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Chapter 1
Elise
The chilling darkness enveloped our lavish New York mansion, providing me the cover I desperately needed to get the hell out of here. The sound of my own frantic breathing pierced the deafening silence around me. My heart pounded like a wild stallion as I tore through my luxurious walk-in closet, quickly stuffing whatever clothes I could find into my Louis Vuitton suitcase. I had already sent funds from my husband's bank accounts to online cryptocurrency banks. Now I only needed to make it out of here alive.
Time was slipping through my fingers like sand, and I needed to be gone before Marcello returned.
Marcello... the man who had once been the love of my life had turned out to be my biggest nightmare. The shocking discovery of who he really was had left me numb with disbelief and fear, but I knew I had to act fast to save myself. And South Africa was my best bet as Marcello had no business ties over there.
I zipped up my suitcase and glanced around my luxurious bedroom one last time. The gold-plated fixtures and silk sheets meant nothing to me. I had to leave, and I had to leave right now.
I quietly tiptoed through the marble hallways of our New York mansion, making my way to the garage. My heart raced with every step, praying Marcello and his thug Loronzo wouldn't return earlier than expected. They would kill me if they did.
Literally... kill me.
The cold air outside greeted me as I slipped into my sleek Mercedes Benz. I turned on the ignition, and with quick breaths, sped away toward freedom.
As the familiar New York skyline disappeared in my rearview mirror, I couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of relief washing over me. My heart ached with the realization that I would rather be dead than live another day with that monster.
The road to the airport stretched out before me like a lifeline, promising a new beginning far away from the man who had caused me so much pain.
I was finally free, and for the first time in years, I was in control of my own destiny.
South Africa awaited, and with it, the promise of a new life free from my abusive husband and the horrific nightmare he had put me through.
Andrei
It had been almost two years since my younger sister had made the innocent mistake of falling madly in love with an undercover cop who used her to get to me. I was forced to flee the US or put a bullet in his head, which my sister wouldn’t have taken to kindly, and I loved her, so here I was.
I had mastered a lot of things through running. I learned to be extremely sensitive to my surroundings. Running from federal agents has a way of making you scan a restaurant, moment to moment, even if you’re just sitting there with a steaming plate of sirloin and potatoes. It makes you consider people in a different way, discerning their intentions just by looking at them.
And that’s what I was doing—discerning, studying—as I sat in the elegant hall of a restaurant on 9th Avenue in Durban, South Africa. The gleaming chandelier above me, the delicate tinkling of silver on porcelain, the aroma of bergamot in the air. Classic.
I had tried to maintain a low profile since I stopped saving the world from monsters like me—and by “saving,” I meant assassinating criminals and perverted politicians for money.
I took a deep breath and sipped the scotch in my glass, feeling it burn its way down my throat. Again, I scanned the lobby, probably for the hundredth time since I’d sat down. What a tiresome life this was... yet it was the world I was used to.
The restaurant was mostly full except for a few empty tables. No one looked particularly suspicious—not the sour-faced couple wearing matching green jackets, the color of the nation’s flag, nor the older couple who were more interested in their phones than the meal on the table in front of them. They all looked like they were here for standard reasons: the food and for snapping Instagram-worthy pictures of it. But I still stayed alert. You never could tell how far the CIA would go.
I checked my watch. Nine p.m. This was the best time to get out a bit, run around the city, let off some steam. I may have been on the run from the CIA, but I still needed to stretch my legs like anyone else. And their agents were usually less active at night. Lazy bastards, good for me.
Scanning the room again, I watched as a lady entered at the far end of the hall. Her back was turned to me, but I could still sense her elegance in the way her hair was neatly packed in a tight ponytail. And then there was the dress she wore, short, just above the knee... no bra. Who was she here to meet?
I scanned the door to see if anyone was with her. She didn’t look like an agent, but you could never be sure. The CIAcouldtrace me down here, I wagered. And if I needed to run, I could run fast.
Despite an empty stomach, my appetite was gone, so I took the napkin from the table, wiped the corners of my mouth, and casually swept my eyes around the room one more time. I nudged the brim of my hat a bit lower over my brow just in case.
“Are you enjoying your meal?”
Annoyed, I swung my eyes up sharply at the waitress who'd sidled silently up behind me. She’d been quiet, and that alone was unnerving. I should have noticed her approach, even as busy as the room was. Unless she was trained...
“Yes,” I grumbled, shifting in my seat so she’d get the message.
I glanced at the other side of the room to see where the lady with the ponytail had gone. She was sitting now, her knees elegantly nestled against one another, reading a copy of theCape Times. Her position seemed odd. Suspicious. Especially since her other hand rested inside her purse without getting anything out. She could be holding onto a weapon. A pocket pistol, most likely. It was the sort of gun that would fit easily in a designer bag like the one she carried. I leaned back against my chair and inhaled deeply.
Surreptitiously, I felt for my pistol right beneath my jacket’s lapel and clicked the safety off. My movements were slow and practiced, and my jacket was bulky enough no one would notice I was carrying.
“So you’re on vacation?” the waitress asked, still standing at my table. “I know the city well. I can... you know...” she said, inhaling deeply, which caused her already generous chest to swell even more. As if I hadn’t seen her cleavage since the first time I walked into the hall. Slowly, she slipped a finger into her bra, as if she was fishing for something.
