Page 1 of Belgian Betrayal

Chapter 1

Catya Romanov adjusted her headset, not at all happy to be working in tandem with another assassin. She preferred to work alone. Less fuss. No unnecessary communication. No other personalities involved.

She’d read the dossier and researched the target. When assigned a mark, Catya made certain the intended target was a menace to society and deserved elimination before she moved in with her choice of weapon to do the job.

When she didn’t think the person deserved to die, she refused to get involved.

Today’s target: Gia Rosolino, the thirty-four-year-old daughter of the late Rocco Rosolino. Her father had been known to facilitate the sale and transfer of illegal weapons from their origin, usually in Russia, to buyers in various war-torn regions, even supplying opposing forces simultaneously.

Gia’s dossier implicated her as Rocco’s right arm in the negotiations, sales and transport of the illegal arms trafficking operations.

Catya had spent some time on her laptop, looking up whatever information she could find on the woman, who was not much older than herself. What she discovered didn’t entirely match the dossier.

The woman worked as a preschool teacher and volunteered at a nursing home in Florence on weekends. That didn’t sound like someone heavily involved in the illegal arms trade.

Given what she’d found...or rather not found, she would have declined the assignment. Family connections didn’t necessarily define an individual.

The fact that her handler had insisted she work with another assassin to neutralize a target had given Catya a bad feeling about the entire affair—a sure sign she should walk away. And yet, she hadn’t.

She’d met with her counterpart, MI6 agent Peter Atkins, briefly that morning. To her, Atkins was a known quantity, considering only a handful of highly skilled professional assassins existed, employed by individuals and governments worldwide. The MI6 agent was loyal to his country and, like Catya, only took out targets who’d orchestrated events of mass genocide or were major influencers, working to destabilize a country or region.

Catya wondered why Atkins hadn’t balked when handed the Gia Rosolino’s assignment. Yes, Gia’s father had been up to his eyeballs in arming bad guys worldwide, but that didn’t mean his preschool teacher daughter had picked up where he’d left off upon his sudden death. Catya’s contacts had confirmed her suspicions that Rocco’s death had been an assassination. His expansive home on the outskirts of Florence had burned to the ground with him inside, a bullet through his forehead.

Gia hadn’t been taken out at the same time because she had been on vacation on Lago Maggiore in northern Italy. By the time word had gotten out of Rocco’s death, Gia had disappeared.

Until now.

Catya had flown into Rome from Amsterdam. Atkins had come from London. A rental car awaited them at the airport along with Gia’s dossier and location in a packet inside the vehicle.

They were to move in at nightfall, take out Ms. Rosolino and head back to the airport. Along with the packet containing the dossier, they’d discovered a pair of radio headsets to allow them to communicate during the mission.

Catya wanted to understand why someone had put a mark on this Rosolino—preferably before Atkins jumped in and finished the job, no questions asked.

When they’d met that morning in Rome, she’d stood toe-to-toe with the assassin, nearly as tall as he was and every bit as intimidating, relying on the fact that her reputation preceded her in the business.

Chin held high, she’d told him, “I will go in first and assess the situation.” Catya poked a finger at the man’s chest. “You will watch the rear exit to ensure Ms. Rosolino does not slip out the back. If, and only if, I need backup inside, I will call you in to assist.”

“That’s not how I work,” Atkins had argued.

“Yeah, well, I work alone.”

“We should go in together, from both sides,” Atkins suggested.

Catya shook her head. “I will go in first. You will remain outside.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Or I’ll perform the hit, and you can return to Russia.”

Before Atkins could raise a hand to defend himself, Catya had a knife out of the sheath at her waist and pressed to Atkin’s carotid artery. “We’ll do it my way, or I will waste one of MI6’s assets.”

“Fine. When you put it that way, I can see your point,” Atkins said through gritted teeth. “And feel it.”

Standing outside the townhouse in an affluent part of Rome, Catya waited for the sun to set, cloaking her movements as she moved closer to the building.

A tree grew beside the front stoop, rising over the top of the roof, casting eerie shadows over the townhouse and the cars lined up in a neat row against the curb.

The townhouse belonged to one of Rosolino’s cousins. MI6 intel had traced Rocco’s daughter to this location after her return from her vacation.

Catya and Atkins had staked it out for most of the day. No one had gone in or come out, making Catya wonder if anyone was in the townhouse.

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