Page 10 of Twisted Fate

VALENTINA

T he pearl-white silk of my chosen wedding dress slides over my skin like water as Anna, the boutique owner, zips up the back of the gown.

I stare at my reflection in the three-way mirror, hardly recognizing the woman who stares back at me.

She looks soft. Delicate. Nothing like an assassin with an entire ledger of kills over the last ten years.

It’s been just me and Anna here, picking out my wedding gown.

It’s not as if I have girlfriends to have a day out with, getting lunch and champagne and trying on dress after dress as they coo and cheer and criticize.

I’ve never had the kind of friends that other women have.

There’s no room for them in the sort of life that I live.

"Beautiful," Anna breathes, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "Simply exquisite, Miss Moretti."

I don't correct her use of my alias. I’ve been careful to use it whenever there’s been a chance that Konstantin might check up on the trail that I leave behind me.

Something as simple as a bridal appointment could blow my cover if Konstantin were to do some digging, and uncover that Valentina Kane used his funds for a gown, instead of Sophia Moretti.

Anyway, it’s better to sink as deeply into my new persona as I can. The more I inhabit it, the more convincing I’ll be when I play the part around Konstantin.

And, now that he’s agreed to the marriage, I’ll have to. For a few weeks, at least.

His agreement, received in the form of a call formally telling me that he’s agreed to his father’s pronouncement, was more of a relief than I realized it would be.

Once I’d started the mission, I didn’t want to fail.

And I didn’t want to face another year—or more—of working for Kane without what I’ve been promised.

"It's perfect," I agree, running my hands over the bodice. I didn’t particularly care what the dress looked like—I’ve never dreamed about my eventual wedding gown, or had preferences on the matter. I wasn’t shopping for myself when I chose it—I was shopping with Konstantin in mind.

What might draw him in, what he might find alluring.

A man who is brutal but reserved, bound by duty, who has power but doesn’t allow himself to use it to take things for himself alone.

I picked up enough about Konstantin in our brief meeting at the dinner party to have some idea of who he is.

He wanted me—I could feel it radiating off of him like heat coming off a flame.

But he wouldn’t allow himself to give in to it.

I’d hazard a guess that if I’d tried to touch him or kiss him, he would have pulled away.

His walls are high and thick, and I’ll need to get past them in order to get close enough to go in for the kill.

Or maybe not , I consider as I look at myself in the mirror.

There’s every possibility that once we’re married, he’ll fuck himself into a satisfied stupor on our honeymoon, and I’ll be able to kill him easily.

The dress is tasteful but seductive, with a plunging neckline that shows just enough cleavage to be enticing without being vulgar, a fitted waist that accentuates my curves, and a flowing skirt with a slit up one side that will give tantalizing glimpses of my leg.

The kind of dress designed to make a man want what's beneath it without giving too much away—sensual but restrained.

The kind of dress that I think will appeal to a man like Konstantin.

It’s just silk, no lace or embellishments. I want him to desire me , not the wrapping. I want the dress to accentuate what will be his for the taking, after our vows are said.

Or so he’ll think, anyway.

Anna beams at me. "You'll take his breath away."

And then I’ll take his life.

A kill like any other, just markedly more complex. The last kill, and then I’ll never have to do this again—wrap myself up in pretty packaging while I wind a web of deceit around a man before I put poison in his drink, or slit his throat, or put a bullet through his head.

This is a game, nothing more. One that Konstantin will lose, in the end.

“I’ll take it,” I tell Anna, who smiles that much wider.

Her commission for this sale will be generous.

I can’t imagine spending this much on a wedding gown with my own money.

I’m more than well-off, from my years of payments from Kane and wise investing, but the five-figure price tag on the gown took my breath away.

Fortunately, it’s Konstantin paying for it, not me.

Anna claps her hands together with delight. “We should look at veils,” she declares. “Are you thinking a full veil with a blusher, or maybe a Juliet cap? A chapel-length would be just right for this dress?—”

I let her guide me, wholly uninterested in the process.

I feign it remarkably well, if I do say so myself, finally settling on a simple chapel-length veil with pearl trim, and a short blusher in the front.

I’m not averse to having my face covered during part of the ceremony—it’ll make it all the easier to ensure no one reads anything they shouldn’t on my face.

Konstantin sent over the funds for my shopping excursion a few days ago—far more than I probably need, but I don’t mind spending it. It’s a dead man’s money, anyway, and he won’t be able to spend it himself once he’s gone.

I glance back at the dress and veil as I sign the receipt, hanging on the door of the dressing room where I tried them on.

I’ve worn plenty of disguises over the years, infiltrating compounds and clubs and businesses.

This is just a different disguise, I tell myself, resolutely refusing to allow my reservations about going as far as marriage to resurface.

One more part to play, so that I can get the information I need.

When this is done, I’ll have everything I require for my revenge. And all I have to do for it is marry—and kill—Konstantin Abramov.

—

Kane is in his study when I return from the boutique, the windows open despite the heat of the afternoon. He's scanning a file, a glass with two fingers of whiskey at his elbow, looking every inch the respectable businessman he pretends to be.

"There she is," he murmurs, setting down the file as I enter. "The beautiful bride-to-be. Did you find a suitable dress?"

"I did." I set my purse down and sink into one of the chairs near the window. My forehead instantly prickles with sweat. It’s far too hot in this room. "I have everything I need. A dress, a veil, the perfect pair of shoes.”

He studies me for a moment, his gaze sharp and assessing. "You sound perturbed, Valentina. Second thoughts?"

“No.” I shake my head. “I just didn’t relish shopping for a wedding dress, that’s all.”

Kane’s eyes narrow slightly. “Most women can’t wait for that day to come.”

I snort. “I’m not most women. You made sure of that.”

He turns to face me then, his expression softening in a way that I’ve only ever seen a few times over the years, in brief moments where he’s tried to be fatherly. Kane doesn’t do emotions, but on rare occasions, he’s tried.

It’s never worked out well.

I know the look on his face now. It’s the one he shows me when he wants me to remember that he saved me, that I owe him everything. That he’s the only family I have.

"I know this is different from your usual missions," he says gently. "Marriage is... intimate. Personal. More so than a simple seduction. But remember why you're doing this, Valentina. Remember what's waiting for you at the end."

I nod tightly. His words threaten to make my reservations come back to the surface, and I fight to keep them buried.

I have no desire to sit here and talk to Kane about how, if I really think about it, this feels like I’m giving some piece of myself away.

Like I’m giving Konstantin the one thing I might have wanted to save for someone else.

I’ve made plenty of sacrifices for my revenge. What’s one more? “I’m aware.”

“This is the last job.” He looks at me appraisingly. “I’ll keep my word, Valentina.”

“I know you will.” Or I’ll kill you myself. The thought is surprising, almost shocking. In all my years here, I’ve never once had a violent thought toward Kane. But if he were to betray me…

I know he wouldn’t think twice about it, if the roles were reversed. In our world, betrayal is the ultimate sin. My loyalty to Kane has to outstrip every other promise I make, every vow I might say, every bond I might have. There can be no one more important to me than him.

A part of me is afraid that won’t change, even after I’m no longer killing for him.

"I'll do what needs to be done," I say, standing. "Just like I always do."

Kane’s smile turns warm and approving. "I know you will. You've never failed me yet."

His praise should please me, but as with the first meeting after I came home last, when he gave me this mission, I feel a chill of unease work its way down my spine.

He stands, pushing back his chair as he crosses the room toward me, and I go very still, as if trying not to attract the attention of a particularly venomous snake.

The moments when he’s gentle always make me feel uneasy. I’m used to demands, to him pushing me, insisting on more, for me to be better, faster, stronger. Tenderness from Kane is rare, and it always feels as loaded as a gun.

“Get some rest,” he murmurs, pressing one hand to the side of my face, his blunt fingers pushing a stray piece of hair away from my forehead.

His touch is as startling as his gentle tone—he’s rarely touched me since I was a child, and not very often then.

“You want to be as beautiful as possible for your wedding day.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. A lump rises into my throat, and a memory flashes into my head—my father, bleeding out on the carpet of our small Miami home, his eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling, a wire dug into the flesh of his neck.