11. Victor
VICTOR
"Mr. Radovi?." The woman smiles as she looks up from the invitation I handed her. "Welcome. We're glad you're here."
She passes the card to a man beside her who examines it, nodding his approval. She glances back at me, her smile widening.
"Please, right this way." She steps around the podium and motions toward the first roped-off area.
I give her a smile and follow. The guard at the velvet rope unhooks it without a word, stepping aside as I pass.
And just like that, I'm in.
The VIP area sprawls wider than I anticipated.
What I thought was the main section turns out to be nested within another perimeter, a secondary tier of exclusivity.
Another guard stands at a second rope line, arms crossed, his gaze sweeping the crowd.
That's the main area I'll want to check out, but I might as well look around first.
I move between clusters of guests, their laughter and champagne-fueled conversation blending into white noise. A waiter passes with a tray, and I lift a whiskey from it.
I take a sip, admiring the quality, and look around.
It doesn't take long to find the man of the hour.
The son of a bitch, Dimitri Volkov, stands at the center of the main VIP section wearing an expensive tux that strains slightly at the shoulders. He's laughing at something a man said, his gold rings catching the light as he gestures animatedly.
A few guards are near him. Big guys whose stone faces don't even seem to blink.
Suddenly, music starts playing, a smooth, sultry jazz piece that pulls a few couples onto the dance floor. I use the movement as cover, drifting closer to the second rope line where Dimitri holds court.
I need to be careful, however. I've got a fake name, but not a fake face.
And while I don't assume everyone knows who I am, this fucker probably does.
However, there were countless times when our father ordered hits and never even knew who the person was or what they looked like, just what they did.
I angle myself behind some plants as I approach the rope, and that's when I see her.
She's descending a staircase to my right, and the entire room seems to stop.
A red dress clings to her every curve, highlighting every line of her body. Her blonde hair flows in soft waves over her shoulders.
I stop walking, and so does half the room.
My eyes trace her movement, observing the high slit that reveals toned, soft legs with every stride.
The low cut that frames her collarbones, the dip of her cleavage. Her beautiful stature, her breasts, her ass, all of it.
She continues walking like a predator pretending to be prey, and every man in the vicinity knows it.
My cock twitches.
Goddammit.
She reaches the bottom step and doesn't pause. Doesn't scan the room. She walks straight toward Dimitri like she owns the fucking place.
I watch as she approaches him, as his guards stiffen before Dimitri waves them off with a booming laugh.
"Excuse me, sir. You can't just stand here."
I blink, pulling my gaze from her to find a security agent staring at me, his expression flat and unamused.
A flash of irritation heats my chest, but I brush it away, replacing it with a pleasant smile.
"Excuse me," I say, gesturing toward the second rope. "I need to enter."
The man glances at another guard stationed near a small counter. The second guard checks something I can't see and nods.
"Let him through."
The first guard unhooks the rope without a word.
I step into the inner circle now, the whiskey still in my hand. I don't look at the gambling tables, politicians, the oligarch, or even Dimitri.
All I can see is her.
My mind is racing, a hundred different scenarios colliding at once. I assumed she'd be here. You could say I even planned for it. But seeing her in the flesh, draped in a dress like that, moving through the room like that?
No, this is different.
The clash of thoughts twists something dark and primal in my chest. The line between fighting her and fucking her blurs into something unrecognizable.
I lean against a marble column as I watch her. After a few minutes, I can tell the conversation is ending.
He pulls her into a brief, possessive embrace, his arm wrapping around her waist.
My jaw tightens.
I can’t wait to kill that bastard.
She steps back, offering him a polite nod before turning and cutting through the crowd.
I spring around the column to the other side and watch as she moves to the bar, orders something I can't hear, and waits.
She takes a few sips, and after a few minutes pass, she moves again.
And this time, so do I.
I set my whiskey down on a nearby table and slip between guests, keeping her blonde hair in sight as it weaves through the crowd. She crosses the dance floor where a string quartet starts to play something slow and elegant, the kind of music that makes people lean closer, touch longer.
Everything in my brain is screaming that what I'm about to do is a bad idea.
But I can't stop myself.
I come up behind her on the crowded floor, reaching out to grip her waist.
She turns, startled, her body tensing under my hands.
I pull her close, spinning her into me before she can react.
"Funny to find you here," I say, looking down into those cold blue eyes.
She glances around quickly, her face tightening, before looking back at me.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" she asks, trying to pull away.
I grip her arm and bring her back, the music giving me the perfect excuse to press our bodies together as I raise her arm up and run my hand down it.
Like a slow seductive move from a highly trained dancer; however, the only thing I am highly trained in is killing and the only thing I’m highly focused on, is her.
"Come now. Play nice." I smile, letting my thumb brush the bare skin of her lower back. "Don't want to draw the attention of security."
She gives me a short, sharp laugh as her body relaxes slightly and her arm comes down and wraps around my shoulder.
"I suppose we can't kill each other in front of all these people," she says, leaning into me a bit more.
Her hands clasp together behind my neck, and she squeezes the sides of my neck lightly with her forearms, just enough to remind me she could do something if she wanted to. "Though don't test me."
I smile wider. "That's the spirit."
I grip her tighter, pulling her flush against me as we begin to move.
"So then, Victor." Her voice is softer now, but her face is still stern. "What brings you to Sanremo?"
"I come here all the time," I say smoothly, spinning her once before pulling her back.
"Sure you do." Her eyes narrow. "Security is too tight. You'll fail at whatever it is you're doing here."
I lean in close, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. "I'm disappointed. I didn't think you'd underestimate me."
I let my hand slide down her back slowly. I'm checking for weapons, yes, but I'm also lingering on the bare skin exposed by the dress. The heat of her body burns through my fingers, and I feel her breath hitch.
"You know my dress won't hide a gun," she says, her voice tight. "So why are you looking for one?"
"Who says I'm looking for weapons?" I say, letting my hand trail lower before sliding back up.
She looks up at me, one eyebrow arched. "You're very intriguing, Victor. You know that."
I smile. "I've been told once or twice," I say slowly as we turn to the music.
"I mean, I bested you twice, and here you are, with the confidence of a man who's never been beaten. By a woman, no less."
I spin her out and then pull her back in, her body colliding with mine. "Maybe I let you."
"Let me?" She laughs, and the sound is sharp and dangerous and, surprisingly, nice. "That's cute."
She pushes away but I grab her wrist before she can separate.
"It's true. And I'll prove it. I'm here for..."
"Dimitri?" she asks, cutting me off.
I nod, my gaze locking onto her.
She stares at me for a moment. "Figured that, but not sure why. Either way, you really think you'll leave alive?"
"Well, if we're putting it all out in the open, his life is just a bonus now," I say against her ear. "I'm here for that tablet he carries around. I'm going to take it and burn your entire little organization to the ground."
"His what?" She almost stops dancing, her body tensing for the first time since she relaxed.
Interesting.
"It doesn't matter. You're not going to be able to stop it from happening."
"I won't need to." Her voice is cold. "His men won't even blink as they end you. You're dead if you try, Victor."
Another interesting take. She defaulted to his men. Not her. She didn't take up the challenge herself.
Why?
I lean in closer, my lips close to her ear. "Then give a dying man his final wish."
"And what is that?" she asks, her breath catching.
"What's your name?"
She blinks. "Your last wish is to know my name?"
I let my gaze drag over her slowly. "Among other things."
She laughs, and for a moment, she looks away. Then her eyes lock onto mine again, and the intensity in them makes my chest tighten.
"Danika."
"Danika?" I repeat, testing the name on my lips.
She nods.
"Hmm." I pull her tighter, my hand splayed across the small of her back. "Shame you're on the wrong side."
The music stops, and the room erupts into polite applause.
We stay holding each other for a moment longer than necessary. Her chest rises and falls against mine.
She's the first one to break and step back.
She stares at me, her expression unreadable, before turning and walking away.
I watch her disappear into the crowd, the red dress calling to me like a siren, urging me to follow even knowing she's the enemy.
But it doesn't matter. None of it matters.
And I realize something.
I have to have her. There is no other way.
I'll do what I'm here for, but I'm not leaving Italy without her.
And if she doesn't come willingly, I'll fucking make her.