Page 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

Delphine turned her black Range Rover onto a private road in Mill Basin, her mind still full of the man whose bed she’d left that morning.

Vlad’s kisses. His hands in her hair and on her body. The way he’d moved above and beneath her, his face flushed with pleasure and his fingers holding her hips firmly in place as they’d made love.

He’d tasted like sin and promises she should never have been tempted by.

Delphine frowned.

One-night stands were not really her thing.

She’d even debated whether to leave Vlad her phone number that morning, a thought that would normally never have crossed her mind in a million years. One look at his arresting face, his broad back, and the alluring lines of his ass under the black silk sheets was all it had taken for desire to sing through her blood once more.

Sex with Vlad was something she could easily get addicted to.

She’d grabbed her clothes and left before she did something she would come to regret. Their encounter would remain just that. A one-night stand.

Her belly clenched.

Let’s face it, it was the best night of my life.

Her existence as a super soldier rarely afforded the luxury of a relationship. Nothing had made this clearer than Gideon Morgan’s phone call yesterday morning, just as she was finishing her workout in her DC apartment.

“I need you in New York,” the super soldier who led the mercenary corps she belonged to had said without preamble.

“I thought that was Serena’s territory now.” Delphine had continued her cool-down stretches, phone on speaker.

Serena Blake was a member of their brethren and a close friend. Though a mere handful of years separated them, Serena still remembered when she and Nate Conway, their brother-in-arms, were rescued by the Immortals in Greenland when they were still children. Delphine had still been an infant at the time and had no memories of the gruesome experiments a group of Immortals backed by a rogue group of the US government had performed on them from their inception.

“That was a temporary arrangement,” Gideon had said. “I need you to protect someone and assist with an investigation.”

Delphine had paused mid-stretch, her brow wrinkling. “That’s not usually my thing.”

“It is now.”

Something in his tone had made her pay attention. Gideon didn’t get rattled easily.

“What’s the catch?”

“The client will brief you,” Gideon had said, neatly sidestepping the question. He’d given her an address. “Be there tomorrow at ten. And Del?”

“Yeah?”

“Watch yourself on this one.”

It wasn’t like Gideon to be so cryptic. Which meant this assignment was like few she’d ever handled before.

Delphine had memorized the address. Particulars about the actual mission remained conspicuously absent, however. No briefing package or dossier followed, even after she reached New York.

I guess he was right about the client briefing me directly.

Searching for the address in the super soldier database she had access to had brought up nothing. Even the Immortals’ sophisticated satellite network had drawn a blank, the area she was interested in examining made to look like empty marshland.

The tinted windows of the vehicle offered her a measure of privacy as she approached the meeting place. She studied her surroundings curiously.

The road ended at a pair of metal gates set in a steel-reinforced concrete wall encircling an estate. Trees lined both sides of the drive, their branches forming a natural barrier between the property and the rest of Brooklyn.

A metal post rose from the ground as she pulled to a stop in front of the entrance. It flipped open to reveal a small black cube. A red-light grid scanned her face.

“Please identify yourself.”

“Delphine Dubois.” Her tone matched the AI’s cool efficiency. “I have a ten a.m. appointment.”

The computer processed this for a couple of seconds before the post and the black cube retracted into the ground. The gates rolled open on well-oiled hinges.

She followed a cream-colored concrete driveway as it wound through the grounds, her eye noting the security measures she could see. Dozens of cameras tracked her progress. Guards patrolled the grounds. Someone had even positioned the ornamental trees to eliminate blind spots.

Delphine pursed her lips.

Whoever lives here isn’t just wealthy. They’re either paranoid as hell or have good reason for this level of security.

She already had an inkling about her client’s day job. Time would tell if her instincts proved to be correct.

They usually were.

The trees finally parted, revealing what they’d been hiding. Delphine’s hands tightened fractionally on the steering wheel.

The mansion rising ahead of her wasn’t just a home. It was a statement of power. The buildings formed several wings that crowned a shallow elevation, their glass and white concrete facades gleaming in the morning sun. Extensive terraced gardens surrounded the property, leading down to a private marina and a helicopter landing pad.

It was obvious why someone had gone to considerable trouble to keep this place off the radar.

A garage complex came into view. It housed an impressive collection of vehicles, including a fleet of black SUVs similar to hers.

Delphine was now pretty certain she was dealing with a mobster. What kind of job required her specific skill set in a place like this, she still wasn’t sure. After all, crime lords could afford bodyguards like nobody’s business. Someone seeking a super soldier for the role had to either have some seriously nasty enemies or the kind of problem normal people couldn’t handle.

Vlad’s face danced before her eyes as she parked the Range Rover next to a midnight-blue Bentley convertible.

There had been a moment last night when she’d wondered if he belonged to the criminal underworld. He was too suave. Too smooth. Too… good looking to hold down any other kind of job.

Delphine berated herself at that random thought.

Focus.

She stepped out of the Range Rover, conscious of at least a dozen pairs of eyes watching her movements. The front steps of the mansion were white marble. Delphine climbed them, noting the discreet security panels beside the bronze doors.

They opened before she could knock. A man in his fifties stood in the entrance, his charcoal suit hiding the gun under his left armpit and the knife strapped to his right ankle.

“Miss Dubois.” The stranger’s face gave nothing away. “Welcome to the Vissarion residence. I’m Gustav Luchok, Mr. Vissarion’s secretary.” He dipped his head and beckoned her inside with a dignified movement.

Delphine’s scalp prickled as she crossed the threshold.

The name Vissarion had featured prominently in a briefing Gideon had recently given them on the latest developments in New York’s criminal underworld. Serena had also referenced the name when they’d spoken a few months ago.

They are the leading Bratva on the East Coast.

She masked her wariness and concentrated on her surroundings.

The entrance hall was cavernous, all clean lines and pale stone. A grand staircase dominated the space, bifurcating at a main landing before rising to the upper floors.

A woman appeared silently behind Gustav. Though well past retirement age, she moved with the grace of someone much younger. Her gray hair was pinned in an austere bun and her dark dress whispered against the marble floor.

“This is Lena Dubravac,” Gustav said. “She runs the household.”

Delphine nodded politely. Lena dipped her chin gracefully.

The way the pair carried themselves made it clear they were more than just staff.

“This way, please.” Gustav indicated the interior of the house.

Delphine followed him through the modern interior as they headed into the east wing, her gaze categorizing escape routes and defensive positions out of habit. The decor was ultramodern and minimalistic, everything expensive but chosen with care. Like the security measures outside, nothing was what it initially appeared to be.

Gustav stopped before a door and knocked.

“Come in,” a voice called out.

The secretary opened the door and led the way inside.

The study Delphine entered was decorated along the same clinical lines as the rest of the mansion. The only splash of color was a vibrant red Diaspro marble wall framing the fireplace, its surface rich with black and cream veins.

Her gaze found the man behind the desk first. Silver-haired, sharp-eyed. Scars on the back of his hands.

Power radiated from Yuliy Vissarion like heat from a furnace.

A figure was slowly rising from one of the Chesterfield sofas next to the open fire.

Her step didn’t falter. Her expression didn’t change.

But something inside her went very still.

Vlad’s eyes met hers. Unlike her, he didn’t quite manage to hide his shock.