Page 91 of Vitaly

I’m not going to be able to stop. I don’t intend on trying.

But it doesn’t matter. Five seconds don’t pass before there are two guards running into the garden. One tackles me, sending me colliding with the ground while Nikita gasps for air.

A boot connects with my stomach, then one with my back. The guards take turns kicking me while Nikita stands and swipes dirt from his clothes.

“Enough,” he eventually growls.

The kicks stop, leaving behind aches in various parts of my body.

“Leave us.”

The guards storm away so it’s just Nikita and me. When I sit up, his hands are tucked into his pockets, and he stares at me like I’m a splattered bug on his freshly cleaned windshield.

“Today, I learned you’ve been conspiring to take me out… I should kill you now, but yet again, your mother is getting to me. She always used to tell me that everyone deserves a secondchance, so I suppose you, Vitaly, are going to get a third… Aren’t I merciful?”

When my sole response is a glare, he raises a brow. He really does want an answer.

I look off and shake my head with a bitter laugh. “Fuck you.”

Nikita humphs. “You know, that’s the first curse word I’ve heard you say since your return. And here I thought you’d become a good boy.” He turns and walks a few feet away before speaking over his shoulder. “I’m throwing a little party Saturday night, and good news, our Italian friends have RSVPed. I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you.”

With that, he leaves me on the garden floor, wondering what hell he has in store for us all next. I do know one thing for certain now.

He’s heavily guarded and is no Julius Cesar. It’s going to take more than a knife to the back to kill Nikita, especially since his back is being monitored at all times.

Roman better have a good plan.

25

MILA

Ican’t stop pacing.

The sun set a long time ago, and the living room of the little house in the desert has dimmed with only the orange glow of the fireplace to illuminate it. The blackout curtains are drawn—not by my doing but by Roman’s insistence—so not even the moonlight or the desert snakes keep me company.

The fire is too warm, but I keep stoking it. Let the sweat on my forehead gather and my hair dampen, just to keep my body alert. It casts my shadow along the wall as I move like a manic villain in the tiny space.

Thirty-four hours and I’m already going insane.

When an engine purrs outside, I halt my steps, my eyes narrowing as I stare at the door.

No one is supposed to come here. Not until Saturday night, after Nikita and his men are taken out. Not that I planned to wait until then, but no one should be here.

My heart pounds faster as I creep to stand beside the door, pulling the kitchen knife from the pair of sweats I found in a drawer. I hold it at the ready.

When the door opens, shielding me from view, I clench the knife, listening closely for anyone behind the intruder, but I hear only one set of steps. I raise the knife as the person steps into view and am ready to strike, but when I spot the tattoos poking from Vitaly’s collar, I freeze.

My eyes close as my breath stutters.

“Hey there, killer,” he says, shutting the door.

The knife clatters to the wooden floor as I open my eyes and fling myself into his arms, pressing my cheek firmly against his chest. I could just as easily deck him.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” I admonish before breathing in his scent like I can trap it if only I take enough in.

“I know.”

“It’s dangerous.”

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