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I take it.
“Since when do I tell you what your assignments are, Romy? You just do them.” His bitter laughter scorches my nose. “This is what you wanted, no? What you trained in that orphanage for. To become a six instead of a whore? I gave you that opportunity, the only man of my standing who would.”
It’s my turn to laugh. It comes out even more sour than his. I stare him right in the black pits of his eyes and realize I’m not afraid of him. Maybe it’s the champagne and the wine and the surroundings. Or maybe it’s because now I dance with a Devil far more dangerous than Leonid Belsky. “Yeah, I wanted to become a six instead of a whore. Instead, you made me both.”
He squeezes my cheeks so hard my teeth ache. “You’re nobody’s whore but mine.”
“Not if I do this, though, right?”
His smirk makes panic spread across my chest like a rash.
“Leo—no. You promised. The night I came to you after Donnacha visited my apartment. You made me a promise. You gave me that passport and a whole background story, and you swore that if I pulled this off, I would be free from you.”
His glare is ice-cold and unwavering. “But it’d be such a shame to let you go, wouldn’t it, my love? You’ve been with me for the entire journey.” His thumb grazes my cheek. Unlike when Donnacha does it, it makes my stomach churn. “Ever since you were fourteen. Ten whole years—can you believe how quick time flies? Ten years, sowing our roots in the city and chipping away at the establishment that took down the Bratnovs. It’s been a long game, but now I’m so close to being on top.” His eyes drop to my clenched fist. To the ring on my wedding finger. He lets out an ugly snort and entwines his bony fingers in mine, twisting the band around my flesh until it burns. “Everything is falling into place, and soon, the Russians will rule New York once more. And you, my love, could be right by my side.”
My heart thumps so hard it bruises my rib cage. “I don’t want that,” I choke out. “I want to be free.”
The acidic smile dissolves from his face and is replaced by a scowl I know all too well. “Very well,” he snaps. “Then do your job. Destroy him, and I’ll let you go. What’s one more murder, hmm? On your already long list? Just one more kill that stands between you and your freedom.” My mind flashes back to the shard of glass in the mirror. The journey from the bathroom to the dining room, that haunting jazz serving as background noise to my murder attempt. “But if you fail, my love, there will be consequences.”
“Consequences?” My eye twitches. “What consequences?”
He taps the diamond on my wedding ring. Once, twice, taunting me. “You’ll become my wife instead.” With a lasting glare, he turns toward the door. Then he pauses in the shadows to add, “Oh, and your little friend who pines after you so much?” He lifts his ruby ring in the air so it glints in the single beam of moonlight stretching through the window. Bringing it to his lips, he kisses it. “I’ll finish what I started with him.”
I push all of my weight back onto the bathtub before my knees give way.
Mak. He’ll kill Mak.
When I was twelve, shortly after meeting Leonid for the first time on the other side of the courtyard bars, he snuck into the girls’ dorms. Creeping through the darkness, he’d made a beeline for my cot. “Let me see if you’ll serve me better as a fighter or a whore,” he’d rasped as his weight dipped my mattress and his hand slithered under the covers to find my thigh.
Perhaps he didn’t know Vultures had come before him, all with the same excuse and same sick intentions. What he definitely didn’t know was that Mak slept in my bed every night to stop it from ever happening again. He emerged from the covers and punched Belsky straight in the jaw. Belsky, twice his size and weight, punched him back, the faceted surface of his ruby ring slicing open his young flesh and leaving a permanent scar.
Leonid despises Mak. But nowhere near as much as Mak despises Leonid.
Which is why I’d much prefer my best friend to believe I’m a whore than know the truth. I’ve been working with this Vulture since I was fourteen.
The bathroom walls close in on me. If anything happens to Mak, I don’t know how I’d live with myself.
“I’ll do it.”
The promise slips from my lips like melted butter.
Belsky’s chuckle echoes through the darkness. “Good girl. Your father would have been so proud of you, malishka.”
And with that, he’s gone.
White-hot heat engulfs me, and I want nothing more than to dive into the shower and scrub all traces of Belsky from my skin. But I can’t. And I can’t stay in the bathroom much longer because Donnacha will become suspicious.
Instead, I press my palms into the cold marble sink, sucking in as much humid air as my lungs allow, before wobbling back into the party.
I see Donnacha immediately; he stands over a foot taller than most of the crowd, his amber eyes darting around the room. They lock onto mine, and something unexpected flashes across his face. Relief?
Whatever it is, it’s cushioned by a softness I didn’t know either of our blackened hearts were capable of. The partygoers split like hairs as he strides toward me and wraps his strong arms around me.
“We’re leaving.”
His tone is deeper than the ocean and just as dangerous. It sends panic zapping down my spine.
He knows.
