Page 17 of Twisted Fate

VALENTINA

I lean in closer to Konstantin, the warm night air caressing my skin as we stand by the pool.

The water reflects the moonlight on his side, casting rippling shadows across his face.

His blue eyes are dark in this light, but I can still see the desire in them—the same desire he's been fighting since we met.

"It's a beautiful night," I murmur, letting my hand brush against his arm.

The touch is deliberate, calculated. I've been trained to read men, to know exactly what they want and how to use it against them. Konstantin Abramov is no different from any other target, no matter how badly he wants to be. It’s just a matter of how long it will take to get him to crack. “It would be a shame to waste it.”

I still can’t fully wrap my head around the fact that he got us separate rooms on our honeymoon.

If I were really his wife, I’d be seething.

I threw a fit in the lobby for precisely that reason—because no wife in her right mind wouldn’t lose it upon finding out that her husband wanted separate bedrooms on their private, luxurious honeymoon, no matter how arranged the marriage.

It wasn’t even that difficult to fake, because of how fucking frustrating this entire situation has become.

I’ve never met a man so stubborn. His stubbornness rivals even mine, and that’s saying something. And if the challenge raises my pulse just a little, well?—

I arch toward him, tempting him. My lips part slightly, my eyes hooded, every part of my body radiating desire. I know if I were able to press myself against him right now, he’d be hard as a rock, throbbing with need against me. I can feel it wafting off of him.

All he needs to do is unlatch the gate, and pull me against him.

Instead, Konstantin steps back, putting distance between us. His expression is apologetic but firm. Shock ripples through me—I was so sure that I had him. That me so close to him, nearly naked, the moonlight and the privacy, the desire radiating off of him, would all be too much to resist.

That I could start weaving my web tonight and have him dead within the week.

“I said no, Sophia,” he says firmly, his voice chilly with resolve.

“If I misled you at any point, I apologize, but I don’t think that I have.

I’m not trying to lead you on. I think I’ve been clear about what I intend our relationship to be, and it isn’t this.

Not right now. And even—” He takes another step back, running a hand through his hair, and it’s painfully clear to me how difficult it is for him to look only at my eyes and nowhere else.

“Even once it’s time for us to have an heir, I intend to keep it all as businesslike as possible.

There is no space for… passion, in this marriage. I’m sorry.”

He repeats it as if it makes it better somehow. As if that will make me not feel rejected.

Rejection isn’t what I feel, truthfully. But that’s the emotion I paint across my face, the hurt of a wife who wants to connect with her husband and is being repeatedly rebuffed.

What I am, really, is thrown off balance, yet again. And I fucking hate it.

This isn’t how things go for me. I’m always prepared for my missions, always in control, have always executed them flawlessly. Since our wedding night, nothing has gone according to plan, and I feel as if I’m flailing.

It’s not a good feeling, especially when so much rides on my success.

This wasn't in the dossier. Men don't usually reject me, especially not men who look at me the way Konstantin does. Kane said that Konstantin was disciplined, not that he was a monk.

“It’s our honeymoon,” I breathe, allowing a hint of hurt to creep into my voice.

"We're married. Can’t the rules be bent for this week, at least? We can live our proper lives when we go home, but I thought…" I let the words trail off, letting him think that I feel I’ve been betrayed, led on, given some hope of a marriage that isn’t coming to fruition.

Konstantin lets out a sharp sigh. “I’ve made my position clear, Sophia. This was a business deal. I’m sorry if that wasn’t made clear to you from the beginning—that’s your guardian’s failure, not mine. But I intend to treat it as a business deal, in every aspect.”

“So you’re only going to touch me when you want a child? And after we’re done having children?—”

His jaw tightens. “I think the answer to that is obvious, Sophia.”

“So you’re never going to have sex again, other than that?” I look at him petulantly. “Or were you planning to cheat on me?”

He gives me a cold look. “You have mafia ties, Sophia. You know how this world works.”

“But I won’t be allowed to have lovers of my own.”

His gaze narrows sharply. “You’re mine, Sophia. I don’t allow other men to touch what’s mine.”

What a fucking high-handed asshole. The emotions painted across my face are fake, but the anger in my voice is real.

I almost can’t believe he’s so fucking egotistical that he thinks he can be unfaithful but still demand fidelity from me—except that I can, because I’ve been around enough powerful men to know how they think and behave.

Konstantin Abramov might like to think he’s different, but at his core, he’s the same as the rest of them. And he’s just proved it.

Which means he’s not impervious to me either, as much as he might like to think he is.

“Until it’s time for us to have an heir,” he repeats, taking a step back, “we need to maintain appropriate boundaries.” He glances at the fence between us, clearly not failing to see the irony of it.

“Boundaries.” I repeat the word, and he nods.

“Starting with tonight.” He angles himself toward the doorway leading back into his suite. “Goodnight, Sophia.”

It’s the second time we’ve parted this way.

I watch him go, my chest tight with frustration, my body simmering with unwanted heat.

I want him more than I should, and this endless back and forth is only making that more problematic, too.

If he’d just fuck me, I could get it out of my system and focus on finding the perfect moment to complete my mission.

I stride back into my room—my separate room, because apparently my husband is determined to be the first man in history to refuse sex on his honeymoon—and pace the floor, my mind racing.

The plan, on its face, was simple. Meet Konstantin, marry Konstantin, kill Konstantin.

The difficulties were meant to be things like the fact that my husband is special-forces trained, intelligent, and suspicious.

I was meant to worry about keeping my cover, not about whether or not my husband would actually want to fuck me.

Getting close enough to him to kill is going to be difficult outside of that.

But I can’t wait around for him to decide he wants a child.

It could be years before that happens—Kane is unlikely to be that patient, and I certainly am not.

I didn’t want to spend another year working for Kane—I certainly don’t want to potentially spend months or years playacting as Konstantin Abramov’s wife, waiting for him to come to my bed or for some other opportunity to present itself.

And he made it clear that even then, he intends to be businesslike about it. Cold and formal. My plan requires him to lose himself in lust and passion, and he seems adamantly against allowing himself to feel either of those things.

I know the potential for them is in him. I can feel it, every time he’s near me. But he won’t unleash it, and I can’t seem to find the switch to make him lose control.

Patience , I tell myself. It’s been all of a day since our wedding night. But I only have a week here.

Then we’ll be back in Miami, with all of his security, all of his reinforcements. Sure, they still won’t be standing over our bed, but it will make killing him much more complicated.

I stop in front of a mirror, studying my reflection.

I’m aware of my looks—I’ve never been one to ascribe to false modesty.

I yank the tie out of my hair, letting it fall down my shoulders, thick and dark and wavy.

Most of my body is visible in the tiny black swimsuit I’m wearing, and I glance over it in the mirror.

Full breasts, slender hips, a firm ass, legs for days.

I’ve sculpted my body through endless hours of training in the gym, and it’s visible in every inch.

Wide green eyes, a full mouth, a slender neck, sharp collarbones.

Konstantin shouldn’t be able to resist me.

But he isn’t falling for any of it. Or rather, he is falling for it—I can see the desire in his eyes when he looks at me—but he's refusing to act on it. He's choosing duty over desire, control over passion.

It's… intriguing.

I've never met a man who could resist me when I was actively trying to seduce him. Most men are predictable, driven by basic instincts that make them easy to manipulate. But Konstantin is different. He's disciplined, controlled. He knows what he wants, and he's not willing to compromise.

A part of me—a part that has nothing to do with my mission—wants to see what it would take to break that control. To make him give in to the desire I can see simmering beneath the surface. To make him want me so badly that he forgets all about duty and appropriate boundaries .

I shake my head, banishing the thought and forcing myself to refocus on the reasons why I’m doing this.

This isn't about my ego or my curiosity.

This is about completing my mission so I can finally get the information I need about my family's killers.

So I can finally put the past behind me and start a new life—a life that doesn't involve killing for Nicholas Kane.

If seduction isn't going to work, I need another approach. I need to get Konstantin alone, away from the resort staff and any potential witnesses. Somewhere isolated where I can complete my mission without complications.