Page 135 of Devil's Vows

I’ve been so shocked to see her transformation, I only notice now what she’s doing. She’s pulling different dark shapes from sections in the case, opening a can of…spray paint? A tattoo artist’s ink. But she shakes out six round balls, metal agitators tomix the paint, except there is no liquid there, only a clear gel she wipes off at speed. She’s fast, trained, having done this a thousand times, her fingers working swiftly even while they’re trembling.

It hits me that she’s assembling a…a…afuckinggun.

She shoves it into the back of her pants’ waistband then reaches for a small case, empties out three pills into the palm of her hand, and swallows them dry. Then she lowers her case to the floor, takes her phone in hand, and I realize she never killed the call. Whoever she phoned is still on the line.

“What do they say? InIl Consiglio?” she murmurs into it. “Party’s starting. Keep listening and stick to our fucking deal.”

She turns and opens the washroom door. I register the red spot of blood on her white jeans’ seat but instinctively know it’s fake. The oldest fucking trick in the book and one I used myself. I jolt awake as if the last three or four minutes were a fever dream.

Holy fuck. She’s here to kill someone. It’s asuicidemission.

And she’s walking out of the bathroom.

It’s him,she said on the phone.

Her new Russian tattoos.

The coup.

Ivan.

She’s come to finish off the job whoever failed at in July.

My husband.

She’s come for my husband. And his girls.

Over my dead fucking body.

And thank God they are not here because this woman will not touch any of them.

Rage like a dragon’s fire bellows in me, and I step back, rushing down the passage, going so fast I collide and ricochet off the walls to spill out of the hidden passage into the pantry.

As I shoulder the pantry doors open, her heels are clacking on the floor, every step measured as she makes her way to herimminent death. I immediately spot Ivan where he’s standing with the others in a semi-circle, facing the direction she would come from…waiting for her, lined up for the firing squad.

“She’s got a gun!” I scream as I tumble into the open-concept room.

As I race across the stretch between me and Ivan, I have a split-second to glance at her, gauging her aim…at my husband.

“The girl is here!” Mara shouts. “Chertnikov’s girl is here!”

I’mChertnikov’s girl.

Ivan’s hands shoot up as he launches into motion, thinkingIam the target. She’s coming from the front, I’m coming from the side. I can’tdo anything but hurl myself into the narrowing gap between her and Ivan, where he is coming for me…to protect me.

In that moment, I feel like I’m flying, a little bird in the air, hismoya ptichkasomehow free at last, and then pain pierces me, two sharp stings that propel me forward as I collide with his chest, into his arms.

The gunshots explose loudly through the room, and then a cacophony of gunfire breaks out. A body thumps. It could be mine. I don’t register anything, sinking to the floor in Ivan’s arms as he stares into my face, stunned.

It all goes eerily quiet, Ivan’s strong arms around me, tears in his eyes.

“Moya ptichka, Gabriella?—”

Chertnikov. My nemesis’s name…confirmed at last.

A warm trickle runs down my back, and he pulls his hand away, supporting me against his chest.

I glance at his hand.