Page 52

“The Slakovs are nothing,” Konstantin growls. “An upstart Bratva without the history of the Abramovs or a fraction of their influence or wealth or power?—”

“That might be the point,” I interrupt, looking at Elia with narrowed eyes. “Is Don Genovese bankrolling the Slakovs?”

Konstantin’s face hardens. “Answer her quickly,” he snaps. “Is Genovese banking on being able to replace me with the Slakov heir, if I were dead?”

“I don’t know the politics,” Elia hisses. “I don’t fucking care. All I know is that Don Genovese and Alek Slakov met with me and told me to come here and kill you.”

“On my honeymoon.” Konstantin’s eyes are dark. “How the fuck did they expect you to accomplish that?”

“Easy.” Elia spits the word into our faces. “I was going to fuck you.”

Something dark and uncomfortable stirs in my gut. That’s what I was here to do—except clearly, Genovese didn’t think he could find a woman who could pose as Konstantin’s bride. He must not have been able to find—or fake—anyone suitable in time.

Or maybe this plot came about after the engagement was announced.

“When did you get the job?” I demand, reaching out to drag another salt-covered finger over one of the wider gashes. Elia lets out a shuddering hiss of pain. “After Konstantin’s engagement or before?”

“I don’t fucking know when he got engaged or married,” she spits. “I got the assignment a week and a half ago. I was told he’d be honeymooning here with his wife, and that I was meant to seduce him and kill him while we were in bed together.”

Konstantin snorts. “Genovese doesn’t know me very well, if he thought I’d cheat on my wife on our honeymoon.”

I glare at him out of the corner of my eye. It’s on the tip of my tongue to spit back that he’d probably cheat on me just fine later, without a second thought. He planned to keep our marriage bed cold, after all. But as long as it’s not on ourhoneymoon…

I force the thought out of my head, along with the burning jealousy that comes with it. It shouldn’t matter to me. Konstantin will be dead soon—just not by this woman’s hand. It won’t matter what his intentions for our marriage were.

“How many others?” I demand. “How many other assassins did Genovese send?”

“I don’t know.” Elia sees Konstantin reach for her and flinches away again. “Goddamnit, I really fucking don’t know! He said there would be others, in case I failed, or didn’t move fast enough. My expenses were covered, but my payment wouldcome after the job was done…ifI was the one who finished the job. If I failed?—”

I glance at Konstantin. That means the other two were likely from Genovese, as well. And there might be others.

The fear that pierces my chest at the thought has nothing to do with the possibility of failing my own mission. And that, more than anything, tells me how far off track I’ve gotten.

“You’ve failed,” Konstantin says definitively. “And now, you’re going to help me send a message back to Don Genovese and Alek Slakov.”

“What does it fucking matter?” she spits out. “If I failed, he’ll just send someone else. He alreadyhas. He’s not a patient man, and they want?—”

She lets out a cry as Konstantin pushes her to one side, against the tub so that her bound hands are visible. The look in his eyes sends a shudder down my spine—I’ve seen that look before. I’ve seen it in Kane’s eyes, when he’s about to do something particularly brutal.

It’s the look of a man who is about to make someone suffer—and who’s going to enjoy it.

“Hold her,” Konstantin directs me, and I move without hesitation, grabbing her shoulder and pinning her against the tub. “Don’t scream,” he adds, grabbing a handful of Elia’s hair so that she’s forced to look back at him. “If you scream, someone might hear. I can’t have that. So if you do, I’ll cut out your tongue and gag you afterward. You might die then, choking on your own blood—but without your tongue, maybe you’d ratherbedead.”

The horror on Elia’s face makes me wonder just how experienced she is, and how long she’s been at this—if she’s someone who was used in a way that I haven’t been. I feel a small prickle of sympathy for her, but I quickly quell it.

All of us in this world have been used, one way or another. I’ve always known that this could have been me, bound andtrapped, being taken apart piece by piece to send a message back to Kane, tortured for answers that—unlike Elia—I would never give up.

If Konstantin were to figure out my part in all of this, that I faked an identity and a marriage to him in order to try to kill him myself, I could very well still end up where Elia is sitting now.

“Make sure you’re quiet,” he repeats. “Or you’ll wish you had been.”

Her eyes are wide and fearful. I can see the terror in them, rolling back to show the whites like a frightened animal. I hold her down as Konstantin gets up and goes back into the bedroom.

When he returns, he has the hunting knife that was under my pillow.Myknife. Something in my stomach quails, seeing it in his hands, as he grabs one of her fingers—the index of her right hand—and presses the point of the knife against the third knuckle.

I don’t know how Elia doesn’t scream. Konstantin takes three of the fingers on her right hand—the index, ring, and pinky fingers, one at the third, then second, then first knuckle of each. “You’ll never hold a knife or shoot a gun again,” he growls. “This is your last job,suka.” He saws through the meat and tendons of each finger, breaking the bone to rip the portion he’s cutting off free, and when I feel Elia go heavy against my supporting hands, I realize she’s passed out from the pain.

The blood dripping from her mouth tells me that she bit through her tongue to keep from screaming too.