Enzo shifts uncomfortably in the silence, then finally speaks. “If she goes in, nothing really changes. We’ll cover the extraction points and make sure she’s out the second Kirill’s position is confirmed. You won’t need it, but the gun is behind the vent grate in the rear women’s bathroom stall. They left the screws loose for you.”
I already know that the moment Constance steps through that door, control shifts out of my hands. And I fucking hate it. I also hate the thought of losing Kirill.
I look between Enzo and Constance, knowing the two are intent on working together regardless of what I decide. Finally, I let out a slow breath. “Fine. But you do exactly what I say, firefly. No improvising, no heroics. If I say pull out, you pull out.”
She gives me a short nod. “Agreed.”
An hour later, I stand in the hallway as she emerges from her room. She’s dressed for the occasion in a short, sleek black dress, her long dark hair falling in waves past her shoulders. It’s a look that could strike a man with the force of a bullet. I’ve come to know her in so many beautiful ways the last few weeks, but tonight her radiance is practically blinding.
For a moment, a stab of something completely unfamiliar jolts my heart.
Jealousy.
Jealousy is a useless fucking emotion. One I’ve never had to deal with. But seeing Constance like this, knowing that everyman inside that club will look at her the way I do? It hits me with the force of a knife shoved between my ribs.
“Are you absolutely sure about this?” I ask her. “You look stunning. So much so, I’m considering just dragging you out myself to another club entirely.”
Her eyes meet mine without wavering while adjusting the thin wrap that’s see through and fidgeting with her clutch. “I want to see Kirill suffer. Personally.”
There’s no fear in her eyes, only purpose. It terrifies me more than the thought of facing Kirill alone.
The banter dries up in my throat. Her expression softens before she moves towards me, her arms snaking around my neck and pulling my lips to hers. The kiss is so intense that for a moment I forget our mission and lose myself in her.
When she pulls away from me, our eyes meet and she reiterates, “I’ve got the text chain already set up with your men. I’ll let them know whether Kirill bolts out the back or the front.”
“And the gun?” I ask.
“Only in case of emergency.”
“Don’t let the police or any of the Bratva catch you,” I warn her.
“Enough, Maximo.” She smiles as she drops her arms and moves past me. “Make sure your men do their job. Tonight, we’re going to avenge my father.”
I follow her downstairs and watch her walk out to the waiting car. Every instinct screams at me to call her back, to keep her here where I can protect her. But I know she would never forgive me.
That’s why I let her get into the car and drive away without me.
What I should’ve told her was that if I lose her tonight, it may very well be my ruin.
18
Constance
The car dropsme off a block away from Club Metron just before nine. The air is so cold I can see my breath. The thin wrap I threw over my dress does nothing to keep the wind from cutting through me. The bass from inside the club vibrates through the air, the pavement, even my teeth as I join the line of people stretching down the sidewalk. I pull my wrap tighter, my heart thudding rapidly. The fury that’s been boiling inside me since the night of the fire keeps forcing hot bile into my throat. I’m not afraid, or even nervous, though. I’m eager.
The bomb is set to go off at ten fifteen. I have over an hour to find Kirill.
As I wait in line, I force myself to look bored instead of tense. Ten minutes pass before one of the doormen, big and barrel-chested with a shaved head, comes down the line, scanning the crowd like he’s shopping. His gaze lingers on me, then he jerks his chin toward the door. “You,” he says. “Come on.”
I step out of line, hesitating for a moment as he calls out two more women just behind me. We follow him past the glaring people still waiting and into the heat and noise of the club.
Inside, it’s a blur of strobing lights, pounding electronic music, and bodies pressed together tightly on the dance floor. The air is thick with perfume and sweat. I drift with the crowd, letting the beat carry me closer to the raised VIP section where a cluster of men in tailored suits and glinting watches are holding court.
Kirill Volkov sits at the center like a king. He’s handsome in a cold, cruel way, and surrounded by women who look like they’ve been chosen for their beauty and nothing more. Kirill’s gaze snags on me for one long second, too long, like he’s been expecting me, before he thankfully looks away as if I’m no one at all.
There’s no way past all the guards blocking the stairway to the VIP section. Time is ticking away from me. I’m still frantically trying to figure out how to approach him when large fingers clamp down around my arm.
“You’ve been summoned,” a voice shouts in my ear to be heard over the music. The hand on my arm tightens, while another one goes to work patting me down.
