Chapter 16
Part of me despises how easy that was. It was almost too easy. I expected more from her. From the woman who’s been trying to prove herself to be as formidable as the other leaders in this male-driven industry.
Unwittingly, I admire that about her. Coming from someone who’s had to prove themselves numerous times in the past as well. It’s no simple task. Certainly not for the weak.
After only a little bit of staring, my mark is heading down the metal staircase that’ll bring her from the VIP section to the main floor. Her pace is slow, her gaze remaining on me from the distance until reaching the bottom of the steps and getting sucked into the crowd. She presumes she’s the hunter in our interaction, which is a laughable assumption.
At some point, the crowd opens up enough that I see her again, and my heart stutters. A Volkov shouldn’t be this sexy. Appreciating her body makes me want to hurl myself off the nearest cliff for the betrayal to my roots.
Maybe I will after this. Right after I explore her.
I take my time studying her, remaining in my slouched position against the stone post, while pretending to feign interest.
Her legs are long, toned with defined muscle from years of training. There’s a small tattoo on her right knee, and since the pictures I snapped don’t lie, I know they’re a gathering of stars. Intel from spies stationed in Russia years prior have explained that tattoos in the Bratva are indicative of the kinds of criminal they are, and that the stars mean she kneels to no one due to her role. I wonder exactly how many Vanessa’s gained since the rat’s death; what kind of leader she’s become.
Not that it matters.
Vanessa will pay for Ursin Volkov’s crimes because of vows made long ago. And I’m the first step in wiping her out.
The red bustier dress rides high on her thigh and shapes like a second skin to her hips, her stomach, and her chest. There’s silk ribbon tying the front together and I imagine undoing those strings, one agonizing tug at a time. To baring her breasts right before taking a knife to that very chest.
To ending her.
Lust and murder combine in a wicked fantasy I have no right in imagining.
With every pace my way, she has no idea she’s walking toward her death. The plan is simple: become the man she goes home with because once I’m inside enemy lines—her property, to be specific—I’ll have easy access to taking her out. Attacking her on the street is too public, and sneaking into her home could end badly in many ways. This way, she’s walking to her death unknowingly into her domain.
Painted red lips that can cause a man’s mind to wander—particularly mine—curl up in the corner but then she genuinely surprises me. Instead of continuing my way, she stops in the middle of the dance floor where she’s surrounded by dozens of people.
They all blur in favour of her. I tell myself it’s because she owns my focus, but I know that’s not the case. It’s the attention she commands as the music sucks her up and takes her elsewhere. Exactly like a siren, and knowing what I do, she’s as deadly as one too.
Even from afar, I can make out the details of what she looks like. She’s painstakingly beautiful; more so than pictures reveal. Her cheeks are pale in an ethereal way, so opposite from the tanned skin of the Italian women I’m used to. And then there’s her eyes. First captivated through images, and now from the short distance between us. They’re a shade of blue so deep, it reminds me of the night sky that blankets the hills surrounding the vineyards in Tuscany.
She’s the kind of woman that men would go to war for, just to earn a kiss from her. The kind that could send thousands into battle with a single smile. She’s the Merciless Queen, as many have referred to her as. Some, right before they’re slain by her.
While a temptation, her mouth can cause so much death and destruction with a mere whisper. Her skin is the very colour of death itself. And her eyes…they’re a killer’s eyes. Dark enough they might look like the lovely Italian night sky, but emotionless as the snowy Russian mountains too.
She spins so her back is facing me, her ass rocking with the beat. I nudge off the stone post as some asshole steps in the way and grasps her hips, pulling her against him. Her dark hair flicks in his face as she peeks over her shoulder, and a disturbing rumble vibrates through my stomach.
But it’s not him she ends up glancing toward; it’s me. Her eyes sparkle with mischief beneath the room’s dim lights. She winks once before turning back around and winding her arms around the guy’s neck.
Even though she has no clue, everything she’s doing—every action, every tick, every look—indicates who she is, and what I’ll have to use against her. It’s the number one rule when hunting another human: to learn them so well, inside and out, their every move becomes predictable.
And hers is to try to make me jealous. It’s cute. Unfortunately, I need to play her game to ensure I’m the one inside her mansion tonight, and not her current dance partner, or anyone else who she feels could do better. Which means, letting her believe her petty games have the effect she’s hoping they do.
The current song ends and immediately blends into another one, and the guy remains attached to her, clingy and hopeful. She came down here for me. I’m the one she’s taunting, so this should be as easy as it was to get her down from the VIP section.
I stride away from my corner, the weight of my upcoming actions slowing down my breath. There’s an eagerness too, that after all these years, the Volkov family will finally be brought to justice. Vanessa first, and then her uncle who’s been strangely beneficial to have in my corner during this. That usefulness will run its course the second Vanessa’s life is snuffed out, and he’ll be one of two remaining members of this fucking family left to go.
Between now and then, there’s so much to do. Starting with this dance apparently. With playing whatever part I must to get into Vanessa’s mansion.
Like the dance floor is surrounded by an invisible barrier, it sucks me up. Drags me into the energetic chaos and leads me to Vanessa in the centre.
The guy she’s dancing with leans slightly to the left, and I’m able to see a part of her back, bare due to the dress’s design. On her shoulder blade, there’s a black and white eagle surrounded by a forest done in colour. Seems too artistic for a regular Bratva tattoo, and I find myself curious about its origins.
Focus. Not the time to forget your job.
The people I’m working for are the real deal. An organization as influential as the Bratva, and just as evil. But they own me, my gun, and I’m doing this job for them.
I sidle up beside the duo. Vanessa’s eyes dart in my direction and then away, a not-so-subtle smirk toward her friend dancing nearby, who’s watching me with an intensity I’d find worrisome if I felt she’d act on it.
As the two speak in whatever silent language they have, I face the guy, catching in my peripheral vision how his hand clenches tighter around her hip. I flick a finger at him, lifting a brow in a silent dare me .
The idiot sneers. “Ona zanyata.”
My Russian isn’t exactly up to date, not that it’ll ever be, but I pretend to understand what he said for Vanessa’s sake. It’s not time for her to know my origins, though she will soon because I won’t be able to mask my accent.
Luckily, Vanessa turns her head, eyes on me, and replies in the same language. Even though she’s looking at me, the guy’s expression indicates whatever “Ukhodi” means, it’s for him. He releases her and sulks away, without a backwards look.
Vanessa turns around without breaking a beat. She sidles up to me, wrapping her arms around my neck. I feel her everywhere. Her soft curves. The possessive hold she has on me. And her fucking scent. I could groan, if I wasn’t trying so fucking hard not to have any reaction.
She smells like the best kind of poison, a spicy but flowery trace. Like a taste of the forbidden I long for, despite everything. It radiates off her, sucking me into the web she’ll try to consume me with. Try? She could very well succeed, if I allowed it.
I shake the thoughts away because I know—fucking know —this is her game. It’s the Volkov way. She’s beauty and death wrapped up in one toxic package. She’ll fuck a man, kill him, and smile while doing it.
“You’re not dancing,” she states in a slightly accusatory tone. “If you’re not interested, I might have to bring the other guy back.”
I lower my head into the curve of her neck, dragging my nose up the column of her throat. I stop at the base of her ear, my breath blowing warm over her skin, so she can hear me over the thumping music.
“If you were interested in that tool, you would never have commanded him away. Maybe I’m not dancing because I’m too enthralled with you.”
Vanessa jerks back. “You’re not from here.”
“I’m not.” No point in hiding the truth anymore since it was going to come out at some point. “Vacationing with family.”
“From…” Her eyes narrow. “Italy?”
“Sì.”
“Hm.” A low hum echoes in my ear as she presses even closer, dragging one hand down my chest. Her nails lightly dig into the material of my shirt before hooking on the bottom, fingering a patch of skin above my belt.
My cock twitches and I bite my tongue.
She grins knowingly, aware of her effect. Her other hand abandons my neck to lightly scrape her nails over my day-old scruff before roughly gripping my chin. The difference in her touches, her gentle strokes and her firm hold, is striking, but oddly welcoming.
Everything I’ve learned about Vanessa’s personality had me believing she’d enjoy lying back and allowing her partner to pleasure her. To do whatever he wants to her, so long as it ends with her moaning through her release. But now, I’m not so sure. Now she’s—I shut the notion down, unwilling to allow my thoughts to go there. To consider the fact that faking might not be in tonight’s plans after all.
She angles my face down, eyes flicking over my face, like she’s looking for something. She shouldn’t recognize me because if intel is correct, she’s unaware about her father’s past with the Cosa Nostra. At least, I fucking hope so, or this interaction is about to become a dance to the death.
“You’re a pretty one,” she murmurs, her mouth an inch away. So close, I taste the sweet alcohol she consumed earlier on her breath. “You should know, I never waste a Friday night and I’m not planning on starting now. So you either dance with me or…” She trails off, allowing me to finish her sentence.
Leave. That’s not happening. Not when I’m so damn close that all I see is her blood drenching her bedsheets, the exact colour she’s wearing on her lips.
Responding silently, I take control by spinning her around until her back is to my front. She takes over quickly, directing the speed in which we move. One arm returns to my neck, while the other resting over the one I’ve locked around her waist. I drop my head into her neck, breathing in the scent that’ll easily become an addiction if I were to allow it to. We won’t be getting that far, though. By tonight, months of work will pay off and the world will have one less Volkov, leaving the Bratva scrambling yet again.
One song melds into two.
Into three.
Into four.
Time slips away quicker and quicker. Everything’s a blur of the promise of what’s to come. Everyone around us remains away, keeping us in our own little bubble. Either they recognize Vanessa as someone to avoid, or they know she’s a criminal. Either way, it gives me unfiltered access to her so I’m grateful for the lack of disruptions.
At some point, her friend took off for the VIP section with a pair of guys and based on the wave she sent Vanessa, this is where their night officially parts ways.
By the end of the fourth song, Vanessa turns around and grasps my face. Her pupils are dilated; her skin coated with a sexy sheen. Both of which gives me a tease of what she’d look like in bed after being thoroughly fucked.
“I’m getting a drink,” she announces. “Upstairs, in the VIP section. One drink and then I’m leaving for the night, but before I do, I have a question.”
She stops talking and I remain silent, ticking my head to the side, genuinely curious about what she wants to ask.
“When you fuck, do you require your partner to need a safe word, or is it you who has one?”
Cazzo. Fuck. She’s…
She’s testing me. It’s not the original ending to my thought, but it’s as true as that one was. There’s a correct answer. One she wants me to give, and I need to. Giving the wrong one will blow up my entire plan and won’t get me onto her property. Won’t give me private access to her. Everything I’ve learned about her tonight pushes me toward a specific response.
“Both, depending my mood and my partner.”
Vanessa smiles. “And what’s your mood tonight?”
I lower my voice. “My safe word is misericordia . Translates to mercy .”
Thing is, none of that is a lie. They’re not mere words to get me inside her barriers.
She grins again, ticking her head to the side. “In that case...” She drops her hands and angles away. “Come find me if you’d like to test your restraint.”
She slips through the crowd, and like a wisp of smoke, is gone.
There is no other path to her. This was the entire purpose of tonight. This was my endgame, even if not in the ways she’s imagining it’ll go.
Because Vanessa Volkov truly has no idea who she’s about to let walk through her front doors.
And the role I’ll have in her downfall.