch her…
“I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
“Don’t worry about me,” she coos with a wicked grin. “It’s them you should be worried about. Now, are we doing this or not?”
I breathe her in and smirk. “Are you always this eager?”
“For the things I take pleasure in, yes.”
Blyad. The way she says those words with such conviction has my blood rushing straight to my cock. One day, I want to see that fire burn for me. But tonight isn’t that night. Tonight, we’ve got work to do.
“Then let’s dance, you and I.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” she says sweetly, rising onto her toes to press a quick kiss on the corner of my mouth.
Little troublemaker.
Once the elevator doors open, she steps inside.
She leans back on the rail, radiating that effortless menace only she can pull off.
Femme-fatale energy rolls off her in waves, dragging my gaze to the sleek line of her silhouette like gravity.
As my eyes sweep over the skin-tight black ensemble she picked for tonight’s big event, something sharp catches the light—black throwing stars, and silver compact daggers.
There’s steel in every shape and breed, tucked into her outfit like it was tailored to house them.
Hidden just enough to be clever, and close enough to reach to be lethal.
This is going to be fun.
I take out the keycard that grants access to the penthouse level and join her.
“You don’t have your gun on you,” she notes, scrutinizing my outfit.
“Neither do you.”
“I prefer the hands-on approach. Guns take all the fun out of it.”
“I agree.”
Guns have their uses, but when vengeance is owed, nothing compares to the feeling of bones breaking beneath your own hands. It’s a truth I’ve lived by for years and one that Stella seems to understand and appreciate.
Her pupils keep expanding the higher we go, adrenaline flickering through her like a match about to catch fire—and fuck if it isn’t the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
Focus. Tonight is about Sergei. Not the way she looks like a vengeful goddess carved from obsidian and crowned in fire. But even telling myself that feels useless when she’s glowing with that feral, eager energy.
The elevator dings, snapping me out of it. Adrenaline hits us both the second the doors open on the top floor.
“Showtime,” she whispers with a wink.
Two guards stand right outside the elevator, confusion flashing across their faces before they have time to react.
I shut that window fast. I surge forward, snatching the closest guard by the throat from behind, twisting sharply, like I’ve done numerous times before.
On cue, his spine cracks like dry wood, and he drops at my feet.
While I’m to the point with my kill, Stella performs. She springs forward, pushes off the wall in a clean, controlled twist, rotates with gymnast precision, and drops to her knees in a slide so smooth it looks rehearsed.
Her daggers flash silver as she slices through the arteries in the second guard’s thighs, causing him to collapse and gurgle in pure agony.
“You do know there won’t be any gold medals given after we’re done?”
“You have fun your way, I’ll have mine.” She laughs.
She actually fucking laughs. Damn, that’s hot.
Still, I don’t have time to dwell on the soft timber of her laugh since two more guards burst from the hall toward us.
Before I even have time to deal with them, Stella is already springing to her feet, spinning around, and throwing shurikens so fast they become a blur.
Both of Sergei’s bodyguards look like pincushions before Stella takes them out of their misery and slashes their throats in the same breath, twin ribbons of red spraying across the wall.
I stand corrected. This is the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
“Kill!” She claps to grab my attention. “Don’t just stand there with that look on your face. Come on!”
I manage to get my shit together only when Stella starts racing down the hall by herself.
At this rate, she will end up killing Sergei herself if I’m not careful.
I sprint after her toward the living room area and find five more of Sergei’s men waiting for us.
These idiots actually start shooting, uncaring that gunfire in a luxury hotel is basically ringing a dinner bell for every cop in Chicago.
Fine. Let them be sloppy. This will be over before they know it.
Before they have time to reload, I charge into the one closest to me, duck a wild swing of his gun, and drive my fist into his face hard enough to shatter his nose. I rip the gun from his grip, push it under his jaw, and pull the trigger, his dead body slumping to the floor.
A quick glance over my shoulder, I watch Stella kick the weapons out of two guards’ hands and immediately goes to work, boxing with them as if they were worth her time. They’re not.