17. Victor
VICTOR
Icrack the closet door open, just enough to look through.
The hallway stretches empty in both directions. The shouts and heavy boots have moved farther away, echoing from somewhere above us.
I glance back at Danika, pressed against me in the cramped space, her breath warm against my skin. Those cold blue eyes meet mine, waiting.
I push the door wider and step out, gun raised, scanning left, then right.
It's clear, so I motion for Danika.
She slips out, and for the first time I notice that somewhere in the chaos, her red dress is torn at the hem now, revealing more of her thigh. She holds the stolen pistol with both hands, her finger resting along the trigger guard, the barrel pointed at the floor.
I jerk my head toward the stairwell at the end of the hall. It's our only way down unless we want to risk the elevators, which would be suicide.
We move fast, keeping close to the wall and our guns raised. At the stairwell door, I pause, pressing my ear against the cold metal.
Nothing.
No footsteps, no Russian voices.
They're probably focused on the penthouse and getting Dimitri out quickly.
I look at Danika. She nods once, reading my thoughts.
I yank the door open and we plunge into the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time. The concrete walls amplify every sound, our breathing, the scuff of my shoes, the creak of the metal railing.
Down we go. With each passing floor, the relief wars with the tension coiling in my gut.
We hit the ground level, and I shoulder through the door into a service corridor. The fluorescent lights are bright, and I can hear them hum overhead.
We turn right, and thirty feet ahead, the corridor opens into the casino's rear loading area, our exit to the docks.
As we run down, four men step out from a doorway, blocking our path.
From the looks of it, they're no doubt Dimitri's men. They draw their weapons, and I don't give them a chance to bring them level.
I fire three times quickly. The first shot catches a guard in the throat. He drops, clutching at the wound as blood sprays across the white walls. The second shot punches through another man's chest, spinning him sideways into the wall.
The third shot goes wide, burying itself in the wall.
I squeeze the trigger again.
Click.
Empty.
The closest guard lunges at me, his face twisted with rage. He's massive, with a neck like a tree trunk. His hands reach for my throat.
Before I can react, Danika moves.
She's a blur of red fabric and lethality. She closes the distance and slides under the guard's reaching arms. Her hand shoots out, catching his wrist mid-grab. She twists hard, using his own momentum against him. Something cracks, and the guard howls.
Danika doesn't stop. She pivots and sweeps his legs out from under him with a vicious kick to the back of his knee, and he crashes to the floor hard.
She drops with him and jams the barrel of her pistol against his forehead.
The shot echoes through the corridor, and the guard goes limp.
I'm already reloading, my hands moving on autopilot as I watch her. My magazine clicks into place, and I spin toward the fourth guard, who's raising his weapon.
I fire, and the bullet catches him square between the eyes. He collapses backward, his gun clattering uselessly to the floor.
I stare at Danika as she rises to her feet, brushing a strand of blonde hair out of her face.
"Fuck, darling, now that was something," I say, my voice rough.
She glances at me and winks, then looks toward the door.
"We need to keep moving."
Right.
Focus, Victor.
I grab her wrist and pull her past the bodies, through the loading area, and out into the cool Italian night.
The air almost stings, reminding me of how hot I am. The smell of the ocean feels like freedom waiting for us. We run down the casino's private docks, guns raised, scanning the area.
We pass the fancy VIP motorboats bobbing gently in the black water, my shoes hitting the wooden planks with a thud.
My speedboat sits at the far end. Dark mahogany, twin engines, and fast as hell. I paid a small fortune to have it staged here two days ago, just in case.
As we make our way toward it, behind us, the casino's rear doors burst open. Shouts erupt in Russian, followed by the sharp crack of gunfire.
Bullets zip past my head, one so close I feel the heat of it on my cheek. Another punches through the dock railing, sending splinters flying. Others bite into the water, causing water to splash up at us.
Neither of us slows down.
We reach the boat, and I yank the rope free, the knot coming loose in one smooth pull, and grab Danika's arm, hauling her into the boat with me. She stumbles but catches herself against the passenger seat.
I throw myself behind the wheel and jam the key into the ignition. The engines roar to life.
More gunfire, and a bullet pings off the side of the boat, chipping the polished finish.
I shove the throttle all the way forward, and the boat surges.
The front lifts out of the water, and we rocket away from the dock so fast that Danika loses her footing.
She stumbles backward, arms windmilling.
I reach out instinctively, my hand wrapping tightly around her, and pull her hard against my side. She crashes into me, her hip pressed against mine, one hand gripping the console for balance.
She looks up at me, breathless, her face flushed, and smiles.
It's a different kind of smile from the ones I've seen from her. It's wild, reckless, and devastatingly beautiful. Like she just got the thrill of a lifetime.
Then she twists in my grip, raises her pistol, and fires back at the guards on the dock. She empties her gun, forcing the men to dive for cover and giving us just the time we need to turn a corner and get out of their sight.
I keep the speed as fast as I can as the casino shrinks behind us. When we're far enough away, I ease off the throttle slightly, letting the boat settle into a fast cruise. The wind whips across my body, my shirt shifting and her blonde hair streaming across my face.
She shakes her head and laughs as she continuously brushes it out of her face. That says something about a woman. We're getting shot at, and she finds humor in the wind in her face. Though, given everything, I'm not surprised.
I glance down at her. She's still pressed against my side, her body warm. The adrenaline from the fight is still coursing through me, mixing with something darker, something primal that I've been fighting all night.
I mean, I did just kiss her in a small closet. I'll have to psychoanalyze my absolute lack of control later. For now, I just need to get us to the docks.
"You good?" I ask.
She looks up at me, those blue eyes catching the moonlight.
"Yeah." Her voice is steady. "You?"
I nod, one hand still wrapped around her while the other is on the wheel. I should let go of her. There's no reason to keep holding her now.
But I don't, and she doesn't seem to want to pull away.
We cut across the bay in silence, the speedboat slicing through the dark water. The city lights of Sanremo fade behind us, replaced by the quieter glow of private estates and luxury hotels scattered along the coast.
I moved hotels. I knew I couldn't go back to the one I was staying in. If this went south, like now, I couldn't risk going back to a location that someone might have spotted me.
My new hotel is a few miles north, tucked into a secluded cove with its own private docks. I booked the entire top floor under a false name the day after I got here.
We arrive, and I slow down, letting the boat glide into the dock. The engines rumble, then cut to silence as I kill the engine.
I tie the boat off quickly, and when I'm done, I step onto the dock and turn back to Danika.
She's still in the boat, watching me with that unreadable expression.
I hold out my hand.
She hesitates, just for a second, then takes it. Her palm is warm, her grip firm. I pull her up onto the dock, keeping my fingers wrapped around her arm as we move toward the stone steps leading up to the hotel.
I tell myself it's to guide her.
I tell myself it's to make sure she doesn't slip on the wet stairs.
But the truth is simpler. I don't want her getting any wild ideas about disappearing into the night.
We climb the steps in silence, my hand never leaving her. At the top, a private entrance leads directly to the penthouse floor. I swipe my keycard, and the door clicks open.
The suite is nice. It's my first time stepping inside it. My hired driver brought my stuff over today.
It has floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the ocean and ultra-modern furniture in shades of white and gray. A massive sectional sofa, a glass dining table, and a huge bed visible through an open doorway.
I lock the door behind us, the deadbolt sliding into place.
Only then do I release her arm.
Danika steps forward, looking around. "What is it with you dangerous men and your extravagance? I’m staying at the Continental. It’s nothing like this.”
I cross to the living room and set my pistol onto the glass table. I then reach for my luggage, pull out my encrypted laptop from a hidden compartment in the console, and set it on the table, opening the screen.
"I grew up surrounded by concrete, so I wanted something different," I say, booting up my computer.
"And what do you think you're surrounded by now?"
I look up at her and smile. "It's true, but is that all you see?"
She shakes her head. "No, but I don't think I see what you do."
I go to respond, and my computer login screen appears. Back to business. I sign in and turn back to Danika, holding out my hand.
"The ring. Please."
She's standing by the window, silhouetted against the glass. Her dress is torn, her hair tangled, but somehow she looks utterly untouchable.
Her hand drifts to the ring on her finger, but she doesn't take it off.
She just stands there, staring at the laptop, then at the locked door, then at me.
The adrenaline is wearing off. I can see it in her. The heat from the closet, the desperate kiss, what we did together, it's all fading, replaced by her tactical reality.
I lower my hand slowly.
"Danika."
She looks at me, and I see the shift in her eyes. The guarded calculation returning.
"Why should I trust you?" she asks, her voice quiet. "Why should I believe you'll actually give me a copy once you plug that into your machine?"
My chest tightens.
Because she's right to question it. In the closet, I let my desire dictate the terms. But now, standing here, free from the casino, my political mind takes over.
If I let her walk away with that intel, I lose leverage over the Volkovs. I lose the ability to dismantle their operations, to protect my family from future retaliation.
And more than that, I lose my reason to keep her here.
"You gave me your word," I say, my tone darkening.
Her lips curve into a small smile.
"Yeah, well, words are as good as the gun on that table, Victor." She crosses her arms, the ring still on her finger. "We're on opposite sides."
I take a step toward her.
"You think I don't know that?"
"Then why are we pretending this is anything other than what it is?" She gestures between us. "You want the intel. I want the intel. One of us is leaving here empty-handed."
"Not if you honor your word."
She laughs, sharp and humorless.
"Honor? You're a politician. You don't know the meaning of the word."
My jaw clenches.
I take another step, closing the distance between us. She holds her ground, her chin lifting defiantly.
"You kissed me back in that closet," I say, my voice low. "Or are you going to pretend that didn't happen?"
Her eyes flash. "That was survival. Adrenaline."
"Bullshit."
I move closer, and we're inches apart now, close enough that I can see the faint flush creeping up her neck.
"You wanted it just as much as I did," I continue, my voice dropping lower. "And you still do."
"Don't flatter yourself." But her voice wavers, just slightly.
She backs up, but I match her steps, keeping us close. She backs up into the glass and gasps softly, her hands bracing against the glass on either side of her hips.
I place my hand on the window beside her head.
"I told you," I say, my gaze dropping to her lips. "You're not leaving without me having it."
She tilts her head back, meeting my eyes with that infuriating, defiant stare.
"Then take it from me."
The words hang in the air between us, heavy and electric.
That's all the invitation I need.
I crash my mouth down on hers. She responds immediately, her hands fisting in my shirt, pulling at the buttons. One pops free, then another, scattering across the floor.
The professional truce is gone. The careful negotiation, the tactical sparring, it all shatters.
This isn't about the intel anymore, and in a way, since we arrived, it never was. This is about dominance, control, and my raw, uncontrollable need to claim her.
She tears my shirt open and runs her nails firmly down my chest. I groan against her mouth, her touch only fueling the fire burning through me.
I grab her wrist, the one with the ring, and pin it above her head against the glass. She bites my lower lip in retaliation.
Fuck.
I spin her around, pressing her front against the window. The cool glass contrasts with the heat radiating off her body. My free hand slides down her side, finding the tear in her dress, and I yank it.
The fabric gives way easily, exposing smooth, toned skin underneath.
She gasps, arching back against me.
"You're such an asshole," she breathes, but there's nothing in her words but raw desire.
I lean in, my lips brushing her ear.
"You love it."
She twists in my grip, breaking free, and shoves me hard. I stumble back, catching myself against the arm of the sofa.
She comes at me, her movements fluid and predatory. We crash together, grappling, fighting for dominance even as we tear at each other's clothes.
The end table with all the large picture books of Italy falls over, sending them skidding across the floor. Neither of us cares.
I grab her waist and lift her, pinning her down onto the dining table. She wraps her legs around my hips, pulling me closer, her hands tangling in my hair.
The kiss deepens, turning feral, our tongues infused with desperation.
I slide my hand up her thigh, finding her knife, and I take it out, not before reaching higher with my fingers and brushing against the damp heat between her legs.
She moans into my mouth, her hips bucking against my hand.
I pull back, grab the top of her dress, use her knife, and slice it off. The material falls away to her sides, revealing a black lace bra and the heated flush of her skin.
I lick my lips and bring my gaze back up to her eyes.
"Still want me to take it from you?" I ask, my voice rough.
She grabs the back of my neck and pulls me down, her lips brushing mine.
"Shut up and fuck me, Victor."