Page 5

Sometimes, Valentina wondered why she cared so much about what Ilya said to her, even though she pretended not to.

It was obvious he took a sick enjoyment from messing with her, and she couldn’t deny the fact that some part of her—however small—looked forward to their banter. It wasn’t like she liked the man—she didn’t. She despised him, in fact.

She hated how cocky he was, how effortlessly he got under her skin. Most of all, she hated the fact that she found him good-looking. Assholes like him didn’t deserve to look that good.

She’d grown used to his antics, brushing them off like water off a duck’s back. But tonight was different. His tone was different—sharper, colder, so belittling that it stripped her bare. The usual smugness in his eyes had vanished, replaced by a coldness that hit her like a whiplash.

His words haunted her, stirring deep in her guts long after they’d been said.

Isn’t this what you people do? Stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, not minding your own fucking business?

Maybe he was right. Maybe she had crossed a line. She shouldn’t have cared so much about him in the first place, to the point of checking if he was okay. She shouldn’t have noticed the wound on his neck, hidden suspiciously beneath his shirt.

If only she’d kept her big mouth shut, nothing would have warranted such vile insults from that bastard.

You’re nothing but Daddy’s little pawn, Valentina. Just another piece on the Romano’s board. Don’t pretend like you’ve got a mind of your own. Everything you do, every bullshit you say, it’s all for him, isn’t it?

Those words hit harder than they should have because the moment they were said, she found herself behind that glass wall again—out of place, unwanted, clawing through the barrier just to belong in the Nikolai family. To feel like more than a leech.

By the time she walked away from him, her ears were burning, her insides twisting with a volatile mix of anger and something uncomfortably close to shame. The thought of spending another minute in the same room with him made her skin crawl. She bailed at the last minute, ignoring whatever obligations she had and heading to her condo for a breather.

Her condo was a haven her family knew nothing about—a small, secret retreat far from the Romano estate. She’d bought it with her own money, a rare act of independence in a life micromanaged by family obligations and her siblings’ insistence to treat her as the baby of the house.

It was where she went to breathe, to reclaim her sense of self when the pressure became too much.

Besides her, Rhi was the only one who knew about its existence. Until she told Irina about it a month ago.

Val and Irina hadn’t known each other for very long, yet being friends with her felt as natural as breathing—like they’d always been a part of the same story.

Usually, her condo did the trick. But tonight, it didn’t. The walls felt too close, the silence too heavy. Being there alone only made it worse. Her thoughts grew louder, his words cutting deeper, replaying over and over like a cruel taunt she couldn’t escape.

She made a decision to leave, cutting her stay short. As much as she didn’t want to face her father, who would undoubtedly question her about the event (and she partly blamed him for this mess since he demanded she attend), the sight of her annoying siblings might help her take her mind off things.

At least they wouldn’t interrogate her; they’d just be there, a comforting presence amidst the chaos in her mind.

Standing in the dim light of her condo, she tightened the strap of her watch and grabbed her bag, muttering under her breath.

“That fucking Russian bastard.” Her face twisted in annoyance as the memory resurfaced, sharp as a knife. The initial mischievous smile on his perfect mouth as he approached her, the tiniest flutter in her chest when he looked her over with unabashed greed in his eyes, and how it ended in mere seconds—warmth shifting to cold, tongue doused in acid burning her skin.

She scoffed, her voice echoing in the silent living room. “Who the hell does he think he is, talking to me like that?”

Her nails bit into her palm as she clenched her fists, anger rising again. If, for a second, Ilya thought he’d get away with treating her like that, he was sorely mistaken.

He’d regret his words. She’d make sure of it.

She was finally ready to leave when the door to her living room slammed open.

Val spun around, adrenaline flaring, as a man stepped inside—a shadow in a tux, his dark eyes sharp and cold.

“Ilya?” she demanded, incredulous. Her voice wavered as her mind scrambled to process what was happening. The sight before her felt surreal—him, standing in her secret condo, the one place she thought no one could reach.

His gun hung heavy in his hand, the steel glinting under the dim light. Blood smeared across the pristine white of his shirt like grotesque brushstrokes, and she was certain it wasn’t his.

Eyes wide, nostrils flared, her heart raced as she fired off questions. “What the fuck is going on? How the hell are you here? Whose blood is that?”

“There’s no time for that,” he snapped, his tone clipped and impatient. Before she could step back, he closed the distance between them in a few quick strides, invading her personal space. His hand shot out, gripping her wrist with a force that made her wince. “You need to come with me. Now.”

“Excuse me?” Valentina yanked at her wrist, her eyes ablaze. Her bewilderment shifted to indignation as she planted her feet. “Have you completely lost your mind? What makes you think you can just barge into my condo, covered in—” she gestured wildly at the blood, “— this and start barking orders like you own the place?”

Not even a single hair on Ilya’s body stood in response to her question. His gaze remained hard, focused, scanning the windows and the doors as if expecting someone to burst in at any moment.

“Valentina, I don’t have time to argue with you. Now shut the fuck up and come with me.”

Val scoffed, wrenching her wrist free and stepping away. “I’m not going anywhere with you, you sick fuck. I don’t know what kind of shitstorm you’ve gotten yourself into, but I’m not involved. So take your cryptic demands, shove them up your ass, and get the fuck out of—”

She didn’t get to finish.

The sound of glass shattering split the air, an explosion followed by bullets whizzing through the room. Her stomach dropped, and Ilya cursed under his breath, yanking her back toward him just as the door splintered open.

Shadows spilled into the room—men armed and moving with deadly precision. Valentina froze for a heartbeat, her mind a blank sheet as adrenaline surged.

But Ilya was already in motion. He shoved her behind him, his gun raised in a flash. His first shot rang out, followed by another, then another. Each blast jolted her to her core, but he moved with lethal efficiency, a calm and calculated look on his face as he took down the first wave of intruders before they could even react.

Val’s instinct kicked into full gear as more men flooded the room. Grabbing a decorative vintage vase, she hurled it at one of them, the crash just buying her enough time to dart toward the couch, where she usually hid a pistol just in case.

She slipped the knife from the strap on her thigh with practiced ease and aimed for the nearest man. It didn’t matter that he was twice her size—the blade was already airborne, slicing cleanly through the air before sinking right between his eyes. He crumpled to the floor, dead before he even hit the ground.

She spun toward the couch to grab her gun, but an arm as strong as iron clamped around her neck from behind, stealing her breath and draining her strength. His grip was tight, oxygen fleeing her lungs in volumes, as she struggled against the Herculean hold, readying herself for a scream and to drive her heel into his groin.

But she never got the chance.

Ilya was there in an instant, his fury palpable. He ripped the man off her with brutal force, his gun swinging down hard into the attacker’s temple. A guttural cry escaped the man as he sank to his knees, but Ilya wasn’t done.

With an almost feral snarl, Ilya twisted the man’s arm—the arm that touched her —until a sickening crack echoed through the room, the bone snapping like dry wood. The man screamed, but Ilya silenced him with a final, devastating blow to his skull. Blood pooled beneath the man’s face as he went limp, his body lifeless.

Valentina stumbled back, her breath coming in shallow gasps, her chest heaving as she clutched at her neck. She stared at Ilya, stunned—not just by his lethal precision but by the dark glint in his eyes as he looked at the man who had dared to touch her.

Ilya stood over the lifeless body, his chest rising and falling with unrestrained fury. It seemed as though the sight of the man choking her replayed in his memory because, without hesitation, he aimed his gun at the man’s already motionless form and fired twice, as if to drive him his point.

“ Gryobanyy kusok deryma ,” he snarled, his voice cold and venomous, the Russian words slicing through the tense silence like a blade. Courtesy of her father’s insistence to learn at least six languages, Valentina was more than versed with what Ilya just spat out.

Fucking piece of shit .

When his gaze shifted to her, the intensity of it made her stomach tighten.

Possessive. Protective. Dangerous.

But there was no time to dwell on it.

“There’s more coming,” she rasped, her voice still strained as the faint sounds of footsteps and shouted orders reached her ears.

He stretched a hand toward her. “Then we need to fucking move, Valentina. Come with me.”

It wasn’t necessarily her most preferred option, but it was her safest. And it wasn’t like she had a choice at that moment.

So, she took his hand, ignoring the jolt of sparks that ran through her skin, just as more men swarmed the building.

“Car’s out front,” Ilya said, dragging her toward the back exit, his gun raised as the chaos continued to close in around them.

With one hand, he fired efficiently while the other held Val tight, unwilling to let go. They were outnumbered, but they moved in sync, like two parts of the same vehicle, as Ilya led them to his car.

The moment they hit the car, Ilya slid into the driver’s seat. He yanked the passenger door before shoving Valentina inside with little care for delicacy.

“Stay down,” he barked as he slid into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut.

“No,” Val scowled, snatching the gun from his hand and immediately firing out of the passenger window.

The engine roared, tires screaming as he gunned the car forward, swiftly weaving through the narrow streets. The chase was immediate—two black SUVs roared after them. Gunfire rang out behind them, bullets pinging off the rear bumper.

“Shit,” Val snapped, ducking her head back into the car, her gaze darting to the glove box. “I’m out. Is there more ammo?”

“Backseat. Under the duffel.”

She scrambled over the console, her knees landing awkwardly on his thighs, her ass close to his face as she reached for the backseat.

“What the hell are you doing?” Ilya growled, his hands tightening on the wheels, muscles stiffening from the distraction.

“I’m getting the damn ammo,” she shot back, her face inches from his as she stretched one arm behind her.

Her weight pressed against his lap as the car swerved sharply to the left, nearly throwing her sideways. Ilya’s hand shot out instinctively, gripping her waist to steady her.

“Watch it,” he warned, his voice low and tense.

“I’m not the one driving like a fucking maniac,” she bit out, her cheeks burning at their proximity. She yanked the duffel bag forward and collapsed back into the passenger seat, her heart racing for more reasons than one.

Val rolled down her window again and fired at one of the pursuing SUVs, hitting a tire. The vehicle spun out, slamming right into the second one.

Ilya jammed his foot on the accelerator, hightailing them out of there until his car was the only one in sight.

Valentina’s breathing was ragged as the silence pressed in around them, only broken by the distant hum of engines fading into the night. She glanced sideways at Ilya, his sharp profile illuminated by streetlights. There was a quiet ferocity in him—controlled and dangerous.

“Do you always bring this kind of chaos with you?”

His expression was unreadable as he stared straight ahead. “Not always.”

She leaned back in the chair, her fingers grazing her neck as she remembered the shootout in her living room. She had so many questions, but she started with the most pressing one.

“What the hell was that?” she demanded, her voice sharp. “Who were those men?”

Ilya sat back, the tension in his posture unrelenting. “Hired guns,” he replied flatly, his gaze fixed outside the window like he was expecting more to appear.

Her brows furrowed. “For who? You?”

He finally turned to her, his face blank but his eyes dark. “No, Valentina. Not me, but you.”

Valentina stared at him, her blood running cold as his words reverberated in her ears. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said, his tone almost dismissive. “When I arrived, I met them waiting to ambush you. You’ve been marked. They weren’t there for me—they were there because someone wants you dead.”

For a moment, she was speechless, her mind trying and failing to process his words. Literally and figuratively, it made no sense that someone would want her dead. As far as she knew, her father had no open enemies. The Romanos remained at peace with everyone, so why the hell would she be targeted?

“That’s not possible,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper as she shook her head. “Why would anyone—”

She trailed off, trying to connect the dots, but it still didn’t make sense. Nothing did.

“Take me home,” she demanded, her chest tight. “My family needs to know about this.”

His response was instant. “No.”

Val turned to him, glaring incredulously. “Excuse me? What the hell do you mean, no?”

“I mean exactly that,” he replied, his tone unbothered. “You’re not going back to your family estate.”

If it were in any other instance, Val may have laughed and entertained his antics. But she just had a close run-in with death and was too shaken by it to entertain Ilya’s bullshit.

She slammed her hand against the door, her frustration boiling and spilling over. “Turn this car around right fucking now, Ilya. Get me out now.”

But she was talking to the wind because he ignored her completely.

Fuming, Val reached for the door handle, not caring that they were on the highway, but the locks clicked automatically. “What the—are you serious?” she growled, tugging at the handle uselessly.

“Dead serious,” he said without so much as a glance her way.

Val’s hands balled into fists so hard her knuckles turned ashen white. She felt like ripping her hair out from frustration. Gritting her teeth, she yanked his gun and pointed it at his head.

“Turn this car around right now, Ilya Nikolai, or I swear to God I will blow your fucking brains out.”

A smirk lifted the corner of his lips—the most emotion he’d shown since they fled to the car. “Pull the trigger, Princess. See how far that gets you.”

Val scoffed, her eyes wide. “You’re insane,” she hissed, flicking the safety off with a sharp click. But he didn’t even flinch. Instead, he leaned back, unnervingly calm, one hand steady on the wheel as though her threat was nothing but background noise.

After a moment, she lowered the weapon and tossed it to the backseat. By the time he pulled into a dimly lit parking lot, she was seething.

He killed the engine as she looked out the window, his eyes on her the entire time.

“Where are we?” she asked, her voice low, tainted with anger.

“My place.”

Valentina chuckled darkly, screwing her eyes shut tightly like she was trying not to lose her mind. She snapped them open, shooting daggers at him.

“You really do have some goddammed nerve, Ilya.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he said, stepping out and slamming the door shut. He leaned down to look at her through the open window, his expression hard as he met her still form on the seat. “This is the only safe place for now. Get out of the car, Valentina.”

She stayed put, arms crossed like a petulant child, glaring at him. “Make me.”

His eyes darkened in a way that made her insides twist. “That’s the last thing you want me to do, Valentina.”

But she refused to move an inch.

Ilya’s jaw clenched hard. “You know what? Fine. Do you want to go home? I’ll take you fucking home. That, of course, is if you want to lead those fuckers straight to your father’s property. Worst case scenario, you drag your family into this, and every Romano becomes a fucking corpse.”

Val’s pride dissolved quickly as she registered his words. It felt like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over her head.

Ilya leaned in. “If that’s what you want, I’ll take you home right now. If not, you listen to me and get out of the fucking car.”

Without another word, he turned around and walked toward the building.

Val’s lips pressed into a thin line, and with a frustrated growl, she shoved the door open and slammed it shut.

“Fuck you,” she spat, begrudgingly following behind him. “But it will only be for one night. By tomorrow, you either take me home, or I do it myself.”

Ilya turned to look at her, a sarcastic grin on his lips. “Well then, welcome to my humble abode, Valentina.”