Page 8 of Assassin's Heart


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The sooner my body gets the message to think of her in business terms, the better—especially considering the business we need to discuss.

“You already know my name,” she says crossly. “You’ve mentioned it a few times now.”

“Yes, I do. Lidiya Petrovna. Daughter of Igor and Katya Petrovna, granddaughter of Helena Petrovna. The former are dead, the latter is quite ill, I hear. You send most of your living stipend to her, and the extra you make from tutoring, leaving you with a shitty apartment in the worst part of the city, questionable heating and groceries that hardly qualify as food. Am I right?”

As I speak, Lidiya goes very silent and very pale, her hands knotting between her knees as the seriousness of her situation and the level of information that I know about her sinks in. “How do you know all of that?” she asks, her voice quiet and small.Good. I don’t particularly like the idea of frightening her, but she needs to understand that this isn’t a joke or a game. I might have scruples about how I intend to handle her, but my boss has none of those. If I fail here, the men that will step in to take my place won’t treat her so kindly.

“Let’s begin with something simpler.” I watch her carefully, ready to grab her again if she tries to make a break for it. “My name is Levin Volkov. My job is to get information. I am very good at my job—when I am required to get that information, I gather as much as I can, by any means necessary.” I frown, leaning forward. “Do you understand me?”

“No,” she whispers. “But I don’t like the sound of that.”

Well, she’s honest at least.“I work for a—private company, Lidiya.”

“Like a detective?” She frowns.

“In a sense.” It’s the simplest explanation that doesn’t involve telling her that I actually work for a secret syndicate of assassins and spies, with headquarters in Moscow and cells throughout the country in every major city.Private detectivewill get us far enough without scaring her completely out of her wits—or just plain causing her to not believe me. I could see her calling me a liar and shutting down, or refusing to cooperate altogether.

This isn’t a girl I can terrify into obeying me, which makes me respect her a great deal. She’s not some wilting flower, but while it’s an attractive quality it’s going to make my job harder. Whatever I can tell her to make that easier, I will.

I hate lies, but I’m not trying to have a relationship with this girl. When the matter of Grisha Fedorov is handled, I’ll never see her again. It won’t matter if I’ve lied to her.

So why, then, does the idea of it make me feel faintly sick?

“I don’t understand,” Lidiya says quietly. “I don’t have anyone who would want me followed. I only have mybabushka, and then my boyfriend—exboyfriend, as of this morning.” She swallows hard. “I swear, if he’s the one having you follow me, I’m going to leave him alone. I don’t have any plans to interfere in his marriage, I didn’t evenknowhe was married, I don’t want anything to do with him now. I’m not going to try to get his wife to leave him or something. I’m sorry I threw up on her shoes—”

She trails off, and it’s all I can do not to burst into laughter. The image of this pretty, petite girl barfing on some woman’s shoes is so ridiculous—and at the same time, exactly what I would expect of her based on what I’ve seen of her so far.

So she breaks up with her cheating “boyfriend”, vomits on his wife’s shoes, falls down a flight of stairs, and then wakes up in my hotel room.All that considered, I can’t really blame her for freaking out.

Lidiya Petrovna has had one hell of a morning.

“I’m not following you for Grisha,” I say patiently. “But thisdoeshave to do with him.”

“I knew it.” Her eyes widen. “I don’t want anything to do with him anymore. And whatever he’s mixed up in, I don’t have anything to do with that either. He never told me anything about business or what he does. When we were together we just went out to eat, went to the theatre, watched movies and fucked. I swear, I don’t know anything about anything—”

“I know.” I cut her off again. “I don’t believe you have any information about him now, Lidiya. But I do need you to get that information.”

She blinks at me. “What? What kind of information? And why me? I told you I broke up with him—”

“He’ll take you back,” I tell her confidently. “There’s not a chance in hell that he won’t. All you have to do is properly apologize and ask him to, letting him know you understand he’s married and that you’ll be respectful of it, but that you can’t live without him in some way—”

“Like hell I will.” Now Lidiya looks angry. Her eyes are blazing with an almost intimidating fire, and she clutches the edge of the bed, leaning forward as her mouth thins. “You’re a man, so I wouldn’t expect you to understand. But Grishaliedto me. He didn’t tell me I was a side piece from the start. He didn’t even give me the slightest inclination. He wined and dined and romanced me, fucked me, let me stay in his apartment and acted like the perfect boyfriend, only for me to find out he was fuckingmarriedbecause his wife showed up when she wasn’t supposed to.” Her teeth clench, grinding together. “He haskids.”

“Be that as it may,” I say calmly. “I need you to get information from him, and the way to do that is for you to be in a relationship with him. A fully romantic, sexual relationship.”

My stomach twists at that last, and that makes as little sense as the near-painful erection that’s only just now starting to recede. I knew from the moment I went to grab Lidiya at the station exactly what I would be asking from her, and it hadn’t bothered me then. It’s a fairly standard sort of mission—install the girl doing the fact-finding, have her get into a sexual relationship with the man, find out what she can when he’s loose-lipped and post-coital, and look around the apartment for anything else she can uncover. Show up at his office for some lunchtime fun and poke around, listen carefully at any events he takes her to. I’ve dealt with plenty of women on missions like these. I’ve even had a couple try to get to me in that way for dirt on the syndicate, though I always put a quick stop to that.

There’s no reason why the thought of Lidiya fucking Grisha should bother me in the least. It certainly shouldn’t make me feel sick, or angry, like I want to punch the man for ever having touched her at all, or likeIwant to be the one taking her to bed, not some asshole that doesn’t deserve her. I don’t evenknowher, I don’t know what she deserves or doesn’t, or anything about her or who she is.

Other than that she’s an adorably clumsy, beautiful, intelligent, fiery girl whose reaction to meeting her boyfriend’s wife unexpectedly was to barf on her shoes.

I’ve never been captivated by a woman. I’ve been attracted to plenty of them, driven to distracting desire by a few, interested in them often. But no woman has ever held my attention for more than a few nights, and none of them have ever, ever gotten in the way of me doing my job.

I’m married to the syndicate, body and soul, ‘til death do us part. There is no other path for me.

Lidiya cannot, under any circumstances, be a distraction.

I can’t think about how she felt, arched against me as I pinned her to the door, or how badly I want to find out what she looks like under those questionable clothes. I certainly can’t think about how I have the insane urge, at this very moment, to touch her quivering chin and soothe her, telling her that it’s all going to be okay.

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