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Like a good little assassin should.

—

The following night,we fly back to Miami on the private jet.

It feels strange, to be going back home with Konstantin—probably because I hadn’t expected him to be alive at the end of this trip. I feel a pang of regret as we board, a feeling that I wish we didn’t have to leave. Here, we were in our own little bubble—albeit one that I lived in knowing I was meant to kill him. Back home, I won’t be able to forget that Kane will only be a few miles away, that at any moment I could get the call telling me to finish it.

To finishhim.

My throat tightens as I find my seat, and I order a drink from the flight attendant, a gin and tonic. Konstantin chuckles as he sits down opposite me, ordering his own drink before flashing me a grin.

“Nervous about the flight?”

“A little,” I admit. “I’ve never been a huge fan of flying, as much as I’ve done it.” That’s true. I’m always worried that someone has followed me onto a flight, that I’ll be cornered and unable to escape. There’s nowhere to go in a tin can thirty-six thousand feet up in the air. But of course, there’s no fear of that on this jet.

Just the fear of what the man across from me makes me feel.

Everything about the trip home is different. On the way to the resort, things were tense and difficult between Konstantin and me. We were bickering, at each other’s throats, me frustrated and him cold. But now, he sits across from me, easy and relaxed, a smile on his lips as he looks at me that’s telling me he’s thinking about all the things he could do to me here. All the ways we could pass the time on the fifteen-hour flight ahead of us.

“I hope you like the penthouse,” he says, glancing up at me as the waitress brings us our drinks and a charcuterie board tosnack on. “I rarely bring anyone else there,” he adds. “Like I said, it’s my space. I’m not usually keen on sharing it with others.”

I feel that warmth spreading in my chest again, and I bite back a smile, trying not to let that please me as much as it does. But of course, as Sophia Moretti, Konstantin’s wife, Ishouldbe pleased. So I let the smile tug at my lips, and I can see an answering one on Konstantin’s mouth.

“I like that,” I say softly, reaching for a piece of cheese. “That makes me feel special.”

“You are special.” His voice is rough at the edges, but softer than usual. “You’re not what I expected at all, Sophia. And I want things to be different when we get home.”

“I think they already are.”

Konstantin leans back, taking another sip of his drink. “I had a few girlfriends, over the years,” he says calmly. “None of them ended up being right for me. But you—” he pauses, his gaze sweeping over me. “I was ready to dislike you because my father chose you for me. I did you a disservice, Sophia. I’m sorry. I’d like to make it up to you, if I can. And I want to start by taking you home—tomyhome.”

I nod, my throat tightening. I can tell this means something to him, and it makes me feel a hundred times worse. He’s giving me something special, and all I’ll ever have to give to him in return is betrayal.

“I can’t wait to see it,” I say softly, and I mean it. That, at least, isn’t a lie.

And what we do together, when we go back to the bedroom on the jet after we’re done with our meal and our drinks, isn’t a lie, either.

At least, it doesn’t feel like one—until he groans my name as he comes, and the name on his lips isSophia.

—

The Miami night,when we get back, is hot and humid—nothing like the cool, dry nights of the Serengeti desert. I instantly feel the pulse of the city in my blood, bringing me back to life as we step off the jet onto the tarmac and head to the waiting car. The lights of the city are still some distance away from the private airport hangar, but I can already feel it calling me back.

I can feel Konstantin change as soon as his feet hit the ground. I swear I can see the slight drop in his shoulders, as if a weight has settled back on them once we’re off the jet. I’d assumed that the resort hadn’t been all that pleasant for him—first a place that he didn’t really want to be, and then the set piece for several attempted assassinations—but that’s discounting all the hours we spent in each other’s arms and beds once he finally gave in to what we both wanted.

I can see that those hours were a bubble, one where Konstantin had finally let himself unwind—finally let himself justbe. He’d given in to what he wanted and soaked up the feeling of his own satisfaction, and now, as we walk to the waiting town car, I can see him remembering his duties. His responsibilities. Who he is, when he’s not my husband.

Something aches in my chest when I see his shoulders tense and drop, his expression hardening, his smile gone and replaced by the stern mask of the Bratva heir. It’s a familiar change to me—I do the same thing, when I slip into the role of an assassin, or whoever I’m embodying on a mission. I’m never just Valentina Kane on a mission, and I rarely get to be her at all.

I never thought about how that must feel for Konstantin. How rarely he must get to just be himself.

I didn’t care all that much for Konstantin the heir, when I first met him. But in the hours I spent with him alone atthe resort, with his walls down and the two of us tangled up together, I liked the man I saw.

I would have liked to have gotten to know him better—and at the same time, I know it’s better for us both if I don’t.

It will only make things harder in the end.

The drive to his penthouse is quiet. Konstantin is absorbed in catching up on messages on his phone, and I keep mine tucked away in my purse. Now isn’t the time to answer a call from Kane, or questions from Konstantin about who is calling me. The last thing I need is for him to catch a glimpse of the screen if Kane were to call. I watch the familiar landscape of the city pass by, and I can’t help but think how strange it is to not be going back to Kane’s mansion.