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As the waves of pleasure begin to ebb, our breaths sync up, and we lie entwined, basking in the afterglow.
"That was..." he begins, trailing off, seemingly lost for words.
"...unexpected," I finish for him, a playful smile on my lips.
His laughter rumbles against my ear, the sound warm and comforting. "That's one way to put it."
For a moment, I simply enjoy the feeling of being in his arms, the warmth of his body against mine, the steady beat of his heart. But then reality crashes over us. The weight of my betrayal presses down on me, reminding me of the mission I've set out to achieve—his death. How can I reconcile this? The warmth and passion we just shared with the cold, hard truth?
Yet, in this fleeting moment, I push those thoughts aside. For now, I'll enjoy the comfort of his embrace, the sensation of being truly seen and desired. Because, come what may, these memories will stay with me forever.
Chapter 11
Valentina
The blustery winter morning paints the city in shades of gray, the chilling wind carrying whispers of secrets. A thick blanket of clouds conceals the sun, giving the atmosphere an almost melancholic touch. Just days earlier, I was cocooned in the warmth of Roman’s embrace, our bodies lost in a rhythm known only to us. But now, I stand in the cold ambiance of the investment banker’s office, ready to execute a far different dance — one of death.
In my pocket, I carry a vial of pale liquid — a concoction perfected over the years for its efficacy and stealth. The poison, derived from a rare South American plant, is undetectable in postmortem toxicology screens, making it my tool of choice for these more refined hits. It works swiftly, numbing the body first, then shutting down the respiratory system, giving its victims a deceptively peaceful departure. Just like all my favorite poisons, it will look like nothing more than life cut tragically short by a sudden heart attack.
The corrupt banker, oblivious to my intentions, sips his scotch as we discuss the funds he swindled from my brother. I notice his glass is almost empty, a prime opportunity.
“Another drink?” I offer, pouring him a refill before he can answer. As he turns away to retrieve some documents, I discreetly release a few drops of the poison into his glass. By the time he faces me again, the deed is done.
We continue talking for a few minutes, but I’m counting the seconds. Just as he's outlining his escape plan, his face becomes ashen. He gasps, clutching his chest, eyes widening in realization, but it's too late. He collapses, and in moments, it’s over.
With a final look around the office, I’m about to exit when my phone vibrates. A message from Roman illuminates the screen:Thinking of you. What are you up to?
The juxtaposition of my deadly profession with this burgeoning romance is staggering.
I quickly respond.Wrapping up some business. Coffee later?
His reply is swift.Absolutely. 1 PM?
The stark contrast between my two worlds leaves me breathless. Here I am, a skilled assassin who can weave tales of poison and death, yet at the same time, I’m a woman caught up in the whirlwind of new romance. The combination is both dangerous and exhilarating. Every text with Roman feels like a secret dance of its own — one where the steps are unknown, and the outcome is anyone’s guess.
A short time later I’m with Roman, the two of us seated by the windows. Steam from our coffees dances up into the cool air, mingling with my exhales as I try to get my bearings in the quaint café we’ve settled in. The cozy ambiance of the place contrasts with the sharp tension building in the pit of my stomach.
"How's your day been?" I ask, my voice feigning casual interest. The inner storm, however, rages just beneath the surface.
Roman, oblivious to the battle I'm waging on the inside, sips from his cup and sets it down, his eyes meeting mine. "Productive," he says, that confident smirk of his creeping onto his lips. "I just acquired a new developmental lot. Prime location."
I lean forward, intrigued. "Where?"
"Right in the middle of Chechen territory," he announces, pride evident in his voice. As if he's just won a grand prize, and not potentially signed his own death warrant.
Alarm bells start ringing loud and clear in my mind. My heart thuds painfully against my chest. The implications of this acquisition are glaringly obvious to me. The Bratva wouldn't buy land in Chechen territory without an ulterior motive. Is this a sign of their intent to muscle in on our operations? And if so, does Vladimir know about it?
My fingers tighten around the ceramic mug, its warmth doing nothing to soothe the cold dread snaking through my veins. I fix my gaze on Roman, searching for any sign that he understands the gravity of what he's just divulged.
"Roman," I say, struggling to keep my voice steady, "do you realize what you've done?"
He raises an eyebrow, looking almost amused. "Bought a piece of land? Yes, I'm aware."
"It's not just any piece of land. That's Chechen territory. Are you deliberately trying to start a war?"
His demeanor shifts slightly, his smirk fading. "Business is business, Valentina. The land was for sale, and I saw potential. It's a strategic move. Nothing more."
I scoff, incredulous at his nonchalance. "Strategic? You're playing with fire."
