Page 76 of Trapping His Assassin

The helicopter had dropped us far away, and we took the military trucks down to the outskirts of a historic Villa Malaparte.

“Then why did we need so many men?” I muttered.

“Because, baby, we have to protect the recovered assets, as we transport them back to Russia,” Roman growled in my ear.

“Russia!” I was shocked. “You weren’t serious about trading them back to their families, were you?” My head turned toward his abruptly, and our lips brushed against each other’s. I shuddered, but ignored the hot feeling racing through my body.

“Yes, our Pakhan has given an order, and we are executing it.” This came from Benedikt.

I nodded, trying to sit back. But Roman wasn’t having it. He unbuckled me and hauled me across his lap. His nose brushed the back of my neck as he took in my scent.

“You smell so fucking good, wifey.” He placed a gentle kiss on my neck, and wrapped his arms around my stomach, keeping me in place.

The caravan halted abruptly, sending a jolt through the surveillance van where I sat, my heart hammering against my ribcage. Roman’s men exited in a silent, coordinated rush, their movements efficient and precise, each step echoing the simmering rage that had brought us here. Benedikt, hunched over a map, handed Roman a walkie-talkie with a curt nod.

“Headmaster Mikhail’s office is on the second floor,” Benedikt said, his voice devoid of any warmth. “The light’s on. He’s in there.”

I clutched the walkie-talkie, feeling Roman’s tension thrumming through the air. He was more than eager to deal with the headmaster himself—this wasn’t just a hit; this was vengeance. I watched through the grainy feed of the body cams as the men approached the decrepit academy, the silhouette of Roman’s broad figure unmistakable as he stormed toward the main building, determination etched into every step.

My eyes darted to the sniper’s feed, Nikolay’s camera panning over the academy grounds as he lay hidden atop one of the classroom buildings. His scope zeroed in on Mikhail, the headmaster’s face illuminated by the pale glow of his laptop, his disgusting grin frozen in place as his hand moved under the desk. I felt bile rise in my throat as I realized what was happening. He wasn’t alone.

“Oh my God,” I breathed, pressing the walkie-talkie to my lips. “There’s someone else in the room.”

Roman’s image flickered on the screen, pausing as he absorbed my words. He turned his head slightly, his expressiondarkening. Benedikt leaned closer to the monitor, his brows furrowed as he scrutinized the room’s layout. “Is it one of the girls?” Benedikt asked, his tone sharp.

I zoomed in, my stomach lurching at the sight of a tiny hand clutching Mikhail’s leg, Isadora’s tear-streaked face barely visible from beneath the desk.

“She’s under the desk,” I choked out, my voice strained. “He has her...”

Benedikt’s jaw clenched, and Roman’s figure stilled as he stood outside the headmaster’s door, the handle inches from his grasp. The tension in the van was suffocating, the air thick with anticipation and revulsion. Roman’s hand tightened around the walkie-talkie, his knuckles turning white.

“She’s not in the target range,” Nikolay confirmed, his voice calm, professional.

Roman’s gaze flickered up to the bodycam on his second in command, and I saw a storm brewing in his eyes. He didn’t hesitate. “Stay back,” Roman ordered through the comms, his voice a deadly whisper that sent a chill down my spine. “This one’s mine.”

I watched, unable to tear my eyes away, as Roman kicked the door open with a thunderous crash, wood splintering under the force of his boot. He crossed the room in two furious strides, ripping the headmaster from his chair like a rag doll. Mikhail’s laptop crashed to the floor, the screen flickering and dying as Roman dragged him toward the ceiling hook. Mikhail’s muffled screams filled the audio feed, guttural and frantic, the pathetic sounds of a man who knew his time had come.

I flinched, my breath catching as Roman hoisted the headmaster up, chains rattling as Mikhail dangled upside down, his face contorted in terror. Roman’s silhouette loomed over him, every movement precise, calculated, fueled by a cold, unrelenting rage.

“You think you can touch what’s mine?” Roman’s voice was low, almost conversational, but it carried the weight of every unspeakable horror Mikhail had inflicted. “You tried to take from me? Now, I take everything from you.”

I watched, my nails digging into the armrest, as Roman grabbed his knife and sliced it clean across his throat. I held back my victorious shout until I saw what he did next. His hand shot out, and with a sickening, visceral twist, Roman plunged it into the gaping wound, fingers closing around the vertebrae. I recoiled, horrified yet unable to look away, as he ripped the spine from Mikhail’s body, tearing it out with a grotesque wet sound. Mikhail’s lifeless form shuddered once, twice, and then went limp, suspended grotesquely from the ceiling.

Roman lifted the knife again, and sliced the fingers off one of Mikhail’s hands before reaching down and picking them up, tucking them into his pocket.

The van was silent, the only sound the static of the comms as Roman dropped the spine onto the desk, a bloodied symbol of his wrath. I could hardly breathe, the brutality of what I’d just witnessed burning itself into my mind. Roman turned to the camera, his eyes dark and unyielding, and I knew without a doubt that this was the end of something awful—and the beginning of something far worse.

“It’s done,” Roman said, his voice satisfied. He turned away from the gruesome display, his focus shifting back to the mission. “Get the girls. We’re leaving.”

Benedikt’s voice crackled through the comms, organizing the next steps as Roman left the scene of carnage behind. I exhaled shakily, my hands trembling as I set the walkie-talkie down, the image of Mikhail’s torn body still vivid in my mind. Roman’s vengeance was brutal, merciless—but in this twisted world, it was the only justice these monsters would ever know.

I watched as Roman walked to the vehicle. When he got to the doors, he cut the camera feed, but I was already moving out of my seat to fling them open. I glomped onto him and squeezed tight.

“Thank goodness you’re alright. Did you get Isa?” I looked around him, trying to catch a glimpse of my sister.

“Benedikt is taking care of that. You should see her soon,” he soothed. I turned to look at the hellhole I’d been forced to live in. When a shudder ran down my spine, Roman stepped closer and kissed the bottom of my neck, distracting me. “I’ve got a gift for you.”

“What?” I murmured, turning my head slightly so our mouths were a breath apart.

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