16. Danika
DANIKA
The penthouse door shuts behind us with a thud, sealing us into a world of luxury I'd expect Dimitri to live in. Marble floors shine under recessed lighting with too many gold fixtures and modern art hanging on bright white walls. The air smells faintly of cigars and alcohol.
I step forward, scanning the massive open space.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the Sanremo coastline, the sea stretching into darkness.
A sleek kitchen occupies the left side, all polished black granite and stainless steel with dark wood cabinets.
To the right, a sunken living room with low-slung furniture surrounds a glass coffee table.
My eyes catch on a champagne bucket sitting on the marble island. A white towel drapes over the edge.
I walk toward it and dunk my knife into the ice water, watching crimson swirl around. I yank it out, wipe it on the towel, and put it away.
Behind me, Victor's footsteps move across the marble. He's smiling at what I'm doing.
Ass. But whatever, we're here for a reason.
"We need to split up," I say. "Cover more ground."
"Agreed."
I glance over my shoulder. He's already moving toward the far hallway, his silenced pistol held low and ready. The blood on his knuckles has dried to a dark rust color, but he doesn't seem to notice or care.
I turn back and take the other hall. I head into a room and start pulling open drawers and checking nightstands, but find nothing useful.
I move into the dining room. A long table carved from dark wood dominates the space, surrounded by high-backed chairs. I check the sideboard, rifling through linens and serving platters.
Nothing.
I'm starting to get a bit nervous. We don't have much time before the guards make their rounds and realize something is wrong.
I cross into a study, bookshelves lined with leather-bound volumes, a mahogany desk, and a laptop sitting closed on its surface. I flip it open.
Password-protected.
I could try to crack it, but that would take too long.
"Danika."
Victor's voice cuts through the silence.
I bolt out of the study and into the living room. Victor stands near the glass coffee table, holding the black tablet. The screen glows faintly, displaying a Cyrillic login screen.
"Found it," he says as I walk over to him.
Victor nods.
"So we take it and go," he says.
"No."
His eyes snap to mine.
"What?"
"Then he'll know it's missing."
"So?"
"So?" I say. "Look, Victor. Once we do this, we'll need to go. Eventually, men will come, see the dead men in the hall, and alert everyone. They'll secure Dimitri, and you're not touching him tonight. You sealed that fate already."
I see Victor thinking for a moment.
"Fine. Then what do you suggest?"
I step closer, holding his gaze.
"We copy it. Leave the tablet here. He won't know anything happened."
Victor studies me for a long moment, his dark eyes calculating. Then he shakes his head.
"I can't do that, and I'm not leaving empty-handed, Danika."
"You won't," I say.
I reach down and twist the ring on my right hand. The band is smooth titanium, but the diamond sits in a raised setting. I grip the stone and pop it off with a soft click, revealing a tiny micro-USB adapter underneath.
Victor's eyebrows lift.
"What the hell are we going to do with that?” he asks.
"It'll bypass the encryption and make a copy of everything on that tablet," I say, holding it up.
He stares at the device, then at me.
"For you, but what about me?"
The question hangs in the air between us, heavy with unspoken suspicion. He knows I'm planning to betray him. And he's right, because it's what he'd do.
But I don't flinch. I meet his gaze, forcing my expression into perfect calm.
"I'll give you a copy," I say. "Hurry. We don't have time."
Victor's eyes narrow, searching my face for cracks. I hold steady, letting my breathing stay even, my shoulders relaxed. Politicians and assassins learn the same skill: how to lie without blinking.
After a moment, he hands me the tablet.
"If you fuck me over..."
"I won't."
I take the tablet, my fingers moving quickly, and plug the adapter into the charging port. The screen starts flickering for about ten seconds, and then a progress bar appears.
0%... 1%... 2%...
"Where did you get that?" Victor asks, looking at it.
"Online," I say, watching the numbers increase, not looking up at him.
"Very funny," he says, crossing his arms.
"Once this is done," he continues, "you're leaving with me, and we're going someplace so I can make a copy."
I glance up. His dark eyes are locked on mine, and there's no humor in his expression. No smirk. Just cold, absolute sincerity.
"I said you'll get one," I say, already thinking of how I'm going to get away.
"I'm serious, Danika," he continues. "You're not running off this time."
I don't reply. I just focus on the damn progress bar as it creeps forward.
12%... 13%...
I try to stand still and not move, acutely aware of Victor's presence looming over me. The air feels charged with a different kind of tension now. Before, it was wrapped in sexual undertones. Now it's as if two predators are forced to share a kill.
I can't take the silence, so I glance up at him, and I can tell instantly by his eyes that the Victor I had before is gone. This man wears the mask of a professional killer now. A mafia man capable of doing everything I can.
I don't like this Victor.
I clear my throat, and just as I'm about to say something to lighten the mood, the front door explodes inward.
Wood splinters from the doorframe as three men storm through the doorway, guns raised.
They fire immediately.
Victor moves faster than I can process, grabbing my arm and spinning me behind him. The tablet slips from my hands and hits the floor. I stumble backward as Victor returns fire, his suppressed pistol sending three rapid shots in their direction.
One guard drops.
Victor puts his hand on my back and pushes me toward the kitchen.
"GO!"
I dive behind the lower cabinets as bullets tear through the air, punching holes in the woodwork above my head and slamming into the granite counter.
Shards of debris rain down on me. I press my back against the cabinet, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps.
I look around the corner quickly to see Victor jumping behind the couch.
As more gunfire erupts, I reach for where my gun should be but find nothing.
Dammit.
All I have is the knife.
Victor pops up and fires a few more times toward them.
I hear one of the men yell in Russian and then a loud clang as a man tumbles to the ground, breaking something made of glass.
The other man starts yelling in Russian, and I catch part of it over the gunfire.
He's calling for backup.
Fuck. If we don't leave, we're never making it out of here.
Victor grunts and I whip my head around the corner, my heart stopping as bullets tear into the leather of the couch he's hiding behind.
Suddenly, I hear a loud scrape of furniture. Then the heavy sofa lifts up and tumbles forward onto its side.
I look around. I need to do something to take the gunfire off him.
Looking around, I find a piece of wood and reach for it. I take a deep breath and pop my head up, seeing the side profile of the one surviving guard. I throw the piece of wood at him, and it hits him in the ear.
I duck back down as he turns with his gun and starts firing in my direction.
Victor doesn't hesitate. He pivots hard to his right, his body moving like smoke, and shoots in rapid succession.
The guard grunts, and I hear his weapon clatter to the floor. I pop my head back up to see him staggering backward, clutching his face as blood pours through his hands. Then he collapses.
The room goes quiet except for the crackle of a walkie-talkie clipped to one of the dead guards. Loud Russian voices bark through the static, demanding updates, ordering men to secure Dimitri.
"We need to leave," Victor says, his voice tight. "Now."
I shake my head, scrambling out from behind the cabinet. My eyes lock on the tablet, still sitting on the floor near the overturned sofa.
I run over to the tablet and tap the screen.
97%... 98%...
Then I look at him.
"Twenty more seconds."
"Fuck it. We don't have it. Leave it."
"No," I say.
I can't fail Ivan, not when I'm this close.
"They're coming..."
"It's almost done!" I say as my hands shake, watching the progress bar tick upward.
99%...
Victor curses under his breath, pivoting to cover the doorway with his pistol.
100%.
"It's done!" I yell.
I yank the adapter free, my fingers fumbling as I pop the fake diamond back into place and shove myself to my feet.
More loud Russian comes through the dead man's walkie-talkie.
"What's he saying?" Victor asks.
I run over to one of the dead guards and grab his pistol.
"They're sending men now," I say, checking the magazine.
"Let's move."
Victor grabs my wrist and pulls me toward the door. We sprint down the hallway, his grip iron-tight on me.
As soon as we reach the end of the hallway, we hear the elevator ding.
Victor pulls me backward, pivoting toward the stairwell. We burst through the door, and any hope of getting out is shattered as the thunder of heavy boots storming up the steps fills my ears.
We manage to get down two flights of stairs before we're forced to exit the stairwell into the hallway.
Even two floors below the penthouse, we can still hear Russian voices growing louder, echoing all around us. They're taking the stairs, elevators, coming up any way they can.
"They're fucking everywhere," he says as he slows in the middle of the hallway.
He looks around and tries an unmarked door.
It opens.
He turns, pulls me inside, steps in after me, and quietly shuts the door behind us.
Darkness swallows us whole.
I try to catch my breath as I figure out where we are.
As my eyes adjust, I realize the space is tiny, a supply closet or something. It's barely wide enough for one person, let alone two. Shelves dig into my back. Victor's chest presses flush against mine, his body radiating heat in the cramped space.
Footsteps pound past the door, shouting, and walkie-talkies crackle with noise.
I hold my breath as if it will give me away, and every muscle locks tight in my body.
Victor's hand slides down to my waist, pulling me even closer. His other hand braces against the wall beside my head, caging me in. I can feel the hard planes of his chest rising and falling against my cheek, his heartbeat rapid, strong.
For a split second, I feel something I haven't felt in years.
Safe.
The thought terrifies me more than the guards outside.
After a few moments, he looks down at me, and I look up at him, his face becoming more visible as my eyes fully adjust to the darkness.
Victor's breath is warm against my skin, and I notice his lips are close to mine as he whispers, "I have a way out."
I swallow hard, my throat dry.
"Then what are we waiting for?" I ask.
"Give me your word you won't screw me on this."
My heart rattles in my chest. I was planning to do exactly that, and he knows it.
I shift in the tight space, my hands braced against his chest, my wrists hurting from angling the gun away from him and to his side.
"Like you were going to do?" I whisper back.
Victor's lips curve into a faint smile.
"Yes," he admits. "But we're dead if we try and separate. And I don't want you dead. And honestly, I don't care if you keep a copy. As long as I get one too."
I hesitate. My priority is getting the intel to Ivan. If Victor wants a copy, fine. As long as he doesn't stop me from delivering mine. Even if there is intel on it he could use, Ivan can have all those routes changed in days, and Victor would operate on outdated information.
"Well, I don't want to see you dead either, so fine," I whisper as the footsteps outside start to fade. "Anything else?"
Victor shifts in the cramped space, and his hand slides farther down from my waist, gripping my ass firmly, possessively.
"Since you mentioned it," he says, his voice low and rough. "And since I probably won't have another opportunity..."
He leans down and kisses me.
For a split second, I freeze. The sheer arrogance of it, kissing me here, now, with armed men hunting us.
It should infuriate me, but it doesn't.
Heat floods through me, burning away every rational thought. The air in the tiny closet evaporates, leaving only the taste of him, the pressure of his mouth on mine, the weight of his hand pulling me closer.
I shove him off, gasping for breath. My lips tingle. My pulse roars in my ears.
"You asshole," I say too loudly.
Victor smiles.
And then, without thinking, I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him back.
Hard, and with everything I've got. It's fierce and full of a primal hunger and something darker.
His grip tightens, fingers digging into my skin. The kiss turns raw, desperate, claiming, like it was something that had to be done.
His tongue explores my mouth, and it sends a warm sensation low in my belly as I feel myself getting wet.
His mouth moves against mine with bruising intensity as I feel the hard ridge of his cock pressing against my hip. A hot, dangerous thrill shoots through me that, if it were any other moment, I'd let him pull this dress off, turn me around, and fuck me right against the wall.
Then, in the middle of all my whirling emotional thoughts, he pulls away.
We stare at each other in the darkness, chests heaving.
"I have a boat," he says.
I lick my lips, still tasting him.
"Where?"
"There's a dock behind the hotel. We just need to get to it."
I bite my lip, shaking my head.
"The entire hotel is crawling with armed men now."
Victor laughs.
"So? I don't plan on dying today. Do you?"
I shake my head and smile.
"No."
"Good."
He steps back as much as the cramped space allows, putting his ear to the door. The hallway outside is quiet now, but I can hear distant shouts echoing through the building.
Victor raises his gun, his expression shifting back into cold focus.
"Now's the time to show me why you're a cleaner," he says. "Let's go."