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Chapter 1
Max
Maxim Levin; 38. Camille DuBois; 27.
I stare at the file my best friend, Nikolai, sent over last week. I was dead set on not taking the bodyguard job until I saw who the charge was.
Camille DuBois.
Fuck.
I’m an assassin by trade. I take lives, not save them.
Guilt rears in my chest as I stare at the woman’s beautiful face.
Our paths crossed once. Christ, it’s almost been ten years since I last saw her face. She was seventeen and just starting her life.
And I almost took it from her.
Where her blonde hair used to reach her ass, it’s now cut into a short, choppy bob. The style suits her heart-shaped face. Her features have lost the last of her teenage look, leaving in its wake a woman who will have any man breathless and hard as fuck.
It’s the first time I see the color of her eyes. Green. The shade of moss. They’re so fucking bright it feels like she can see into the dark depths of my soul where my demons live.
And I’m only staring at a photo.
What would it feel like to come face-to-face with her?
I ban the thoughts and read over the details of the death threats her father’s been receiving. If he doesn’t step away from politics, Camille will be killed.
Nine out of ten times, they’re nothing but empty threats.
Again, my eyes find the photo of Camille, whose path was never meant to cross with mine. Yet, here she is for a second time.
You owe her. This will be a chance to pay her back for almost killing her.
I let out a heavy sigh as I lean back in my chair. I glance out the hotel room window, wondering if it wouldn’t be best to stay out of her life.
She never saw my face and has no idea who I am. Neither does her father.
Not even Nikolai knows about the one fuck-up in my career as an assassin.
No one knows. It’s a secret I plan on taking to my grave.
An assassin’s reputation is the most important thing. If you fuck up and people find out, it doesn’t bode well for your career.
You should stay away from the woman. Don’t play with fire.
But if I don’t take this job and she ends up dead, it will only increase the guilt I already feel.
I let out a heavy sigh and rub my hand over my forehead.
You already made up for what you did. You got the woman medical help. It’s been a decade. Forget about her and refuse the job.
I let out a sigh as I pull the folder onto my lap and read over all the information again. There are copies of the death-threat letters and recordings sent to Maurice DuBois, who’s currently the Minister of Agriculture. If all goes as planned, he’ll become the Prime Minister of France next month.
Nikolai Vetrov, the only friend I have, wants a solid foothold in France for his diamond-smuggling business. Maurice can give him that in exchange for his daughter’s safety.
Maurice might straddle a thin line between the underbelly of my world and politics, but he’s not a criminal by a long shot. The man wants to create a better and greener world, and it has forced him to negotiate with the bratva to make it happen. The bratva owns land where wind turbines can be erected, and during the sale, a relationship was formed.
