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Valentina is fast, her movements fluid as she darts between passersby and jumps over obstacles. The cold Russian air burns in my lungs as I run, my senses hyper-focused on her.
The winding streets of St. Petersburg, with their baroque architecture and canals, are a maze, but I manage to keep pace. I quickly gain ground, pushing past my limits. Ahead, Valentina ducks into another alley, the echo of her footsteps bouncing off the cobbled stone.
As I round the corner, a gun is thrust into my face, its barrel gleaming in the dim light. Valentina's eyes are cold, a mask of professional detachment, but there's a hint of emotion beneath – uncertainty, maybe even regret.
I freeze. The tables have turned. The predator has become the prey. But, being who I am, I don’t easily succumb to fear. In one fluid motion, I draw my own gun, leveling it at her. The standoff is electric, our breathing heavy and ragged.
The wind blows between us, carrying the intoxicating scent of her mixed with the cool brine of the Baltic Sea. Her hair flutters, wild and untamed, her eyes darting between mine and the gun pointed at her. For a split second, the reality of our situation becomes all too clear: two lovers, guns drawn, with the weight of our worlds bearing down on us.
"Drop it, Valentina," I growl, but there's a tremor in my voice I can't hide. Not from her. Not from someone who's seen right through me.
Her lips quirk up in a smirk. "You first."
Chapter 19
Valentina
Ilevel my gun at him, every muscle in my body taut. My eyes glare into his, scanning for any signs of deception. "I told you to leave," I hiss through gritted teeth, feeling the weight of the cold metal in my grip.
Roman, his usual confident, cocky demeanor replaced with an intensity that matches mine, keeps his gun trained on me as well. "I'm not going anywhere," he says defiantly, his voice unwavering. "Not without answers."
"The answers will get you killed."
He tilts his head slightly, a glimmer of arrogant charm sneaking through. "If you really wanted to kill me, you would've done it already. Besides," he pauses, the air between us charged, "I want you to know my family and I had nothing to do with Iosef’s death."
My blood runs cold at the mention of Iosef’s name leaving his lips. "Don't," I warn him. "Don't say his name."
"But you need to understand, Valentina. Whatever evidence you think you have linking us to that tragedy... It's not true. We don’t order hits. Someone's trying to play both of us."
My heart beats erratically. The grief is a tangible thing, a sharp pain in my chest. And all the clues pointed to the Antonov-Nicolaevich Bratva, specifically to Roman.
"You expect me to believe you?" I spit out, trying to keep my voice steady. "With evidence directly linking your family to the murder?”
Roman's gaze never wavers. "It was planted. Someone wants us at odds. We're being played, Valentina. My brothers are looking into it as we speak. I'll have answers soon."
The anger in me wants to reject him, to label him a liar, to pull the trigger. But as I search his face, those piercing green eyes hold nothing but raw honesty. Doubt seeps in, mingling with my rage. I'm torn, my feelings for him warring with the reality I've come to believe.
He takes a step closer, lowering his gun slightly. "Let's find out the truth together," he urges softly, sincerity dripping from every word.
As much as I want to tell him he's full of shit, a part of me wants to believe him. The heartache, the feeling of betrayal, the burning desire for revenge, all of it swirls into a tempestuous storm within me. He's offering me an olive branch, a chance at answers, perhaps even redemption. But can I trust him?
"I don't know what to think anymore," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper, my gun lowering as doubt continues to plague my mind. The standoff has shifted, no longer just a physical one, but a battle of trust and truth.
The chilly night air becomes charged with tension as Roman slowly places his gun back in his waistband. His gaze never leaves mine, his face lit by the ambient glow of the city lights. My fingers twitch around my weapon, indecision and a maelstrom of emotions making my hand shake.
"Pick it up," I order, my voice quivering. The weight of our past, of the truths and lies hanging between us, feels like a physical barrier.
He raises an eyebrow, a glint of challenge in his eyes. "If you’re so convinced of your hatred, if you truly believe I'm the enemy," he murmurs, "take your shot. Here I am."
My breathing becomes ragged. Anger, pain, and confusion course through me, but beneath it all is the undeniable pull I feel towards him. The hurt he may have caused is real, but so is the connection between us, and that's what makes it so maddening. My finger hovers over the trigger, but deep down, I know I can’t do it. I can't shoot the man who, in spite of everything, has come to mean so much to me.
Recognizing my hesitation, Roman takes a step forward. My instincts scream at me, torn between running and staying put. Another step, and he's close enough for me to feel the warmth emanating from his body. "Valentina," he breathes, his voice rough with emotion.
With a sudden, swift move, he pulls the gun from my hand and tosses it aside. It clatters on the cobblestone, echoing the frantic beating of my heart. Before I can react, he's on me, his hands cupping my face, pulling me into a kiss as fierce as it is tender.
Our lips meet in a maelstrom of passion and raw emotion. The world fades, leaving only the two of us and the intensity of our shared moment. His lips are demanding yet gentle, coaxing a response from me that I can't deny. My body betrays my anger and confusion, melting into him as if drawn by some inexorable force.
His fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer, deepening the kiss. The taste of him — a hint of the whiskey he'd drunk earlier mixed with the pure essence of Roman — is intoxicating. I respond with equal fervor, the heat between us undeniable and all-consuming. We're two souls clashing, finding solace in one another amidst a world of chaos and deception.
