by Zaires, Anna
He studies me closely. “A private clinic where?”
“Budapest.”
“Private clinics are expensive.”
“So?”
His voice takes on a quiet tone. “Is that why you need the money?”
I shrug, as if it doesn’t matter. “She took care of me. Now it’s my turn. She’s a good woman.”
His gaze warms a fraction. “I don’t doubt that.” He pauses, then says with a peculiar deliberateness, “You’ll have to introduce us.”
I give him a startled look. “You’re joking, right?”
“Why would I joke about it?”
Fuck. This is the last thing I need. “As far as Hanna is concerned, I’m a waitress, nothing more.” Not that I’ll have any recourse if he blurts out my secret to my grandmother.
His eyes gleam brighter. “My lips are sealed. Who am I to disillusion an old woman?”
Dammit. He’s really set on this. “How do I explain who you are?”
“Don’t worry, my little waitress.” His smile is calculating. “I’m sure I can come up with something.”
Hanna isn’t a subject I want to discuss either. It’s bad enough he knows about her existence. I motion at his laptop. “I want the five hundred thousand upfront.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Is that so?”
“A deal’s a deal.”
“Fifty percent upfront. The rest you get when Dimitrov is dead.”
“You don’t trust me.”
“Should I?”
Probably not. “I’ll give you the account number.”
His smile is lazy. My bluntness amuses him. He looks at me like an owner may look at a pet. His permissive expression lets me know he’s only allowing me to get away with this because he wants to, because he can. In a twisted way, even this—indulging me—is a display of his power.
After logging on, he types in the offshore bank account number I rattle off. When the transfer is done, he turns the screen toward me.
“Thank you,” I say.
“You better earn it.”
I’m full of sass, but it’s all acting. “I’ll do my best.”
He cups my chin, wiping his thumb over my lips. “We’re not so different, you and I.”
The touch throws me off kilter. It’s simultaneously gentle and threatening. I want to both lean into his palm and pull away. “You mean we both kill for money.”
“You don’t let anyone get close to you.” His voice is soft, filled with an understanding I don’t want him to possess. “You don’t get close to anyone.”
It takes everything I have and more to stay put instead of jerking away. “You’re close to Ilya.”
“You’re close to your grandmother. That’s family. I’m talking about lovers. Friends.”
There is one person, the only friend I have, and Yan can never know about him. Breaking the disconcerting contact, I get to my feet. “I’ll have that nap after all.”
His clever eyes see through me. He knows I’m running. Hiding. “Go ahead. I put clean sheets on the bed.”
I don’t let him tell me twice.
I run and hide.
17
Mina
When I wake up in a cold sweat from my nightmare, it’s dark. I’ve slept for a few hours, but I don’t feel rested. Pulling the comforter up to my chin, I stay curled up under the warm covers. I don’t get up for dinner. I don’t have a shower. The mattress dips next to me as Yan gets into bed, but I don’t even have the strength to pretend I’m sleeping.
He pulls me close. “Mina.” When I don’t respond, he orders harshly, “Look at me.”
I wearily turn to face him.
“You skipped dinner,” he says. “I can make you a snack.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You barely touched your lunch. You have to eat.”
“Later, okay?”
He sighs. “Rest. Tomorrow you’ll be better.”
“Yes.” My reply is meek, because I don’t believe him.
I know what’s happening, what’s in store for me.
As he traces the tattooed script on my side, the unspoken questions hang thick in the air, but he doesn’t talk. He lets me rest. Even if his erection presses against my ass, he doesn’t ask or take.
As exhausted as I am, my brain refuses to shut off. I lie in his arms in the dark and scheme.
I have to see Hanna, and soon.
* * *
Come morning, Yan’s side of the bed is empty. To my surprise, I do feel a little better. Some of my strength has returned.
After showering and dressing in baggy sweatpants with a vintage punk emblem and a black hoodie T-shirt, I go to the lounge. A guilty-looking Ilya sips coffee at the table. His eyes are bloodshot and his skin looks ashy.
“Morning.” I leave out the good. It doesn’t seem fitting. “Where’s Yan?”
“He and Anton left.”
“Where did they go?”
“They’re meeting our government connection in Ostrava about putting pressure on the Hotel Paris manager.”
“Ostrava? When will they be back?”
“Tomorrow. I’m supposed to take care of you.” As if suddenly remembering an important task, he asks, “Can I make you breakfast? Eggs? You didn’t eat much yesterday.”
I shoot him a grateful smile. “Thanks, but I can take care of myself.” I grab a cup of coffee and take a seat next to him. “Rough night?”
He barely meets my eyes. “Listen, I owe you an apology.”
“What for?”
“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings yesterday. I didn’t know you and Yan were, uh, exclusive.”
Neither did I. It doesn’t make sense, but I do breathe easier knowing Yan won’t fuck anyone else while he’s fucking me. The hurt at seeing the brunette’s hand on his leg lifted after his declaration in the bathroom.
Not wanting to examine the reason behind that muddle of feelings, I brush the thought away. “You don’t owe me anything. What you do with your life is hardly my business.”
Yan’s twin drags a hand over his shaven head. “The thing is, you see, you are our business now.”
My laugh is uncomfortable. “I can see you’re a decent guy, Ilya. Surely, you don’t agree with what Yan is doing.” To me, that is. Nobody here has any problems with the assassination part of the business, myself included.
Ilya’s expression turns apologetic. “I may not agree, but I can’t let you go.”
Right. That’s why Ilya didn’t go with Yan and Anton. He stayed to babysit. Knowing how jealous Yan is of him, it can only mean Yan didn’t leave Anton with me because he can’t trust his bearded teammate not to hurt me.
I suppose I should be grateful for that.
I fake nonchalance. “I’m not going anywhere. This says so.” I point at the back of my neck.
Ilya flushes. “The tracker is for your safety.”
“Right.”
He shifts in his chair. “This doesn’t have to be bad for you. We’ll take good care of you.”
“Until Yan grows tired of me?” He didn’t bring me here to grow old with him.
Ilya’s eyes, as green as his brother’s, flare. “He won’t hurt you.”
“So when he no longer has a use for me, he’s just going to let me go?”
Conviction hardens his face. “I won’t let him kill you.”
“That’s sweet.” But an empty promise. I doubt Ilya is able to change any course of action once Yan’s mind is set.
The Russian cocks his head, regarding me with a peculiar expression. “How do you feel about my brother?”
I stare at him, taken aback. “How do you mean?”
“That night in Budapest, did you really choose him? Willingly, I mean.”
My cheeks turn warm. “I can’t deny that there was an attraction.”
“Was?”
The heat seeps down to my neck. “Is.” I can’t lie about this, no matter what this twisted attraction says about me.
I shake my head, giving him an apologetic smile.
His face drops. “Ah.”
“I don’t mean to hurt you. I can’t help how it is.”
He stares at his coffee. “I’m good. I get it.”
“Do you always share women with Yan?” I ask hesitantly, trying to understand this big, scary-looking man with the easily woundable heart.
Ilya shrugs. “There are, or rather were, exceptions. For the most part, we’re attracted to the same kind of women, and we don’t mind sharing with each other. On the rare occasion, it turns into a threesome.”
I clear my throat. “Doesn’t that feel weird? Sorry if it seems like I’m prying, but I have a hard time picturing the two of you together in bed.”
He grins. “You’d be surprised how many women have a twin fantasy.”
“Oh.” Not my cup of tea, but I can imagine how the two of them could turn a woman on. Resting my chin in my hand, I study him. He’s handsome, even if he doesn’t look that much like his twin. Yan is attractive in a sleek, dangerous way, while Ilya has a different appeal, more of a rougher, biker-type look. And there’s a reassuring side to him too, a certain humanity that Yan is lacking. I clear my throat again. “May I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“Why do you do it? Is it just to please the women, or do you get a kick from it, too?” His face tightens minutely, and I hastily add, “If the question is too personal, you don’t have to answer.”
He takes a breath and lets it out slowly. “I don’t know. I suppose… it makes me feel closer to Yan.”
My heart clenches. Behind the honesty, there’s an unspoken need for acceptance, approval. Both are basic human needs, the pillars of a healthy self-esteem. We get those fundamental pillars from our parents. If our parents fail to meet those needs, we search for them elsewhere. Ilya is looking for them in his twin. In sex.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Yan isn’t very good with emotions,” Ilya continues gruffly. “My brother, he… well, he usually only gives affection during sex. I don’t mean that he touches me—he doesn’t—but he’s less shielded. Freer, if that makes sense.”
I stare at him, the ache in my chest intensifying. I can feel the pain behind his words, the longing that he can’t quite hide. Like Yan, he’s never had a normal family, and whereas Yan has been able to manage his emotions by largely denying them, Ilya has latched on to his brother as the one constant in his life, channeling at him all the love that should’ve belonged to their parents.
A love that Yan can’t reciprocate outside of sex.
My stomach feels strangely tight at the thought, so I force it away, push it deep down where it can’t hurt me. Turning in my seat, I fold my arms around Ilya’s big frame. I’m not good with emotions either, but I can give him this, try to make him feel better at least for this one short moment.
His big frame is tense at first, but then he relaxes, the air escaping his lungs in a sigh as he lays his head on my shoulder. Awkwardly, I pat his back, then pull away, releasing him.
“You’re a nice guy, Ilya,” I say softly when his green eyes meet mine. “I like you. I really do.”
“But not like that?”
“No, not like that.”
He sighs and rubs the tattoo above his right ear. “If that changes, let me know.”
I punch him playfully. “Don’t hold your breath.”
“Hey.” He gives me a mock-frown. “I appreciate your honesty, but you could hold back just a little. Rejection stings.”
Despite his words, his tone is light, so I grin at him. “You’re a big man. You can handle it.”
He grins back. “Maybe, but I don’t get why Yan is so selfish when it comes to you. He’s never behaved like this with a woman.”
My smile fades. Discussing Yan makes me edgy, as does thinking about the reasons for his possessive behavior.
Like Ilya just said, Yan doesn’t give affection easily, so whatever’s between us can’t be more than just hot sex.
Thankfully, Ilya seems oblivious to my change in mood. “Are you sure I can’t fix you breakfast?” he asks, still grinning. “It’s no trouble, I promise.”
I think fast. This is an opportunity I can’t waste. I may not get another chance. Pasting on a smile, I say, “If you don’t mind, I’d rather go out for breakfast. I’m developing cabin fever.”
Understanding flashes in his eyes. “Is that why you’ve been acting so under the weather?” He stands and grabs his jacket from the back of the chair. “There’s a place nearby that makes mean pastries.”
Laying a hand on his arm, I say quietly, “Alone.”
He stills with a bewildered look.
“I need some time on my own. It’s hard to process everything that’s happened.”
He frowns. “Look, I know you have a lot on your plate, but—”
“Where am I going to go with a tracker embedded in my neck?”
The manipulation works. Guilt splashes over his features, stark and remorseful. I feel bad for deceiving him, but what choice do I have?
Slowly, he lowers the jacket. “Yan won’t like it.”
“He doesn’t have to know.”
Guilt transforms into doubt. “I don’t know.”
“Please, Ilya.” I get to my feet and grip his hand, staring at him with all the begging I can muster. “I’m not going to run.” At least, not for long.
After a moment’s hesitation, his shoulders sag. “Fine, but you come back here. Don’t make me call Yan in the middle of his meeting.”
“I’ll come back.” It’s a given, a part of my life I no longer have control over. Awkwardly, I add, “I’ll need some money.”
“Oh. Of course.” He reaches for the wallet in his back pocket and takes out a few bills, enough for ten generous breakfasts. “Here you go.”
Rising on tiptoes, I kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”
His smile is uncertain.
Before he can change his mind, I pull on a sweater and rush outside. I force myself to walk normally in case he’s looking through the window.
The minute I round the corner, I run.
18
Yan
It doesn’t take long to convince the government agent to cooperate. He’s not in favor of involving a prominent civilian, but he knows getting the Hotel Paris manager to work with us is our best bet.
We go through our plan with him. Mina, disguised as Natasha Petrova, will arrive with the fake da Vinci in a crate in case Dimitrov has the hotel watched, which I expect him to do. He’d be a fool not to, and the crime lord didn’t get to the top of the drug business by being a fool. Anton will accompany Mina, as Dimitrov will expect her to have a bodyguard. The hotel manager will let Petrova and her entourage—which will include Anton, Ilya, and me—use a private entrance to walk in unnoticed, something else Dimitrov will expect. A famous socialite like Petrova will demand privacy, and the hotel will happily oblige. She’s a frequent client, after all. The secrecy will reassure Dimitrov that the sale of the art will remain discreet.
Ilya and I will be disguised as transporters. Our job will be to carry the crate and open it in the Klimt suite. We could’ve gotten real transporters, but I want to make sure Mina gets in safely and that nothing is out of place. Once that’s done, Ilya and I will leave, making sure our exit is caught on camera. Timing is of the utmost importance. We’ll enter the elevator in which there is no security camera. Two hotel guards disguised as us will be already inside. We’ll exchange clothes, our company overalls for their suits, and hand over the keys for the delivery van.
They’ll get out on the ground floor and leave in the van in which we arrived. Dimitrov will have men outside watching. They will inform him of the transporters’ departure, and Ilya and I will exit on the rooftop, where we’ll have stored a rope and detachable sniper rifles. We’ll set up the rifles and use the rope to climb down to the balcony of the Klimt suite. It wil
l be a tricky descent, but we’ve done more dangerous stunts. Then we’ll get into position and wait.
In the meantime, Dimitrov and his team will arrive. Dimitrov’s guards will be heavily armed. They’ll sweep the suite before allowing Dimitrov inside to ensure there’s no one besides Mina—a.k.a. Natasha—and her bodyguard, no hidden weapons or planted bugs, and, of course, that the painting is there. They’ll search Mina and Anton for weapons or wires. The deal is that Mina, Dimitrov, and his art expert meet alone, as per Mina’s demands. Anton and Dimitrov’s guards will leave, letting Dimitrov and his expert into the room with Mina after Anton has searched them. No weapons inside the room. Only Dimitrov’s smartphone on which he’ll make the transfer after confirming the painting is authentic. Mina will offer Dimitrov champagne while the expert studies the painting. Pretending to get the champagne, she’ll slip into the bathroom and lock the door.
A couple of attractive hotel waitresses will serve snacks and vodka to distract the guards waiting in the hallway. While they’re eating and drinking, Anton will excuse himself to take a piss and disappear. As soon as Mina is out of sight, Ilya will hit the expert with a dart, and I’ll shoot Dimitrov. The idea is to sedate the expert to immobilize him and prevent him from alarming the guards. With the silencer, the guards outside won’t know what’s going on until it’s too late. Mina will get onto the balcony. Ilya will climb up, and we’ll lift her with the rope to the roof. Then I’ll join them, and the three of us will make our way outside, where Anton will be waiting with our getaway car.
It’s a good plan. It’s as good as foolproof. But something can always go wrong. I don’t like that Mina will be involved. Risking her life has a strange effect on me. It makes the thought of locking her up in that tower all the more appealing. Admittedly, she’s a crucial part of the plan. Without Natasha Petrova, there is no plan.
This morning, before Anton and I had left, I told Ilya about my reservations.
“I don’t like it,” I said, “that Mina’s life will be at risk.”