**DOMINIC**
The cold air hit me the second I stepped out of her building.
It should have cleared my head. It didn't.
I could still feel the softness of her skin against mine. Feel the ghost of her pussy clenching around my rod. Taste her on my tongue. My dick was half-hard, straining against my pants like a bastard reminder that I'd left unfinished business behind.
I clenched my jaw and adjusted myself with the heel of my palm. Useless. The image of her sprawled on that bed, lips swollen, eyes dazed, wouldn't leave my head.
Fuck.
I'd broken protocol. Left the bar with a woman I didn't know. Let my guard down. Let her see my gun and didn't flinch when she showed me hers. Stayed the night like some lovesick idiot instead of disappearing before dawn like I should have.
The little she-devil had me by the balls and she didn't even know it.
My phone buzzed again in my pocket. The same message that had dragged me out of her bed. Yurik. Business. Reality crashing back in like a fist to the gut.
I spotted Kuzma leaning against the Mercedes, scrolling through his phone. The moment he saw me, he straightened, shoved the phone in his pocket, and opened the back door without a word.
Smart man.
I slid into the back seat, the leather cold against my skin. Kuzma got behind the wheel, glanced at me in the rearview mirror, and I caught the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes.
"Not. A. Word." My voice was flat, cold. A warning.
His smirk vanished. "You got it, boss. Where to?"
"Work. I have a guest waiting for me."
He nodded and pulled into traffic. I leaned back, watched the city lights blur past the window, and tried to shift my brain from the warmth of her body to the cold reality of what I had to do.
It didn't work.
Her voice kept echoing in my head. "Should I be scared?" No fear. Just a challenge. Like she was daring me to be dangerous.
Most women would have bolted the second they saw the gun. She'd put hers next to mine like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I dragged a hand down my face and exhaled hard.
Focus. Isaac Wilson. The job. That's what mattered now.
But my mind kept drifting back to the way she'd looked at me over her coffee cup this morning. Calm. Curious. Unafraid.
Dangerous recognizes dangerous.
Twenty minutes later, Kuzma pulled up to the base of the hill. The mansion sat above us, dark except for a few strategically placed lights. From the outside, it resembled any other wealthy family's estate. Clean. Respectable. Boring.
Inside was a different story.
"Stop here," I said. "Go home, Kuzma."
He blinked, surprised. "You sure, boss?"
"Your wife's been texting you for the past ten minutes. Go."
Relief flashed across his face. "Thank you, Mr. Romanov."
I waved him off and climbed out. The night air was sharp, cold. I welcomed it. Needed it to snap me back into the right headspace.
The guards at the gate nodded as I passed. I didn't acknowledge them. My boots crunched on the gravel path leading up to the double doors.
I checked my watch. 01:40. Late. Perfect.
The front door swung open before I reached it.
"Took you long enough."
Yurik leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, that insufferable smirk plastered across his face. His blonde hair was messy, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked like he'd been waiting for hours just to annoy me.
"Watch it," I said, brushing past him. "I'm not above breaking a knee or two."
"You look like you just got laid." He followed me through the foyer, his footsteps echoing on the marble. "Got that 'I just came three times' glow about you."
I shot him a glare. "Be quiet."
"Your hair's a mess, by the way." He reached up like he was going to fix it, and I swatted his hand away.
"Touch me and I'll break your fingers."
He grinned wider. Bastard. "Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me. Might want to wipe that cum off your mouth, though."
My hand flew to my lips instinctively. His laughter exploded through the hallway, loud and obnoxious.
I realized too late. There was nothing there.
"Made you look!" Yurik doubled over, cackling like a hyena.
I cracked him across the back of the head. Hard.
"Ow! Fuck, Domo, that hurt."
"Good. You're unbelievably annoying."
"You love me," he said, rubbing his head but still grinning.
I didn't answer. Headed straight for the downstairs bathroom instead. I needed to wash her off my skin. Get my head straight.
When I came out, Yurik was leaning against the wall, waiting.
Of course he was.
"Your guest is downstairs," he said, falling into step beside me. He pulled two switchblades from his jacket, held them up to the light. Both were custom-made, engraved with Cyrillic script. "Which one should I use? I like them both, but I don't want to get both dirty. You see my dilemma?"
"Use the one in your dominant hand. It's the one you like most."
"Smart." He flipped the right one open with a practiced flick. The blade gleamed.
We descended the stairs into the basement. The air grew colder, damper. One of my men stood guard at the door. He stepped aside without a word.
I pushed the door open.
The room was dark except for a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. It cast harsh shadows across the concrete floor. In the center of the room, bound to a chair, was Isaac Wilson.
His hands were wrenched behind his back, wrists zip-tied to the chair legs. A gag had been shoved in his mouth. His blue dress shirt was soaked with sweat, the tie hanging loose and askew. Blood crusted under his nose. Someone had already roughed him up.
Good.
I flicked on the overhead light. Isaac flinched, squinting against the sudden brightness.
"Ah, Mr. Wilson." I smiled. "So nice to finally meet you."
He screamed into the gag, thrashing against the restraints. His eyes were wide, wild with fear.
I shrugged off my jacket, draped it over a nearby chair, and rolled up my sleeves. Yurik moved to the corner, grabbed a pair of black gloves from the table, and tossed them to me.
I pulled them on slowly. Let him watch. Let the fear build.
"Take it out," I said to Yurik.
He ripped the gag from his mouth. Isaac sucked in a sharp breath, choked out a cough, and spit flew as he grimaced.
"Please," he choked out. "Please, I don't know why I'm here. You've got the wrong guy. I swear."
I grabbed a chair, dragged it across the floor with a screech that made Isaac flinch, and sat down directly in front of him.
"Mr. Wilson, quit whining like a child, or I'll have that young man over there pound you to a pulp!" I roared.
"How did you know my name?" he asked, his voice trembling with fear.
I smiled. Didn't answer. Just looked at Yurik.
Yurik stepped closer, snapped the knife open with a flick of his wrist, the sharp click making Isaac flinch and whimper.
"Wait, please, I...."
Yurik grabbed Isaac's head, yanked it back, and dragged the tip of the blade along his jawline. Slow. Precise. A thin red line welled up, blood trickling down his neck.
Isaac screamed. High-pitched. Pathetic.
I let it echo for a moment before I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees.
"I'm the one asking questions here. Is that understood?"
Isaac nodded frantically, tears streaming down his face.
"Good." I leaned back. "Now. Tell me about your wife."
His face went pale. "My... my wife?"
"Lola. Pretty name. Shame you made her life a living hell."
"I don't... I don't know what you're talking about. She... she's fine. We're fine."
I pulled my gun from my waistband. Let it rest casually in my lap.
"Try again."
"I swear! I've never... she's my wife! I would never..."
I cocked the gun. The sound cut through his stammering like a blade.
"Then why did you threaten to kill her if she went to the cops? Why did you tell her you'd bury her where no one would find her?"
Isaac's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
And then he laughed.
A wet, broken laugh that turned into a cackle. His head lolled back, and he grinned at me with bloodied teeth.
"That dumb bitch actually did it. I didn't think she had it in her."
I stood. Slowly. Pressed the barrel of the gun against his kneecap.
"What did you just call her?"
"You should try it sometime," he said, still grinning. "Pussy's best when they're crying and begging you to...."
I pulled the trigger.
The shot cracked through the room. Isaac's scream followed, raw and animal. His body convulsed, the chair legs scraping against the floor.
I watched him writhe for a moment, then turned to Yurik.
"He's all yours. Make it last."
Yurik's grin was feral. "With pleasure."
I walked toward the door, Isaac's sobs and pleas fading behind me.
"Wait! Please! I'll pay you! Whatever she's paying, I'll triple it!"
I paused at the door. Didn't turn around.
"I'm not doing this for money."
I stepped out. Closed the door. The screaming muffled to a dull echo.
The job was done. This was my world. But my world had just been permanently, and infuriatingly, rearranged by a woman whose name I'd already memorized.
Find her.
The thought came not as a question, but as my next mission.