Page 51 of Twisted Fate
VALENTINA
I’M SO FUCKED.
I t’s all I can think about the next morning, as I sit at the kitchen island with my coffee in hand, after Konstantin has left for the day.
He made me sleep without showering last night, wanting me to wake up still full of him from what we did out on the beach.
I woke several hours later to the feeling of him inside of me, kneeling behind me with one of my legs hooked over his powerful thigh as he thrust into me, his fingers circling my clit until the pleasure woke me.
I came almost immediately. I’ve never been so turned on by a man handling me like this, fucking me when he wants, taking me like I’m his.
Before this, I’d have hated any man who touched me like that, despised him, and looked forward to the moment when I’d kill him while enduring his touches long enough to finish the job.
But with Konstantin—I crave more. I crave his touch, his kisses, his filthy words, the feeling of him inside of me. Every time we’re together, I feel like he sees me in a way that no one else ever has, not even Kane.
Which is ridiculous, because he doesn’t even know who I am. He doesn’t know my real name, or my real past, or anything about me. Everything I’ve ever told him is a complete fiction, all a made-up persona for someone who doesn’t exist.
Everything except when we’re in bed together. That’s real. I can’t lie to myself and say that it isn’t.
And that's the problem.
I stare out at the endless blue of the ocean through the floor-to-ceiling windows, my hazelnut latte growing cold between my hands. The Miami sun glints off the water, almost painfully bright, but I can't look away. It's easier to focus on that than the mess I've made of this mission.
Kane hasn’t called me yet. I’ve started to feel a cramping dread in my stomach every morning when I look at my phone, waiting to see a message from him or a missed call, the one that will undoubtedly tell me that the hit is back on.
I should call him—the information Konstantin unwittingly gave me about the meeting is exactly the kind of thing Kane wants to know. But something is holding me back.
Not something, I tell myself grimly as I take another sip of my cooling coffee.
I know exactly what it is. I’ve become addicted to the pleasure Konstantin gives me.
To the look in his eyes when he sees me.
I want another hit of that desire, that need, that all-consuming feeling of bliss.
But like any drug, if I let it overtake me, it’ll ruin my life.
I can’t let all these years of work go to waste, lose this one chance, because Konstantin makes me come like no man ever has before.
Not even because, despite my best efforts, I’m starting to feel something for him.
I felt it last night, especially out on the beach.
It was the clearest look I’ve gotten at who he really is—and it’s not the kind of man I want to kill.
He is, I think, the closest thing that there could be to a good man in this world, a man who wants to do as little harm as he can, for all that he lives in a world built on violence and blood.
A man who, even if he can’t wash his hands of it, would like to minimize the damage.
I’m sure he’s done things that warrant the contract out on him. I could justify it to myself that way, if need be. But that’s not why there’s a bullet marked for him. Kane wants him dead because of his ideas. Because of the very thing that makes me respect him.
And as far as why I feel something for him that I can’t allow myself to put a name to? I can’t think about that. I can’t think about how I feel closer to him than I ever have to anyone else in my life, and what that means for what I’m going to have to do to him.
My phone buzzes, and I jump, afraid that it’s Kane, that he somehow heard my thoughts and is calling me to tell me to go ahead with the kill. A wave of relief strong enough to unsettle me washes over me when I look down and see that it’s Konstantin texting me instead.
Konstantin: Lunch today? The Terraza at 1. I'll send a car.
My heart does a stupid little flip in my chest. I hate how much I want to see him, even though he just left a few hours ago. I hate how I'm already thinking about what to wear, what will make his eyes darken with that possessive hunger I've come to crave.
Sophia: Yes. See you then.
I set the phone down and take the remainder of my coffee to the sink, swallowing the last of it before rinsing out the mug. I need to shower—finally—and get ready. I need to remember who I am and why I'm here.
I’m not really Sophia Moretti. I’m Valentina Kane, a trained assassin, and Konstantin is not a man I can fall in love with.
He’s the man I’ve been sent to kill.
—
By noon, I’ve showered and blow-dried my hair until it falls in perfect, curling waves around my shoulders, applied light makeup, and thrown on a white linen dress that looks flattering and appropriate at the same time, along with straw lace-up espadrille sandals.
I get a text letting me know that the car is outside, and I grab the spare keycard that Konstantin left for me, heading down to meet the driver.
I’ve never been to the Terraza before, but the restaurant is exactly what I'd expect from a place Konstantin would choose—elegant without being stuffy, with a stunning view of the water. The hostess leads me to a table on the terrace where Konstantin is already waiting, rising as I approach. He looks as breathtakingly handsome as always, dressed in a suit with his jacket taken off and the sleeves of his light-blue shirt rolled up to his elbows, displaying his muscled, tattooed forearms. He’s unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt as well as a concession to the heat, and I see the glint of the gold chain at his throat in the sunlight.
His eyes sweep over me, taking in the dress I chose, the way it clings to my curves before flaring out at the hips. I see the approval in his gaze, the barely restrained desire, and something else—something that looks dangerously like affection.
"You look beautiful," he says, pulling out my chair. He leans in to brush his mouth over mine, and I feel a jolt of desire, my chest tightening at the sensation. It doesn’t just feel like lust… it feels like something else, too. Like affection, the same thing I saw in his face. Like being glad that I’m here, at lunch, with him, and not anywhere else in the world.
"Thank you." I sit, arranging my dress carefully. "You clean up awfully well yourself.” I smile faintly at him, before looking around. “This place is lovely."
It really is. The deck that we’re sitting on is fairly large, with bistro-style tables scattered across it, intentionally spaced, the water stretching out around us on all sides.
There’s a low hum of conversation, and the day is perfect—hot, of course, but with a breeze coming off the water and not a cloud in the sky.
"I thought you'd like it." He takes his seat across from me, signaling for the waiter. "The seafood here is exceptional."
“My favorite.” I order a glass of white wine when the waiter comes to get our drink order, and a Caesar salad to start. Twenty minutes later, our entrées come out—grilled salmon with honey miso glaze and wild rice for Konstantin, and scallops over risotto for me.
He looks up at me as he reaches for his water. “You seem distracted,” he comments, taking a sip. “Are you alright?”
I realize I haven’t said much. Konstantin filled me in on his surprisingly ordinary morning, and I think I nodded in all the right places, but I wasn’t as present as I usually make sure to be.
“Still thinking about last night,” I say with a smile, and it isn’t entirely a lie. “And this morning.”
Konstantin’s eyes darken, his lips curving into a smile that’s both satisfied and predatory all at once. “You like it when I do what I please with you.” It’s not a question—we both know the answer is yes . It’s evident in the way I respond to him, every time.
I can feel myself blushing. It’s a startling sensation. No one has ever made me blush before, but the memory of Konstantin’s hand beneath my skirt in the club, making me come on his fingers as we danced in the crowd of people?—
No one has ever done that to me before, either.
I nod, biting my lip. “I’m never going to be able to ride in that car again without getting turned on.”
He laughs, and it’s genuine—maybe more genuine than I’ve heard from him before. I wonder how often he really laughs like that. "I'll never be able to drive it without thinking of you bent over the hood."
My blush deepens. “Maybe we should do the same with all my cars,” he adds, a wicked gleam in his eye. “Or maybe all but one, just so I have an option if I don’t want to drive around permanently hard.”
“Konstantin!” I stifle a laugh, and his eyes gleam with mischief.
“What?” He shrugs, taking a bite of his fish. “I’m just being honest with my wife.”
Wife. The word hits me like a physical blow, in a way that it hasn’t before. I am his wife, legally at least. But everything about our marriage is built on lies. My name, my past, my intentions—all fabricated. The only real thing between us is the desire, the connection I never expected to feel.
“I’ve been thinking,” he continues, glancing up at me. “Since we came home, really.”
Home. I swallow hard. “About what?” I manage to keep my voice surprisingly neutral.
Konstantin pauses. “For years,” he begins finally, “I’ve tried to change my father’s mind, to make him see things the way I do.
To get him to allow me to start carving a path toward the changes I want.
It’s never worked. And I’d started thinking about making my own inroads, about trying to build something of my own, on my own—connections, business, whatever I can—that will be the foundation for what I want after he’s gone.
Things he might not notice, but that I can build on later. ”