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"And I was just another job," I say flatly. "Another name on your list. One that you’d forget, apparently, since you don’t keep track." Somehow, that feels even more insulting.

Her mouth twitches, and for the first time, I think I see a hint of regret in her face. There’s a long moment of silence before she answers. “At first,” she says finally.

"At first," I repeat. The words taste like ash in my mouth. "And then?"

She looks away, and I see her throat move. “You know the rest.”

My jaw tightens. “No, I don’t. Tell me, Valentina. When did I stop beingjust a job?” I see her flinch when I say her name, and again at the sarcasm in my voice at the end.

“I don’t know. I—” She breaks off, and I can’t help thinking that she sounds like she’s being honest. But how can I believe her?

"Was any of it real?" I demand, leaning forward. "Any moment, any word, any touch—was any of it not part of your mission?"

Her gaze flashes, a spark of that fiery defiance that makes my own body respond every time. “What does it matter, now?”

My chest tightens. She’s holding something back, something that would lower her defenses, make her vulnerable. But I want to see her soft underbelly. I want her vulnerable to me.

“Telling me the truth will make things easier on you.”

“Will it?” Her chin lifts. “I should have made my call by now. Kane will know I failed. He’s going to come looking for me.”

“And you don’t want him to find you. Not alive, and having failed him.” It’s not a question, and I see the flicker of fear that haunts her gaze for a moment. Not long, but she’s not the only one who can read people. “I doubt he’s the forgiving type.”

“And you are?” she shoots back. I shrug, shoving my hands into my pockets.

“Which monster do you want to appeal to, Valentina? The one who hired you, or the one who married you?”

Her teeth scrape at her lower lip. I decide to change tactics, for the moment.

"Why didn't you do it?" I tilt my head slightly. "You had plenty of opportunities. Before the wedding. At the resort. Why tonight? Why not before?"

She presses her lips together, and I see her fingers curl against the upholstery of the chair, see her gaze briefly dart around the room, as if she’s sizing up any possibility of escape. “You made it hard to get to you,” she admits. “I planned to do it in bed, after…” She breaks off. “But you wouldn’t fuck me. And then, when I started trying to think of other ways, other assassins kept gettinginthe way. It felt like a bad joke, honestly. That night with the waiter…”

I don’t say anything. I remain still, as if I’m trying not to spook her. She’s talking now, and I want to hear what she has to say.

“I was going to poison you,” she says finally. “But I saw the waiter coming toward us, and I realized he had a gun. I was going to do it on that overnight in the savannah, and the guide tried to kill you. And then…”

She draws in a slow breath. “Then you finally came to my room. I was going to do it after, but you left. And when you came back, there was Elia. You had more security after that. And I?—”

She breaks off again. Her throat works, and I can see she’s fighting herself, fighting what to say. “What the fuck do you want from me, Konstantin?” she asks abruptly, anger flashing in her eyes. “For me to say I wanted more? That you fucked me, and I couldn’t get enough of you? That I was relieved when Kane called me and told me to go back to Miami with you, to hold off on the hit? And that then…” She stops, her cheeks flushed, the pulse in her throat visibly fluttering. My chest aches, a hollow feeling in the center of it.

“Is that the truth?” I ask quietly, and she holds my gaze before giving the smallest, almost imperceptible nod.

I should feel some sense of satisfaction. Triumph, even, that this woman’s goal to kill me was waylaid by how well I fucked her. That I made her want me badly enough to question her mission. But all I feel is that hollowness, an emptiness opening up inside of me like a cavern.

"Tell me everything," I say finally, my voice lacking some of the harshness it had before. "From the beginning. I want to know why Kane sent you to kill me."

She presses her lips together before letting out a long, slow breath. “The contract was Kane’s,” she says finally.

I look at her impatiently. “I know that. Kane is a broker. I want to know why someone asked him to?—”

“No.” She interrupts me. “Kanewanted you dead. Your… ideas…” She says the word as if it hurts her, and when she looks up at me, I see a flicker of regret in her expression. “You could destabilize the criminal network in Miami. Shake things up. Destabilize what makes Kane money. He wants the status quo to stay the same, so…” Her lips press together again. “You had to go.”

It’s less shocking than I expected. “Wanting someone dead for their ideas is nothing new,” I say evenly. “I’m not surprised. And you didn’t think anything of taking the job?”

Her eyes flash with resentment. “Why should I?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Nothing in you rebelled at the idea of killing a man because he wants to make changes? Killing a man over his ideals?”