I watched her get out of the car. Her hands trembled with the fury I had caused.
Good.
The tremor in her hands didn't make me feel remorse. It brought a cold, dark satisfaction. Control had been established. She could hate me, she could challenge me, but now she knew who was in charge. She wasn't a victim of me. She was a symbol.
The spoiled princess of the Moretti empire, living in a luxury bought with blood and betrayal.
With my father's blood.
Every defiant look she threw my way was an insult to my father's memory. Viktor Petrov rotted in the ground, and the man responsible had raised her to sleep in silk sheets. My mission wasn't just a job; it was justice. The threat I whispered in her ear wasn't cruelty. It was a tool.
I followed her back into the mansion, a palace of cold marble. She went up the stairs without looking back and slammed her bedroom door.
Seconds later, I heard the muffled sound of the shower turning on.
Predictable.
This was my chance. I had twenty minutes, minimum. Twenty minutes to find the flash drive. The "insurance policy" my father had foolishly given his killer.
I slipped into her room without a sound. It smelled like her, vanilla and florals. I ignored it. This wasn't a sanctuary. It was a battlefield.
I started the search.
The nightstand: perfume bottles and a book. The desk: sketchpads and charcoal pencils. Under the bed: nothing but dust. My gaze landed on a silver picture frame on the desk. A younger version of her, maybe fourteen, smiling for the camera, arm in arm with an elegant woman who had the same brown eyes. Her mother.
For a millisecond, the image hit me. The pure innocence in that smile... the innocence I had crushed myself in that alley.
I shoved the thought away. Weakness was not an option.
My search led me to the enormous, unmade bed. In the center, propped against a mountain of silk pillows, was a worn teddy bear.
Hector.
I picked it up. Heavy. I squeezed it, feeling the dense stuffing. A perfect hiding spot.
But my mind scoffed. Moretti, hide the key to his destruction in a child's toy? Pathetic.
I tossed the bear back on the bed in disgust.
My phone vibrated. Encrypted number.
Marcos.
I answered, my voice a whisper. "Yes."
"Report," his voice was tense.
"I'm in. Started the search. Nothing."
"Nothing isn't good enough, Dante Volkov," he snapped, using my cover name. "Pressure is building. Find it. And then... Avenge your father, Leo. Kill the girl."
"I will," I started to say, but a sound froze the blood in my veins.
The shower stopped.
I ended the call, shoving the phone in my pocket. I moved toward the door, fast and silent, but I knew.
Too late.
The bathroom door opened. A cloud of peach-scented steam rolled out.
And then, she appeared.
Isabella Moretti.
Wrapped in a white towel that barely covered her thighs. Her wet hair clung to her flushed skin. A single drop of water slid down her collarbone, into the valley between her breasts.
My eyes followed it.
For an instant, the soldier was gone. The avenger was gone. All that was left was a man.
A man staring at the most forbidden beauty he had ever seen.
The air grew thick, heavy with a tension that had nothing to do with my mission.
Her eyes widened. Shock turned to a storm of fury.
The fear was gone, replaced by cold violation.
Her lips parted.
"What are you doing here?"