She scoffs and glances at me up and down. "In case you've forgotten, the job was a cover. I don't work for the bratva."
I close the distance between us. My fingers grab her hair, pulling her face close to mine. "That's the first mistake you made, believing you can come and go as you please."
I should let her go, tell Nikita that she got another job elsewhere and keep the fact that she was a federal agent a secret. I'm good with keeping things to myself.
But I don't want her to walk away from me or the job.
"Betray the family, and Mikhail will order your death," I say. "But I have another idea." Even suggesting it is dangerous. I don't see another option. "You continue to work for the bratva, and instead of focusing on the bratva, you give them information on the Colombian Cartel. When the time is right, I'll handle Mikhail."
Her brow tightens, and she seems to relax at my suggestion. "How would that work?"
"You're going to offer yourself up to them," I say. "And you take anything that you find while under their roof to the feds."
Her mouth parts at my mere suggestion. "That sounds dangerous."
"It is," I say, refusing to sugarcoat what I'm asking her to do. "If they discover your betrayal and that you're a fed, you're dead. There aren't a lot of other options. You either return to the FBI with nothing, and your work is done. We go our separate ways and never see each other again, or you infiltrate the cartel."
She leans back against the wall. "How do you know that I won't betray you and tell all your secrets to the cartel?"
"I'll kill you myself."
There isn't much that she already knows about the bratva. Of course, having kept our relationship a secret isn't going to let her waltz in through the front gate of the cartel's compound. It would have needed to be public for her to pull it off.
What I'm suggesting is paramount to a suicide mission.
But at least I'm not the one pulling the trigger. Her blood won't be on my hands.
"And your boss? Won't he grow suspicious if one of the dancers suddenly hangs around with the cartel?"
"You let me handle Nikita and Mikhail," I say.
* * *
I leave her apartment, my head in a fog. Sleeping with her again is out of the question.
She's the enemy. But what better way to deal with the enemy than use her to achieve my own goals?
Mikhail would be proud, turning another FBI agent from the bureau. However, she hasn't exactly turned her back on her colleagues or her assignment. She's only turned her focus onto the cartel.
I should have just put a bullet in her head.
Any other dancer and I wouldn't have thought twice about it, but Savannah has struck something inside of me. It isn't just the sex, although that is certainly a big part of it. Being around her, it is like I'm floating on air.
Blame it on the honeymoon stage and lust.
Except, sex is off the table now that I know who she is, a traitor to the bratva. And she has one chance to redeem herself and prove her loyalty.
Infiltrate the cartel.
If she doesn't, I'll have little choice but to end her life.
Such a shame.
I stalk down five flights of stairs to my car parked around the corner. I climb into the front seat, but I don’t drive anywhere. My focus is on her building and, more specifically, her apartment. The lights are on inside, and after a few minutes, she shuts them off.
I assume she's going to bed, but if she's not, I need to be the first to know. If she sneaks out, I will follow her.
I wait until she shuts off her lights. No one enters or leaves through the front door of the apartment complex.
There's a camera by the back exit, and I've already managed to steal the feed and direct it to my phone.
No sign of Savannah or anyone else.
That's good news. But she could be calling the bureau, and without surveillance and audio equipment inside her apartment, there's no way to know what's being discussed.
Eventually, I head to the compound, sneaking inside just before dawn. The minute my head hits the pillow, I'm out.
* * *
A loud, powerful fist pounds at the door, waking my ass.
"What? I'm up," I shout to whoever is at the door. I'm not awake. I'm still in my suit from last night, minus the jacket. My shoes came off, but I didn't bother to undress.
"You look like hell," Nikita says as he steps uninvited into my room. "Late night?"
I don't answer him. The truth is that I don't want to tell him that the new hire, the girl I've been screwing, is a federal agent.
He'll go tattling to Mikhail, and I'll have no choice but to kill her and prove my loyalty to the family.
I should kill her. There shouldn't be a shadow of doubt clouding my judgment that her act of desire is nothing more than betrayal.
But I can't get that girl out of my head.
"What's up?" I ask, avoiding his question. I run a hand through my hair. For Nikita to barrel into my bedroom, something must be wrong.
"I received a call from Detective Rylan Scott this morning." Nikita runs a hand through his hair. He looks rough, even for this hour.
"And?" I hide any hint of guilt that I should have come to Mikhail first and foremost with the knowledge myself.
"You asked him to run information on the new girl. The one you seem to have taken a liking to. Mikhail was busy. Lucky for you, I answered that call."
I clear my throat, waiting for him to continue.