It could hold financial routes, blackmail files, supply lines, payroll. Hell, even politicians on the take. Every dirty secret theVolkov Bratva has buried over the years could be right in that damn device.
Killing him cuts off the head.
But stealing that tablet?
That gives us the power to dismantle their entire syndicate. To expose their operations. To turn their own network against them.
Damn, the things we could use to grow our empire. Delivering this to Lucian would surely take the sting away from making this kill without cluing him in.
I take another sip of my drink, the bitter orange fizz barely registering on my tongue now.
New plan.
Kill Dimitri. Take the tablet.
I look back and watch as Dimitri moves toward the staircase, his guards closing ranks around him. The velvet rope is unhooked, and he ascends, disappearing from view.
I wish I could follow and kill him here and now, but that's suicide.
Tomorrow night, when the gala is in full swing and the champagne is flowing and the guards are distracted by a hundred different moving parts, that's when I'll make my move.
But even as I refocus on the tactical details, the blind spots, the escape routes, the timing, something nags at the edge of my awareness.
I scan the room again, slower this time. My gaze moves across the tables, the bar, the balconies overlooking the main floor. I check the mirrors lining the walls, looking for reflections, for movement.
I tell myself I'm searching for additional security. For threats I might have missed.
But that's a lie.
I'm looking for her.
The blonde Russian with the cold blue eyes. The woman whose lips were close enough to kiss before she drove her knee into me and vanished into the night.
But facts are facts. Since Dimitri Volkov is here, she won't be far behind.
He's the don. She's his cleaner. His elite operative. The one who handles the jobs too delicate or too dirty for anyone else.
She'll be here. Somewhere. Watching. Waiting.
And I want to see her again.
The realization settles in my chest, hot and uncomfortable. I should be focused on the mission. On Dimitri. On the tablet. On securing my family's future.
But instead, part of me is scanning the crowd, searching.
I remember the way her gaze locked on mine, defiant and sharp, even with my gun pressed to her sternum.
She's a distraction. A tactical liability.
And I want nothing more than to see her again.
I drain the rest of my drink and set the glass on the bar. The ice shifts, water pooling at the bottom.
Tomorrow night.
Dimitri's life. The Volkov tablet. And the blonde Russian who thinks she can outsmart me. Maybe I’ll get lucky and have her pinned to the sheets before the night is over.
Three targets. One night.
