Page 63 of Twisted Fate

VALENTINA

T he plan that we come up with is both dangerous and simple, all at once.

We decide that it’s best for me to return to Kane, contrite and apologetic.

I apologize for my weakness, for my failure, for losing sight of the mission.

I offer to take out Don Genovese and the Slakov patriarch as a show of my good faith, to prove that I’m still loyal to him.

I promise to do better, if he’ll give me another chance with Konstantin.

I’m meant to grovel, which isn’t my strong suit.

I’m not sure that I can do it, if I’m being honest, but Konstantin thinks I can.

Konstantin needs Genovese and Slakov dead, so if I can convince Kane to let me carry out the hits to prove my loyalty, we can kill two birds—literally—with one stone…

or rather, two bullets. When I’ve gotten my way back into Kane’s good graces, then Konstantin and I will make a move to kill him.

Leaving the safe house is harder than I expected.

We haven’t talked about how we feel about each other.

We slept in the same bed last night, but Konstantin didn’t try to touch me.

I don’t know what future there is for us—if there even is one at all.

I don’t know if he still wants me, beside the base urges of his body. I don’t know if I’ll survive this.

He drops me off at a coffee shop in the suburbs, from where I’ll call an Uber and head back to Kane’s mansion.

We sit there in the parking lot for longer than we probably should, as I try to think of a way to tell this man goodbye—this man who is my husband, and not, and who I feel things for that I never thought I was capable of.

“Be careful,” Konstanin finally says. “Be smart, Valentina. I know you are. Don’t let him get to you, and we’ll take the bastard down. Be patient.”

I swallow hard, my throat tightening until I’m not sure I can speak. I give him a tight, quick nod and slide out of the Mercedes, heading toward the coffee shop.

I don’t look back. When I hear the sound of the Mercedes pulling away after a lingering pause, I wish that I had.

The Uber drops me off in front of Kane’s mansion, and I feel a swimming sense of deja-vu, the memory of coming back here from my Moscow job only a few weeks ago stark in my mind.

Everything was different then. I didn’t know the truth.

I thought I might be about to get out, to turn over a new leaf, to finally get my revenge and close this chapter of my life.

I’m going to get my revenge. But nothing about it is how I planned.

There are no guards at the door, no one waiting for me with guns in hand. I walk up to the front door as I always have, use my key to let myself in. Rosa is nowhere to be seen. I walk through the mansion, smelling lemon and salt, toward Kane’s study where I know he’ll be.

There’s no shock on Kane’s face when I walk into the room.

He looks up, his jaw tightening as he sees me, his face so expressionless that I couldn’t pinpoint what emotion he’s feeling if I tried.

There’s nothing there. No rage. No hurt.

Not even disappointment. He doesn’t gesture for me to sit down, and so I remain standing, a few feet from his desk as he looks at me.

His eyes are ice-cold, and a shiver runs down my spine.

“Valentina,” he says finally, and I feel an ache in my chest. A longing, to hear Konstantin say my name again. I don’t know if he ever will. If I’ll survive the next few minutes.

Every moment, from here on out, is a gamble.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to come back,” he says smoothly, his voice as cold as his eyes. “I take it Abramov is not dead.”

I swallow hard, dropping my gaze, doing my best to look contrite.

Ashamed. Like I’ve failed, and I’d do anything to make it right.

“I failed you,” I say softly. “I’m sorry, Kane.

I couldn’t do it. I lost sight of… I lost sight of what I was supposed to do.

” I look up, only to see that his expression hasn’t changed.

Somehow, that’s even more frightening. “I made a mistake.”

He studies me for a long moment. I know he’s looking for tells, for deception, a crack in my demeanor that shows I’m playing him. I let him look, keeping my expression appropriately chastened, slightly desperate.

"Yes, you did," he agrees finally. "A very costly mistake. How can I trust you now, Valentina? I told you how important this job was to me. How I trusted no one with it but you. And you failed me.”

I nod, pressing my lips together, my face a mask of regret and shame.

“I want to make it right,” I say softly, looking up at him.

“I know that Genovese and the Slakov patriarch are meeting with the Abramovs. I know that they were behind the other assassination attempts. I can take them out for you.” I slip a little desperation in my tone, a need for his approval, his mercy.

“Let me show you that I’m still loyal to you. That I can fix this.”

Kane doesn’t flinch. He looks at me, still appraising. “And Abramov?”

“Still in my sights,” I lie quickly. “But I’ll need time to reestablish trust. All he knows is that I left. He’ll think I’m a runaway wife. That I got spooked, being a Bratva heir’s bride. I’ll get back into his good graces, finish the job.”

“Hm.” Kane snorts. “And why should I believe that you won’t make the same mistake again?”

My heart thuds behind my ribs. “It was a lapse in judgment,” I say softly. “I regretted it as soon as I ran. I’m yours, Kane. Your weapon. I will make this right.”

He appraises me for a long moment. I think of all the times that I thought I saw a glimmer of fatherly feeling, the times when I thought he might love me in some way, and I wonder if that was him playing a part, all along.

If he ever felt anything for me, this child that he raised into a woman, into a killer, or if he’s so calculated that even that was designed purely to manipulate me into believing he might care.

Or, if his next words are because, in some corner of himself, he can’t help but have some feeling for the foster daughter that he raised since she was eight years old.

“Take out Genovese and Slakov,” he says. “Before the meeting with the Abramovs. If you can do that, Valentina, then I will consider giving you another chance with Konstantin. But—” He holds up a finger. “This is your only chance, Valentina. There won’t be another. If you fail me again?—”

He doesn’t need to finish the statement. I nod. “I understand. I’ll get it done.”

I turn to go, and Kane’s voice stops me, calling out from behind. “Valentina?”

I stop in my tracks, turning slowly. “Yes?”

“It’s not in my nature to forgive. Keep that in mind, when you make your choices, from now on.”

I nod, slowly. “Thank you,” I say softly, and I walk out of his office.

My skin is crawling as I step out into the hall, my body thrumming with the effort it took to hold back how I feel. How I want to tear him apart, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left of the man that I thought was the only father I had left.

I don’t sleep well that night. I’m back in my room, a room I once longed for, but nothing about it feels right anymore.

I miss Konstantin next to me, the woodsy, salty, musky scent of him, the sound of his breathing, the feeling of his warm, solid body in the bed.

I never knew it was possible to miss someone like this, but I miss him —his voice, his laughter, his wit.

I miss how he made me feel safe, even when I knew I was anything but safe for him.

He’s the only person who’s ever really seen me. Whoever knew how to give me what I needed. Who knew, in the moment when the truth came out about my family, exactly what to do for me.

Somehow, I found an equal, a partner, a man who could be the other half of me, in the most unlikely of places. And now, I don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance to tell him that. If we’ll ever get the chance to find out what could have been.

It doesn’t take long to collect the intel on Genovese and Slakov.

I’m not one for false modesty—I’m every bit as good as Kane thinks I am, as good as he’s created me to be.

My failure with Konstantin was because of how I felt for him, because of my own personal weakness, but there’s no such weakness when it comes to these other two men.

And, they tried to kill Konstantin. It adds a bit of relief to this mission.

This is a kill I can feel straightforward about—no questioning, no moral compass, no doubt.

After weeks of confusion and tumult with Konstantin, it feels almost like a refuge to slip back into my old skin, to carry out a hit that I don’t feel bad about.

The targets are meant to go down the same night, as close together as I can manage, to avoid the second target hearing about the death of the first. Slakov I target at a restaurant, while he’s having dinner alone on a terrace, in full view of the top of a building across from him.

I have his reservation time, and I wait at the edge of the building, watching for him through my sniper lens, waiting.

A pop of a bullet, and he slumps over on his table, red spreading across the white tablecloth.

I hear screams, but I’m already packing up, already moving, invisible in the darkness in my black tactical gear.

I head for Genovese’s mansion next—another sniper shot, my lens searching windows until I see him in his office.

There’s a woman with him. Elia. My jaw clenches, and I make a split-second decision.

Two bullets. The first pierces the window with a crack of breaking glass, dropping Genovese where he stands. Before Elia can even react, a second bullet cracks through the window, and she drops out of view next to him.

I return to Kane, with photos of the body at the restaurant, the bullet holes in the window. “It’s done,” I tell him, still in my gear, dropping the pictures on his desk. “Abramov?”