12. Danika
DANIKA
I'm off balance. I'm shocked and almost disoriented that I'm in his arms. It's probably what he wants, so I need to stay relaxed. Tell myself I'm enjoying this instead of needing to fight.
His hand slides lower, tracing the lines of my dress with deliberate slowness.
I tell myself he's checking for weapons. That's all this is, tactical and predictable. Men like Victor always need to confirm the threat level before they make their next move.
But I feel the heat from his fingers, his palm. It's warm, too warm.
The heat of it seeps through my skin, spreading like a slow burn across my lower back. My body reacts before my brain can intervene, a sharp, unwanted flare of heat coiling low in my belly.
No.
I force my face to remain neutral, my expression bored, as if his touch means nothing. As if I'm not acutely aware of every single point of contact between us, his chest pressed against mine, his thigh brushing the slit of my dress, the faint scrape of his stubble near my temple.
I focus on his arrogance. The smug tilt of his mouth. The way he thinks he's in control of this moment.
It doesn't help.
His scent wraps around me like a trap. I first really noticed it the last time we met, but now, I dislike that it's almost intoxicating, and I hate how much I want to lean closer.
This is not who I am. I don't lose focus.
I don't let men distract me during a job. I certainly don't let them make my pulse race and my thighs clench while we're circling each other like two predators in the middle of a crowded room.
"You know my dress won't hide a gun," I say, forcing my voice to be calm. "So why are you looking for one?"
"Who says I'm looking for weapons?" His hand trails lower, dangerously close to the curve of my ass before sliding back up.
I arch one eyebrow, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, but as soon as I go to speak, to say anything other than how I'm feeling, my exact thoughts hijack my words, and out comes exactly what I'm thinking.
"You're very intriguing, Victor. You know that."
Shit. I need to play this off.
He smiles, and it's infuriatingly charming. "I've been told once or twice."
"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."
He spins me out, then pulls me back in hard, our bodies colliding. The impact steals my breath.
"Maybe I let you," he says.
I laugh before I can stop myself. Who does he think he is? Does he really think he can best me? That's pretty rich coming from a man whose day job is like that of every other person here, a fake politician or oligarch.
"Let me?" I say. "That's cute."
"It's true. And I'll prove it. I'm here for..."
"Dimitri?" I cut him off, already knowing the answer.
I mean, why else? What would bring an Ionescu here? And on that note, how the hell did he even get in?
He nods, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that makes me break eye contact because anywhere else is better to look. Of course, I don't mean to look at his lips, but I do.
The only thing I don't fully understand, however, is why he would go after Ivan's brother and not Ivan himself. Going after the don's brother just doesn't seem worth the risk. If you're going to go for it, risk your life for a hit, why not go after the boss?
Does he think Dimitri runs things? Did Dimitri do something personally to him? There was that whole Maxim situation.
I should ask him outright, but I know he won't tell me anything.
I look back at him for a moment, thinking before asking him if he really thinks he'll leave alive.
"Well, if we're putting it all out in the open, his life is just a bonus now." He leans in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "I'm here for that tablet..."
The rest of his words drown out, and my body goes rigid.
The tablet.
How the fuck does he know about the tablet?
I almost stop dancing. My muscles lock, and it takes every ounce of training I have to keep moving, to keep my face neutral even as alarm bells scream through my skull.
How is he here for the same damn thing I am?
"His what?" I say, my voice careful, as if I don't know about it.
Victor's eyes narrow slightly, and I know he caught the slip. The brief hesitation.
Dammit.
"It doesn't matter," he says, his tone smooth and confident. "You're not going to be able to stop it from happening."
"I won't need to." I force coldness into my voice, even as my mind races. "His men won't even blink as they end you. You're dead if you try, Victor."
I didn't say I'd stop him, but I'll have to.
Because if Victor steals the tablet, Ivan will never get whatever proof he needs, and God only knows what Volkov's intel is on there. It will fall into the hands of the Ionescus.
And most importantly, if I don't get it first, I'll have failed the one man who saved me. But no one, especially Victor, can know what I'm here for.
Victor leans in again to be heard over the music, his breath warm against my ear, and he speaks, breaking my spiraling thoughts.
"Then give a dying man his final wish."
"What is that?" My breath catches despite myself. It's a question I would never have thought he'd ask.
"What's your name?"
I blink. That can't be right. "Your last wish is to know my name?"
His gaze drags over me slowly, lingering on my lips, my throat, the exposed skin above the neckline of my dress. "Among other things."
Heat floods through me again, sharper this time, and I hate him for it. I hate how easily he gets under my skin. How his voice alone makes my body betray every logical thought in my head.
I look away, buying myself a second to regain control and not think about my nipples becoming slightly aroused, and then meet his eyes again.
"Danika," I say, surprising myself by actually giving him my real name.
He repeats my name slowly, looking down at me. He says it in a low, possessive kind of way, and it makes my stomach flip.
I nod.
"Hmm." He pulls me tighter, his hand firm across the small of my back. "Shame you're on the wrong side."
The music stops.
Polite applause ripples through the room, but we don't move.
I break first because I can't take it. I need to stop feeling him on me.
I step back, my heels clicking against the marble floor, and force myself to turn and walk away.
I don't look back, but I can feel his eyes on me, burning through me as I weave between the crowd. I keep my pace steady.
Inside, however, I'm screaming.
I reach the bar and grip the edge of the counter to steady myself.
My mind is racing, a hundred different scenarios running through my mind.
Victor is here to kill Dimitri.
Victor knows about the tablet.
Victor is going to steal it.
As a loyal Bratva operative, I should protect Dimitri. I should eliminate the threat, aka Victor, before he gets anywhere near him or the penthouse. That's the logical move. That's what any other operative would do.
But Ivan's orders were explicit.
Access the tablet. Don't get caught. Don't assume anything.
He didn't say to protect Dimitri. He didn't say to kill anyone who gets in my way. He said to access the tablet.
My jaw tightens.
Ivan comes first. Always.
He saved me when I had nothing. When my parents' blood was still wet on the floor and the world felt like it was collapsing around me. He gave me purpose. He gave me a life worth living, even if that life involves killing in the shadows.
Everything I do, I do for him.
Everything for Ivan first. Get to the tablet.
The bartender sets the glass in front of me, remembering what I ordered last time, and I take a sip, forcing myself to breathe.
Victor being here changes everything.
I can't wait for the perfect, quiet moment to breach the penthouse. I can't afford to slip upstairs at midnight when Dimitri is down here drunk and the guards are rotating shifts.
Victor is unpredictable, and if he makes his move on the suite before I do, I lose everything.
I set the glass down and push off the bar.
Screw it. I need to move now.
I slip through the crowd, angling toward a side door near the kitchens. The music and laughter fade behind me as I step into a narrow hallway that smells of garlic.
The walls are plain white, and the fluorescent lighting is harsh. A server brushes past me, carrying a tray of champagne flutes, and I press myself against the wall until he's gone.
I continue walking, and I can feel my heart rate slow and my breathing even out.
This is where I'm comfortable. In the spaces between the glamour and the violence.
I reach down, sliding my hand through the high slit of my dress until my fingers brush the cool ceramic of the blade strapped to my thigh. It's still secure, still hidden just in case.
I move quickly now, navigating the service corridors with the same accuracy I used to map them earlier. Left turn. Right turn. Up the back staircase to the second floor.
The penthouse is on the top floor, accessible only by a private elevator or a single guarded staircase that starts on the third floor, so that's where I'm heading.
Getting past the guards will be the hardest part, but I've done harder things.
I've killed men twice my size with nothing but this blade and my bare hands.
I've infiltrated secure facilities, extracted targets from fortified compounds, and walked away without leaving a trace.
I can do this.
But even as I climb the stairs, even as I shift fully into operative mode, I can still feel Victor's hand on my back.
The way his fingers pressed into my skin and how his breath felt against my ear. And the way my body reacted, hot, needy, desperate, even as my brain screamed at me to stay focused.
I grit my teeth.
Come on, Danika.
Victor is an enemy. A complication, a damn distraction, and most importantly, a threat to the mission.
And if he gets in my way, if he tries to stop me from doing what I came here to do, it won't matter what my thoughts are.
I'll kill him this time, no matter how much my body wants him.
I reach the landing and come out on the second floor, moving down the hall quickly to the door that will lead me up to the third floor.
I open it and enter the stairwell. When I reach the top, I know there will be a guard assigned to the penthouse stairwell, checking each hotel worker who needs access to it.
I figure this is my best shot, as the elevator is too out in the open.
I get to the top of the stairs. I pause and listen. I hear two voices echoing faintly on the other side of the heavy fire door. They're masculine and speaking in Russian.
Wait, there should only be one guard here.
I pull back, my mind cycling through options. I could wait for them to move. I could create a distraction. I could...
A door shuts somewhere down below. Not inside the stairwell, but out in the second-floor hallway.
I freeze.
Footsteps move quickly down the hall, heading straight for the stairwell door I just came through.
My hand moves to the blade on my thigh, every muscle in my body coiling tight.
If it's Victor, this is going to get messy.
If it's Dimitri's men, this is going to get even messier.
The footsteps grow louder, stopping just on the other side of the second-floor door.
I move silently, darting back down the concrete steps. I press myself into the dark corner right behind the second-floor door, my fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of my blade.
Whoever steps through that door, I'll have the drop on them.
The handle begins to turn.
And I wait.