Page 109 of Sinful Promise

Feet. Boots like Roman’s.

I have to shoot him, or he will find me at any second.

Holding the gun securely like I was taught, I lean out and pull the trigger. I’m not nervous anymore. It’s similar to the fight or flight response I had at the church, only there is no second guessing.

He curses in Russian and drops, firing his weapon.

There are four of them and two of us.

Fuckity fuck.

I glance around to make sure I’m in the clear. I stand, firing at his chest before he can squeeze another round out of the chamber. He goes down and I walk past him, kicking his gun across the kitchen floor.

I cautiously creep toward the living room. I know the layout.

Think, Dasha, think.

The foyer is destroyed, and a man is bleeding out. Another man has his face badly smashed.

Francesca’s work, I’m sure. Irina let it slip that she used to be a boxer. I’m in good hands.

I slip closer to the living room and remember there is a mirrored wall to the right of the refrigerated wine wall. I bend down and look in the mirror. Albert is fighting Francesca.

My brother, the one I thought was helping us, is here for me.

Did Katsia know he’s on the wrong team? Did Francesca know? She made it clear that if anyone who showed up here tonight was an enemy. I have a feeling she’s been in on more of Roman’s planning of tonight than I thought.

How the fuck did this even happen? I thought Vlad hated me and Albert loved me. How did I get this so wrong? And did I inadvertently set Roman up?

I’m in a state of denial. None of this is making sense.

Francesca throws a kick, and he attempts to catch her foot but only succeeds in knocking her off balance. She recovers and pulls the knife from the elastic holder attached to her leg. She lunges at Albert, who pulls back just in time. He has good reflexes.

Francesca drops to the floor, catching Albert off guard. She balances herself on her arm and swings her legs wide, knocking him to the floor.

She and Albert wrestle. I stare at them in shock, mesmerized by the fight. They hit each other, and Albert grabs her hair and neck. His face is heated.

Francesca flips to her back and puts her legs around his neck, then pulls him down to her. Keeping her head close to his, she rolls and pops out her leg so she’s half standing. She moves quickly, pinning his arms behind his back.

She pushes his face to the tile. “Fuck you bitch,” he yells in Russian. “You’re going to die.”

“Perhaps, but not today,” she replies coolly.

I enter the room and point my gun at him. “It’s me, Francesca.”

“Great, find me some rope,” she says, a bit breathless.

I run into the kitchen. Nothing, so I dash into the garage. There are three sports cars inside. I throw open cabinets until I find some thin rope. I rush back inside and give the rope to Francesca.

“Albert, why?” I ask as Francesca swiftly ties Albert’s hands in a peculiar knot.

We’re interrupted by the sound of skidding tires and numerous male voices, all jabbering simultaneously.

Roman rushes into the room and catches us standing there as if we have our hands in a cookie jar. He takes one look at my brother’s bonds, and the tense atmosphere in the room breaks. “The twisted monk, seriously?” He smirks. “You are one twisted wench.”

“Stick with what you know.” She shrugs. “That’s what they say.

She picks up her knife and puts it back in the holder on her leg.

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