“Go over, now,” he barks when he rips his mouth from mine. I grab his hair and pull him down to me.
“I’m fucking coming,” I yell in his face as my back arches. “Vitaly,” I scream his name.
He shudders above me as he pushes through the spasms of my pussy. He plants himself deep inside me and groans my name. “Anatonia.” As always, I shudder from the way he says my name.
He collapses on me. His heavy weight feels so necessary at this moment. I’m not thinking about if I’m pregnant. I’m only thinking about us and this bubble we have right here. There is only him and me.
* * *
I look out the windshield of my car at the runway where the private plane I set up is waiting for me. I left Vitaly an hour ago with a kiss and a promise he would call me when he’s done. He took my private burner cell number. I don’t want to think about the lies still hanging between us.
I gave Vitaly my heart. I can’t lose another person I love because of Konstantin. He has taken too much from me already. He trained me to kill. I protected his enemies for years, and now I’m going to protect the man I love from him. Every bit of my training will be used to kill him.
Vitaly thinks I was going back to the mansion. Before he knows it, I’ll be gone, and he won’t know where to find me. I leave my car key in the glove box; the service will pick it up for storage. If I survive this, I’ll get all my things moved to wherever I settle down.
I walk across the asphalt in my heels, the slim fit black leather pants mold to my body. The black duster jacket belted at the waist and the thin shell top underneath covers my tattoos on my chest and arms. I step onto the plane and take in the flight attendant. She offers to take my bag, but I keep a hold of it. Flying private means I can carry my guns and weapons, but it also means I don’t want others to know I have them on me.
“Ms. Auclair, would you like a drink?”
“Water, please.” I use a French accent I perfected years ago. I made sure I have a complete cover. I’m a French businesswoman returning home to Paris after a stop in Moscow for a meeting. I work for a fashion house in Paris. No one will be the wiser because the plane will take off for Paris a day after I get off in Moscow. It will register that I flew out, but of course, I won’t be on the plane. My next alias will start in Moscow.
As the plane takes off, I look out the window knowing I’m never going to be back there again. Even if I survive this, I’ll have to go into hiding. The Bratva will have been brought to its knees, but it will cause open warfare against me. Contracts will go out for my death. I don’t know who my uncle’s current second-in-command is, but whoever he is, he will take up the mantle and come after me for killing the Pakhan.
I lean back in the seat and fall asleep for a while.
I’ve been running for what feels like years, but it’s only been a month. As soon as I fought back against Igor, I knew my life would be moot. So I’m running to where I knew my life was good when I was a small child. It’s taken this long to get from St. Petersburg to Sicily, even with all the contacts I’ve developed with the KGB. I couldn’t use very many directly associated with Maxim because he’s pulled them and issued a recall on me. I’m to be sent back to Moscow for insubordination.
The only reason I have the job with the KGB is so my uncle can use the government and myself to get rid of his competition. I walk across the beach toward the estate that I’ve been told a man named Lupo lives at. Memories start to flood my mind. I remember playing on this very beach. My mama building sandcastles with me.
I don’t understand why he never came for me. I watch as a man walks along the beach by himself. He’s looking out at the water, not paying attention to his surroundings. I notice guards up near the house, so I keep my head down, my long hair covering my face. I look just like a wandering tourist.
I get closer to the man.
He turns and through the curtain of my hair, I see his long dark hair sprinkled with gray. His beard and mustache trimmed close to his face have more gray hair than dark brown. He turns to look at me, pausing in his observation.
“This is a private beach, young lady.” His voice rolls through my memories. I recognize the language as Italian. I haven’t spoken it in so long.
“Papa,” I cry out. His eyes flare wide, his jaw dropping as he takes me in.
I can’t stop the need to run toward him, and I’m taken down by a guard before I get to him. I come up fighting, taking the guard to ground, my fingers wrapped around his throat ready to kill him. But I don’t. I hold the guard’s life in my very hands, letting the others see I’ll kill if they don’t step back.
I look up into his eyes and find him watching me. He’s a little older than me, except I’ve lived through more than he has. I can see it in his fear.
My gaze moves to my papa. He takes in my body, my hair, my eyes. He catalogs everything.
“Anatonia?” He shakes his head, his eyes tearing up.
“You never came for me.”
“He told me you were dead along with your mama.”
“I wasn’t. I wish I had died that day too.”
He starts to move toward me and that’s when I realize I’m doing what my uncle trained me to do. I look around me, trying to determine where I’m being watched from.
I was created to do this.
To kill Morellos.