30. Danika
DANIKA
Ican't believe Dimitri Volkov is dead.
We just killed him.
I just killed him.
The thought cycles through my mind on repeat, a loop I can't seem to break. My finger pulled the trigger. My bullet tore into him. I watched the light drain from his eyes, watched his body jerk and collapse in that final, terrible dance of death.
I've killed before. Dozens of times. But this, this is different.
This was family.
Not my family. Ivan's.
Ivan, who saved me. Ivan, who gave me purpose when I had nothing left.
And now I've just put a bullet in his brother. But he'll understand when he learns. He has to.
I stand frozen in the doorway. My ribs scream with every breath, a sharp, stabbing pain that radiates through my torso where the vest stopped the bullet. My hands are steady on the gun, but inside, I'm trembling.
Victor moves past me without hesitation, stepping over bodies like they're nothing more than furniture. He crouches beside one of the guards sprawled near the entrance and starts rifling through pockets, checking jackets, patting down belts.
"Keys," he says, his voice low and focused. "One of these guys has to have them."
My arms feel like lead as they hang at my sides. I toss my gun away, not needing it anymore.
Victor finds something in the third guard's jacket and straightens, holding up a set of keys. He presses the button on the fob once, twice, three times. Outside, somewhere, a car's headlights flash and a horn beeps.
"Got it," he says, turning to me. His gaze sweeps over me, assessing. "You good?"
I nod, but I'm not so good. My ribs hurt, and my shoulder aches from everything. Not to mention that fall out of the vent.
But I'm alive.
And that's more than Dimitri can say.
Victor comes over to me and reaches for the Kevlar vest still strapped to my chest. His fingers work the buckles, loosening the straps. I bite my lip as he pulls it off, the movement jostling my ribs.
"There you go," he says, his voice soft. "I'll take care of you soon, darling."
The promise beams through me, and I glance up at him, but he's already moving, guiding me forward, one hand on the small of my back.
The car turns out to be a black SUV sitting in the driveway, its headlights on. Victor opens the passenger door and takes my hand, his grip firm and warm.
"Let me help you in," he says.
I slide into the seat, biting back a groan as my ribs protest. Victor shuts the door gently and rounds the car, slipping into the driver's seat. The engine roars to life, and we peel out of the driveway.
I lean my head back against the seat, closing my eyes as the villa disappears behind us.
Victor pulls out a phone and dials, holding it to his ear as he drives. The road winds down the hill, the lights of Sanremo glittering in the distance.
"It's me," he says when someone answers. "I need a plane."
There's a pause, and then Victor's voice hardens. "No, I don't care. I need something with a shower that can get me to Brasov tonight."
Another pause. I crack my eyes open, watching him. His jaw is tight, and the blood has dried on his sleeve where the graze wound cut through his shirt.
"Put it on the tarmac for me and send me the bill."
He hangs up, and his grip on the wheel loosens slightly.
As we drive, I do something I've never done before.
I reach out and take his hand.
Victor glances down, his eyes flicking to where my fingers wrap around his, and then back to the road. He doesn't pull away.
"Thank you," I say, my voice low. "Again, for coming. If you hadn't, I'd be..."
I can't finish the sentence, but I don't need to.
Victor squeezes my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.
"There isn't a world where I wouldn't come for you, Danika," he says, his voice steady.
He turns his head briefly to glance at me, his dark eyes locking onto mine.
"If there's any doubt of that in that pretty head of yours, get rid of it. "
The warmth that spreads through my chest is unfamiliar and terrifying. I don't know what to do with it, don't know how to sit with the weight of those words. So just continue holding his hand and letting myself believe, finally feel, like I am worth the trouble of being saved.
We drive in silence after that, the road smoothing out as we reach the coast. The sky is darkening, dusk settling over the sea. By the time we reach the airport, the horizon is a deep purple, the last streaks of orange fading into night.
Victor pulls up to a private hangar and stops in front of a nice, impossibly expensive-looking jet.
The stairs are already extended, waiting.
Victor comes around to my side and opens the door, offering his hand again. I take it, letting him help me out.
As we approach the stairs, Victor flags down a man in a uniform near the hangar entrance. "My bag," he says. "It should be at the front desk of the airport. Secure it and bring it here."
The man nods and hurries off.
I take the stairs slowly, gripping the railing as I climb. Each step sends a jolt of pain through my ribs, but I force myself to keep moving. When I reach the top, I step inside the plane and stop, taking it all in.
It's stunning.
The interior is all cream leather and polished wood, soft lighting casting a warm glow over everything. There are six large seats arranged in pairs, a small galley in the center, and through an open door at the back, I catch a glimpse of a full bedroom.
I sink into one of the seats, letting my head fall back against the cushion. My eyes drift shut, and for a moment, I let myself just breathe.
Victor's voice drifts from the front of the plane, low and authoritative as he speaks with the pilots. I don't catch the details and don't care to. All I want is to close my eyes and let the exhaustion pull me under.
About ten minutes later, footsteps approach.
I crack my eyes open and see the man from earlier hauling Victor's bag up the stairs, the fabric torn and riddled with bullet holes.
Victor thanks him, and the man disappears.
The door seals with a heavy thunk, and Victor comes down the aisle, dropping into the seat next to me.
He looks battered. His shirt is torn and bloodstained, his hair disheveled, but somehow, impossibly, he's still handsome.
I turn to him and smile. "Are you kidnapping me now?"
Victor leans into my space, his elbow resting on the armrest between us, his voice smooth. "I'm not letting you out of my sight. We can fight about it if you want, but you are staying by my side from now on.”
The tension between us shifts, tightening into something heated and electric. I smirk, leaning back in my seat. "I suppose I'll have to allow it."
The engines roar to life, and the plane begins to taxi. I feel the subtle shift as we accelerate down the runway, the world outside blurring into motion. And then we're airborne, climbing into the night sky.
I glance over at Victor, arching an eyebrow. "I don't remember actually agreeing to go to Romania, you know."
Victor reaches out, his hand cupping my chin and tilting my face toward him. His eyes are dark, intent, as he leans in and kisses me. His lips are soft on mine.
When he pulls back, his voice is low. "No, I believe you said something about if we got out, you'd do a lot more to me."
I laugh. "Ah, yes," I say, shrugging. "Something like that. You were actually listening to me in all that chaos.”
Victor licks his lips, his gaze dropping briefly to my mouth before meeting my eyes again. "Darling, I'm captivated by you. Haven't I made that clear by now?" he asks, taking my hand and pulling me to my feet. "Come with me."
He leads me into the private master suite at the back of the jet and locks the doors.
The click of the lock kicks up my heartbeat, not from fear, but from something darker, hotter.