Page 5 of Twisted Fate

I’m not beyond a little arrogance. I know that I’m good—as good as he claims, even if I don’t think I can easily take out the heir to a Bratva crime family. But Kane’s plan might work.

And if it does…

Think about it, Valentina. Everything you’ve worked for. It’s this… or more time working for Kane. Another year—maybe more…

All I have to do is pretend to be married to a man I plan to kill. All of those things that most women get to dream of—awedding dress, a ceremony, saying vows, a reception, a wedding night… for me, all of those will be fake, the first time that I experience them. Maybe the only time.

But is this really the line I can’t cross? Is something that I’ve never imagined I’d ever really have worth being precious over, when this could give me my freedom?

I know the answer to that, but I feel an ache in my chest all the same.

I look up, meeting his gaze. “This is the last job,” I say firmly. “I mean it, Kane. If I do this, I get the name, and everything that goes along with it. All the information you have at your disposal and anything you can do to help me get what I want.”

Kane nods. “Of course. You’ve more than earned your freedom. But I can’t trust this job to anyone else, Valentina. Surely you understand that.”

It’s flattery meant to disarm me. To make me feel special, instead of trapped. I hate that it works, just a little. That I feel the same warm satisfaction at knowing that I’ve pleased him that I’ve felt since I was a child.

I hate that Iwanthim to be proud of me. That even after all these years, I crave that love and adoration from the man who’s been my father since I was eight.

“I’ll do it. But I’ll need anything you have on him that can help me ensure that he chooses me, anything that will get me closer to him. Routines, likes and dislikes, preferences in women. All of it.”

“Most of that is in there.” Kane gestures to the folio in my hands. “Anything else, you can learn during your courtship. I have faith in you, Valentina. You’ve come so far since you were that frightened girl that I brought home. You won’t fail.”

His words ring with sincerity. But as I stand, the folio clutched in my hands as I turn to leave, I can hear what’s unspoken as well.

You won’t fail. Or else.

2

VALENTINA

Itake the folio, go upstairs to change, and head out to the beach. I can feel the eyes on me as soon as I reach the boardwalk, but I’m used to it. A few whistles reach my ears as I slide off my linen sundress and toss it onto the corner of my beach blanket, revealing a turquoise bikini and most of my lean, muscled curves, but I ignore them. I don’t mind the attention, really. I’m well aware of what I look like, and I’ve worked hard for every inch of taut skin and tight muscle on my frame.

Reaching up, I pull my thick, dark, wavy hair into a high ponytail, and tuck the leather folio under my dress before heading down to the water. My plan was to sit out here with a canned cocktail and read the dossier on Konstantin Abramov, but right now all I want is to feel the cool Florida water rushing over my feet, the sand between my toes, and the warm sun on my skin. I’ve missed it here, and I want a moment to just behomebefore I start researching my next job.

Mymarriage. The thought still sends a flood of adrenaline through me, prickling my skin and setting my teeth on edge, and I need a minute to decompress before I let myself really thinkabout what this means. What I’m going to do, in service of the goal that I’ve chased for most of my life.

The sand burns the soles of my feet as I head down to the water’s edge, but it feels good. It grounds me in an odd way, makes me feel alive. Jobs like the one I just finished are hell on the psyche. Alone in an isolated hotel room for days and days on end, the world narrowed down to what’s visible on the other end of a scope, it’s easy to disassociate. To forget that I inhabit a living, breathing body.

The cool water laps at my ankles as I step into it, and I close my eyes and tilt my head back, letting the sun warm my face.Home. The word beats behind my ribs, relaxing me, making me feel as if I can breathe fully for the first time in almost two weeks. This place, this city, has always been my home. I don’t remember much of where I spent those first eight years of my childhood, but I’ve been told that’s normal. That the mind sometimes blocks out memories that are too painful to bear.

What I remember is in pieces. Fragments of shouting, and tears, and the scent of gunpowder and blood. I cried the first time Kane made me shoot a gun at thirteen, when the scent brought me right back to that moment, cowering behind the living room sofa as I heard my father shout and my mother wail.

Now, it doesn’t bother me any longer. I don’t think so, anyway. If it does, that feeling is buried under layers and layers of armor, the psychological defenses that I’ve built up over the years to withstand the toll that this job takes otherwise. I know the work I doshouldbother me, but it doesn’t.

I wade deeper, letting the water rise to my knees, then my thighs. The ocean has always calmed me, even on my worst days. Even after my bloodiest jobs. I dive under a wave, feeling the saltwater envelop me completely, washing away what remains of the tension in my muscles. When I surface, I push my wet hair back from my face and float on my back, staring up at thecloudless blue sky. All I smell is salt and brine and the faint tang of seaweed, the blue water lapping all around me.

I draw in a deep breath, and release it, tipping upright in the water once more. Kane has given me a nearly impossible job as my final hurrah for him. But if I’m successful—as he clearly believes I can be—then I’ll be done. I’ll finally have what I’ve been working toward all this time.

The truth.

And more than that… the opportunity to finally put the past behind me and start a new life. One that can be whatever I want it to be.

If I have to live a lie for a few weeks or months—however long this engagement will be—it’s worth it. Surely, after all the blood I’ve spilled, some fake vows and pretending to be someone else aren’t the things I can’t get past.

Pivoting, I curl my toes into the sand, shoving off as I start to swim through the lapping waves, out to where the water darkens, and then lightens again near a sandbar. By the time I reach the sandbar, my muscles are burning pleasantly, and I let myself rest for just a moment before shoving off again and swimming back to shore. The beach has filled with more people by the time I walk up the sand and back to my blanket—families with children building sandcastles, couples walking hand in hand, groups of friends laughing and drinking. Normal people living normal lives. I've never known what that's like.

I’ve never had friends. Never had a real boyfriend. I lost my virginity to a Greek shipping magnate that I was assigned to kill, as a part of my cover, posing as an escort that he hired for a week-long trip. He fucked me hard enough that I didn’t have to explain why there was blood on the sheets.

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