But then why did Victor sound so certain? Why did that guy in Constan?a have those photos? Why did he kill him, claiming it was "for my family"?
I replay everything over and over. Someone was taken. Someone he cares about. Not a sister. He only has brothers. A cousin? A friend? The pieces don't fit together, and it's frustrating.
And what did he mean about his father working with the Volkovs? Nicolae Ionescu is dead now, but Victor said the trafficking deal was started by his father. If that's true, then why would Ivan be confused about the Ionescus being aggressive? And why would they kill Ivan's nephew?
None of it makes sense.
Ugh, I have about a million questions now, and that's not including the slew of self-reflective questions I have about sleeping with the so-called enemy.
Victor's got to have them too, I suspect.
I shift slightly, turning my head to look at him. His dark hair falls across his forehead. His lips are parted slightly, his expression peaceful. Even in sleep, he looks beautiful.
I need to get out of here. I need to complete the mission, and once that's done, I'll feel better about things.
Because being in this bed with him is dangerous. Not because of Dimitri's men or the stolen intel, but because every second I spend pressed against Victor's body, breathing him in, feeling the warmth of his skin, is another second calling my loyalty into question.
And I cannot allow that.
Ivan saved my life. He gave me everything. I owe him more than I could ever repay.
So why am I lying here, curled in the arms of his enemy, wishing the morning would never come?
I swallow hard, my throat tight. No. I need to focus. Complete the mission first. Process all this later. That's how I've always operated, compartmentalizing to survive.
I exhale slowly, preparing myself. Getting out of this bed without waking Victor is going to require patience.
I start with my hips, inching them sideways slowly. Victor's arm tightens reflexively around my waist, and I freeze, holding my breath.
I wait ten seconds before moving again. This time, I lift his forearm gently, sliding out from beneath his arm. My muscles stay tight from the tension of moving so slowly, but I don't dare rush this. Victor is trained, and one wrong move will wake him up.
It takes me ten minutes before I finally roll off the edge of the mattress. It's neither elegant nor stealthy, but it works.
My knees hit the floor with a muffled thud, and I freeze again, my heart pounding so hard in my chest I'm certain he'll hear it.
But he only shifts slightly, turning onto his back, his eyes staying closed.
I exhale shakily and crawl toward my panties, crumpled up on the floor.
I gather them quickly, tiptoeing naked into the living area. The cool air prickles my skin, and I shiver as I step into my underwear.
I put my bra on and grab my dress.
Shit, it's cut. Dammit. I look around and see Victor's shirt. I put it on. Most of the buttons are missing, but it will have to do.
I run my fingers through my tangled hair, trying to smooth it down. My lipstick is smudged, and my mascara is probably a disaster. I'm sure I look like exactly what I am, a woman who just spent the night fucking her enemy.
My gaze drifts to the table.
Victor's encrypted laptop sits there, closed but not locked.
I glance back toward the bedroom door, where Victor is still asleep, and then back to the laptop.
My hand moves to the ring on my finger, and it's as if I can feel the weight of all of Dimitri's secrets.
Fuck.
I have never been this confused. It should be simple. Acknowledge I had a good time, leave, and finish the job. Walk out the front door. Report to Ivan. Move on.
