"He didn't do it."
Reza's words hung in the air between us, pixelated on my laptop screen but no less devastating for it. He ran a hand through his dark hair, the bags under his eyes testifying to a sleepless night analyzing the files I'd stolen.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" My voice sounded foreign to my own ears. Hollow. Distant.
"Castellano didn't order the hit on your father." Reza's expression was grim as he pointed to something on his screen. "The files you sent me, Val. There's a record of every sanctioned kill ordered by the Castellano family for the past fifteen years. Your father isn't on it."
My heart thundered against my ribs. "That's impossible. I saw him. I fucking saw Dominic there that night."
"I'm not saying he wasn't there." Reza leaned closer to his camera. "I'm saying he didn't give the order. According to these files, the hit came from someone else. Someone who used Castellano resources but didn't leave a paper trail."
"Who?" The question scraped my throat raw.
"That's the thing." Reza frowned. "There's a reference code attached to the operation. But it's not in any database I can access. It's like it was designed to be untraceable."
"Bullshit." I stood up abruptly, pacing my hotel room. "Ten years, Reza. Ten fucking years I've been planning this. Training. Building this cover. Becoming someone else. And now you're telling me I've been targeting the wrong man?"
"I'm telling you it's more complicated than we thought." His voice turned cautious. "Val... there's something else."
The hesitation in his tone made my stomach twist. "What?"
"There's a surveillance report from three days before your father was killed. Castellano had been watching him. There are photos of your father meeting with a Russian."
"Russian?" My mind flashed to Petrov and his men. "Who?"
"The name's redacted. But the timestamp and location..." Reza paused. "It was at your family's summer house. The one where you told me—"
"Where I thought we were safe." I finished for him, bile rising in my throat. My father had taken me there just days before his murder, telling me it was our secret place where no one could find us. "So Dominic was having him followed."
"Looks that way." Reza was watching me carefully through the screen. "And there's one more thing. The last page of the report... it has your name."
The floor seemed to tilt beneath me. "My name? Why the fuck would my name be in Dominic's files from ten years ago?"
"It says 'Protect V. Ricci at all costs.' Direct quote."
My legs gave out, and I sank onto the edge of the bed. "That doesn't make any sense."
"No, it doesn't." Reza's voice softened. "Val, I think we need to step back. There's more going on here than we understood."
"Step back?" I laughed, a brittle sound that barely contained my panic. "I'm in his bed, Reza. Or I will be tonight. Kind of fucking late to step back."
His expression darkened. "You're still planning to meet him?"
"Of course I am." I glanced at the clock—nearly noon. Eight hours until I was supposed to be at Dominic's penthouse. "If he didn't kill my father, I need to find out who did. And why my name was in his files."
"It's too dangerous. If he suspects you stole those files—"
"He already knows I'm spying on him," I cut in. "He said as much last night. And he still..." My voice trailed off as memories of his hands on me, his mouth on mine, flooded back.
Reza's eyes narrowed. "He still what, Val?"
I looked away. "It doesn't matter."
"Jesus Christ." Realization dawned on his face. "You're sleeping with him."
"Not yet." The admission burned my tongue.
"But you're going to." It wasn't a question.
I met his gaze defiantly. "If that's what it takes to get answers."
"That's not why you're doing it." His voice was low, disapproving. "I know you, Val. You wouldn't—"
"You don't know shit about what I would or wouldn't do." Anger flared, hot and protective. "You weren't there when they killed him. You didn't see what I saw. You didn't have to rebuild your entire life from nothing."
"No, I just helped you do it." The hurt in his voice was palpable. "I just spent ten years helping you prepare for a revenge that might be aimed at the wrong target."
Guilt lanced through me. "Reza—"
"Just be careful." He sighed, looking suddenly tired. "These people don't play games, Val. If Castellano is protecting you for some reason, great. But if he discovers who you really are..."
"He won't." I tried to inject confidence I didn't feel. "I need to go. I'll contact you after."
Reza's face was grim as he nodded. "Don't do anything stupid."
"Too late for that," I murmured after the screen went dark.
I stood in the center of my hotel room, mind racing. Everything I'd believed for a decade was unraveling. If Dominic hadn't ordered my father's death, who had? And why would he have instructions to protect me?
Nothing made sense. Except, perhaps, the magnetic pull I felt toward him—the one I'd been fighting as a betrayal of my mission. The one that had made me hate myself for wanting my enemy.
But what if he wasn't my enemy after all?
I spent the next few hours preparing for the evening ahead, but my mind was elsewhere, replaying memories of that night ten years ago. The sounds of gunfire. The sight of my father's body. The glimpse of Dominic Castellano walking away from the scene, his face illuminated briefly by headlights.
I'd been so certain.
At seven-thirty, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I'd chosen a simple black dress—elegant enough for a date, casual enough that it didn't scream effort. My hair was down, the black wig carefully styled to frame my face. The knife was strapped to my thigh as always, a reassuring weight against my skin.
This time, though, I'd added something new: a small recorder hidden in my clutch. If Dominic had answers about my father's death, I needed them documented.
The drive to his building passed in a blur. By the time the private elevator carried me to his penthouse, my heart was pounding so hard I felt light-headed.
The doors opened directly into his home. Dominic stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, silhouetted against the Chicago skyline, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He turned as I entered, and the naked hunger in his eyes stole my breath.
"You came." There was the faintest note of surprise in his voice.
"Did you think I wouldn't?" I remained by the elevator, suddenly uncertain.
He crossed the room with that predatory grace I'd come to recognize, stopping just short of touching me. "I thought you might have second thoughts. Regrets."
"About last night?" I lifted my chin. "No regrets."
His eyes searched mine. "Good. Neither do I."
The tension between us was a living thing, electric and dangerous. I needed to stay focused, to remember why I was really here. But my body had other ideas, already responding to his proximity with a rush of heat.
"Drink?" he offered, gesturing toward the bar.
"Please."
As he moved away to pour, I took the opportunity to steady myself. I had questions that needed answers. The physical could wait.
But when he returned, handing me a glass of whiskey, our fingers brushed, and a jolt of desire shot through me so intense it was almost painful.
"I've been thinking about you all day," he said, his voice low and intimate. "About what was interrupted."
I took a deliberate sip of my drink, buying time. "We should talk first."
A flicker of surprise crossed his face. "Talk?"
"Yes." I moved past him to the windows, needing space to think clearly. "You said some things last night that I can't stop thinking about."
He followed, maintaining a careful distance. "Which things specifically?"
"You said you answer to someone." I turned to face him. "I want to know who."
His expression closed off slightly. "Business talk? That's what you want right now?"
"Humor me."
He studied me for a long moment, then nodded once. "The Castellano family has... alliances. Arrangements that were made before my time. I honor them."
"That's vague."
"It's meant to be." His smile was tight. "Some things are better left unspecific."
"Even with someone you're about to fuck?"
His eyes darkened at my crude language. "Especially then."
I took another sip of whiskey, feeling it burn down my throat. "What if I told you I know things about your business that I shouldn't?"
A dangerous stillness came over him. "Such as?"
"Records of kills ordered by your family. Surveillance reports. Things that weren't meant for outside eyes."
I was playing with fire, and I knew it. But I needed to see his reaction. Needed to gauge if he'd been honest with me about suspecting I was a spy.
His expression remained impassive, but something flashed in his eyes—not surprise, but calculation. "And how would you know such things?"
"Maybe I found them in your office. Maybe that's why your Russian friend found me in your bathroom."
"I see." He set his glass down carefully. "And you're admitting this to me because...?"
"Because I need to know the truth about something." I held his gaze steadily. "A kill from ten years ago. A man named Alessandro Ricci."
If I'd expected shock or recognition, I was disappointed. Dominic's expression didn't change, but his eyes narrowed slightly.
"The name means something to you," I pressed.
"Should it?"
"He was murdered on your family's orders." I took a step closer. "Or at least, that's what it looked like."
"You seem to have done considerable research." His voice was dangerously soft. "For a dancer."
"Answer the question, Dominic."
"I didn't hear a question." He closed the distance between us, towering over me. "I heard accusations from a woman who just admitted to stealing confidential files from my office."
My heart raced, but I stood my ground. "Did you order the hit on Alessandro Ricci?"
"No." The answer came without hesitation. "I did not."
Relief flooded through me before I could stop it. "But you were there. The night he died."
Something shifted in his expression—surprise, finally. "How could you possibly know that?"
"I saw you."
The admission hung in the air between us. Dominic's eyes widened fractionally, then narrowed in sudden realization.
"Valentina," he breathed, the name falling from his lips like a revelation.
My blood turned to ice. He knew. He fucking knew who I was.
"How long?" I managed, my voice steady despite the panic clawing at my throat.
"Since the moment you walked into my club." His gaze never left mine. "I've been waiting for you to make your move for weeks."
The floor seemed to drop out from under me. My entire mission, my careful planning, my alternate identity—all of it had been transparent to him from the beginning.
"Then why?" I whispered. "Why let me get close? Why all of this?"
His hand came up to cup my face, thumb brushing over my cheekbone with unexpected tenderness. "Because I made a promise to your father."
The glass slipped from my fingers, shattering on the floor. Neither of us moved.
"What did you just say?" My voice was barely audible.
"Your father was my mentor, Valentina. Not my enemy." His eyes held mine, willing me to understand. "I didn't kill him. I tried to save him."
"No." I stepped back, shaking my head. "No, that's not possible. I saw you there. I saw you walk away after he was shot."
"Yes, you did." Pain flickered across his features. "After I failed to stop it. After I held him while he died. After he made me swear to protect you."
"Liar!" I hissed, backing away further. "My father would never—"
"Ask you to go live with your aunt in California under a new identity? Never contact your friends again? Disappear completely?" Dominic's voice was gentle despite the devastating precision of his words. "He arranged all of it, Valentina. Days before he died. He knew they were coming for him."
My back hit the wall. Memories crashed over me—my father's strange behavior those final days, the urgent whispered phone calls, his insistence that I memorize a phone number "just in case."
"Who killed him?" The question scraped raw from my throat.
"The same people who've been watching you ever since you came back to Chicago." Dominic stepped closer, his expression grave. "The Russians."
The pieces started falling into place—Petrov's unusual interest, the intelligence officer in the bathroom, the surveillance photos of my father with a Russian contact.
"Why?" I demanded. "Why would they want him dead?"
"Because he discovered they had infiltrated our organization. He found evidence that someone high in the Castellano family was working with the Bratva, selling information, compromising operations." Dominic's jaw tightened. "He was going to expose them. They couldn't let that happen."
I stared at him, trying to process this impossible revision of everything I'd believed. "If that's true, why didn't you tell me the moment I walked into your club? Why let me believe—"
"Would you have believed me?" He shook his head. "You were so certain I was the monster. And I needed to know who you were working with, who sent you."
"No one sent me," I said quietly. "I've spent ten years planning this myself."
Something like admiration flickered in his eyes. "Not entirely by yourself. Your friend Reza has been helping you. Former intelligence operative, correct?"
My silence was answer enough.
"I've known about him for weeks," Dominic continued. "My men have been watching him. Making sure he's not connected to the Russians."
"And is he?"
"No. He appears to be exactly what he seems—someone who cares about you. Who helped you build this elaborate revenge fantasy."
The dismissive description stung. "It wasn't a fantasy. My father is still dead."
"Yes." His expression softened. "And I've spent ten years trying to find who gave the order. Who betrayed him from inside my organization."
I studied his face, looking for any sign of deception. "The files I took... there was a code attached to the operation. A reference that wasn't in any database."
Dominic nodded. "I've seen it. It's the same code that appears on three other unsanctioned kills in our territory. All traces lead back to the Russians, but the actual connection to someone in my family remains hidden."
"And the note about protecting me?"
Something vulnerable flickered in his expression. "Your father's last words were about you. He made me swear I'd keep you safe, no matter what happened." His voice lowered. "I've had people watching over you for ten years, Valentina. Making sure the Russians never found you."
I closed my eyes, overwhelmed. If what he was saying was true, my entire adult life had been built on a lie. My mission, my purpose, my hatred for this man—all of it misdirected.
"Why did you let me seduce you?" I asked, opening my eyes to find him watching me intently. "If you knew who I was, why not just tell me the truth?"
A rueful smile touched his lips. "Who was seducing whom? I've wanted you since the moment you walked in." His expression turned serious. "And I needed you to trust me enough to listen when I finally told you the truth."
"So last night... the things we did..."
"Were exactly what they seemed." His voice dropped lower. "Desire, Valentina. Pure and simple."
The way he said my real name—my actual name, not my cover—sent a shiver through me. It sounded intimate on his lips, like a caress.
"I don't know what to believe anymore," I admitted.
"Believe this." He closed the distance between us, one hand coming up to cup my face. "I didn't kill your father. I've spent ten years honoring my promise to him, protecting you from a distance. And every moment since you walked into my club, I've been fighting a battle between my obligation to his memory and my desire for you."
His proximity was intoxicating, his scent wrapping around me like a physical touch. I should have pushed him away. Should have demanded proof of everything he'd just told me. Should have maintained distance until I could verify his claims.
Instead, I found myself whispering, "And which one is winning?"
His eyes darkened. "Right now? Desire is winning by a fucking mile."
The crude honesty of it broke something loose inside me—some final restraint I'd been clinging to. With a sound that was half sob, half growl, I grabbed his shirt and pulled him to me.
Our mouths crashed together, all the confusion and anger and want of the past weeks channeling into a kiss that was more battlefield than romance. His hands tangled in my hair, tugging hard enough that the wig shifted. I didn't care. Let him see the real me. Let him see everything.
He backed me against the wall, his body pressing into mine with delicious pressure. My hands clawed at his shirt, desperate to feel skin. He helped, yanking it over his head to reveal the muscled torso I'd glimpsed before, the bullet scar stark against his skin.
"I thought about this all day," he growled against my mouth. "About how wet you were for me. About how I was going to taste you tonight."
The words sent a rush of heat between my legs. "Dominic..."
"Say it again." His hands found the zipper of my dress, dragging it down with agonizing slowness. "Your real name on your lips."
"Dominic," I repeated, gasping as his mouth moved to my throat.
The dress fell to the floor, leaving me in nothing but a black lace bra and the knife strapped to my thigh. His eyes raked over me, hungry and possessive.
"Fuck," he breathed. "Even more beautiful than I imagined."
His honesty was devastating. I reached for him, pulling him back to me, needing his mouth, his hands, anything to stop the tornado of emotions threatening to overwhelm me.
He obliged, claiming my mouth again as his hands explored newly exposed skin. When his fingers found the knife, he paused, pulling back to look at me with a raised eyebrow.
"Old habits," I murmured.
A slow smile spread across his face as he carefully unbuckled the holster, setting the blade aside. "We'll have to work on your trust issues."
"Later," I insisted, reaching for his belt. "Right now, I need you to touch me. I need to not think for a while."
Understanding darkened his eyes. "I can do that."
He lifted me effortlessly, carrying me toward the bedroom. My legs wrapped around his waist, the hard length of him pressing against my core through his pants. I rolled my hips instinctively, drawing a groan from deep in his chest.
"Patience," he warned, laying me on the massive bed. "Or this will be over before it begins."
"I've been patient for weeks," I countered, reaching for him. "I don't want to wait anymore."
Something flashed in his eyes—hunger, yes, but something else too. Something that looked dangerously close to tenderness.
"Valentina," he said softly, hovering above me. "Are you sure? After everything I just told you—"
I pressed a finger to his lips. "I don't know what to believe about the past. But this—" I guided his hand between my legs, letting him feel the wetness soaking through my panties, "—this is real. And I need real right now."
He groaned, pressing his palm harder against me. "Fuck, you're soaked."
"For you," I admitted, arching into his touch. "Only for you."
His control seemed to snap at my words. He yanked my panties down my legs, spreading my thighs with firm hands. Before I could process what was happening, his mouth was on me, tongue sliding through my folds with devastating precision.
"Oh god," I gasped, hands fisting in the sheets. "Dominic, fuck—"
He hummed against me, the vibration sending shockwaves through my body. His tongue circled my clit before sucking it gently, drawing a strangled cry from my throat.
"That's it," he murmured against my flesh. "Let me hear you."
One finger slid inside me, then two, curling in a way that made my back arch off the bed. His mouth never left my clit, alternating between gentle suction and firm strokes of his tongue.
The pleasure built rapidly, coiling tighter and tighter at the base of my spine. I was close—so close—when he suddenly pulled back, leaving me gasping and empty.
"Not yet," he said, his voice rough as he stood to remove his remaining clothes. "I want to be inside you the first time you come for me."
I watched through heavy-lidded eyes as he stripped, my mouth going dry at the sight of him fully naked. He was magnificent—all hard muscle and olive skin, his cock thick and heavy between his legs.
He reached for his bedside drawer, retrieving a condom. I propped myself up on my elbows, watching as he rolled it on with practiced ease.
"Like what you see?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.
"Yes." I didn't bother with coyness. Not now. "I want you inside me."
His eyes darkened at my directness. He moved over me again, positioning himself between my spread thighs. The head of his cock nudged against my entrance, hot and insistent.
"Look at me," he commanded softly.
I met his gaze, something electric passing between us as he pushed inside—slowly, inexorably, stretching me in a way that walked the exquisite line between pleasure and pain.
"Fuck," he groaned as he bottomed out. "So tight. So perfect."
I couldn't speak, could barely breathe. The feeling of fullness was overwhelming, made more intense by the emotional chaos swirling inside me. He seemed to understand, remaining still for long moments, allowing me to adjust.
When I finally rolled my hips, signaling my readiness, he began to move. Slow, deep thrusts that hit something inside me that made stars explode behind my eyes.
"Dominic," I gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. "Harder. Please."
He obliged, picking up pace, driving into me with increasing force. The sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the room, punctuated by our shared pants and moans.
"Is this what you wanted?" he growled against my ear. "To be fucked by the man you were sent to destroy?"
The crude reminder of our complicated reality only heightened my arousal. "Yes," I admitted, shameless in my need. "God, yes."
He slipped a hand between us, thumb finding my clit with unerring accuracy. "Come for me, Valentina. Let me feel you."
The combination of his thrusts, his touch, and my name on his lips pushed me over the edge. Pleasure exploded outward from my core, white-hot and all-consuming. I cried out, back arching as my inner walls clamped down around him.
"Fuck, yes," he hissed, his rhythm faltering as my orgasm triggered his own. He thrust deep once more, his body going rigid above me as he came with a guttural groan of my name.
For long moments, we remained locked together, breathing hard, skin slick with sweat. His weight was heavy but welcome, anchoring me to reality when everything else felt like it might slip away.
Finally, he rolled to the side, disposing of the condom before pulling me against his chest. The tenderness of the gesture made my throat tight with unexpected emotion.
"You okay?" he asked softly, fingers trailing along my spine.
"I don't know," I answered honestly. "Nothing is what I thought it was."
He pressed a kiss to my temple. "I know. It's a lot to process."
We lay in silence for a while, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear. Eventually, I found the courage to ask the question that had been haunting me since his revelations.
"What happens now?"
His arms tightened around me. "Now, we find who really killed your father. Together."
"The Russians," I murmured.
"And whoever in my organization is working with them." His voice hardened. "I've been hunting them for ten years, Valentina. I'm close. With your help, I can finish this."
I pulled back slightly to look at him. "Why would you need my help?"
A shadow crossed his face. "Because they're watching you. They know who you are. They've known since you came back to Chicago."
Fear coiled in my stomach. "What?"
"The man who confronted you in my bathroom yesterday wasn't just any intelligence officer. His name is Alexei Volkov. He was there the night your father died."
The revelation hit me like a physical blow. "He was part of it?"
"He pulled the trigger." Dominic's expression was grim. "And now he's found you again."
"Oh god." Nausea rose in my throat. "If he recognized me—"
"He did. I'm certain of it." Dominic sat up, pulling me with him. "That's why we need to move quickly. They'll be coming for you now."
The comfortable afterglow vanished, replaced by cold reality. "Coming for me?"
"To finish what they started ten years ago." His eyes were deadly serious. "Your father hid evidence of their mole. They think you know where it is."
"But I don't!"
"They won't believe that." He cupped my face in his hands. "Listen to me, Valentina. You're not safe. Not at your hotel, not anywhere they can find you."
Fear and confusion warred within me. "What are you suggesting?"
"Stay here." His thumbs stroked my cheeks gently. "Let me protect you, like I promised your father I would."
The offer was tempting—not just for the safety it offered, but for the chance to be near him. To unravel the truth together. To explore whatever this was between us.
But doubt still lingered. "How do I know you're telling the truth? About any of this?"
His expression turned thoughtful. "Your father wore a St. Christopher medallion. Never took it off. It was given to him by your mother before she died. The night he was killed, he pressed it into my hand and made me swear to get it to you someday."
My breath caught. The medallion had been my father's most treasured possession. I'd assumed it had been lost or stolen the night he died.
"Where is it?" I whispered.
Dominic reached across to his nightstand, opening the drawer to retrieve a small wooden box. He handed it to me without a word.
With trembling fingers, I opened it. There, nestled on black velvet, was my father's medallion—the silver tarnished with age, but unmistakable. I lifted it with reverent hands, tears blurring my vision as I traced the familiar contours.
"He wanted you to have it when the time was right," Dominic said softly. "When you were safe."
A sob escaped me before I could stop it. The medallion was cool against my palm, but it seemed to burn with the weight of truth. Dominic was telling the truth. He had to be.
"I'll stay," I whispered, closing my fingers around the precious metal. "And I'll help you find them."
Relief washed over his features. He pulled me close, pressing his forehead to mine. "We'll end this, Valentina. Together."
I nodded, clinging to him like a lifeline in the storm of revelations that had upended my world. The enemy I'd spent a decade hating was now my protector. The mission I'd dedicated my life to was built on false assumptions. And the man I'd intended to destroy was now the only one I could trust.
"Dominic," I murmured against his lips. "I need to know one more thing."
"Anything."
"All this time... the things between us..." I struggled to find the words. "Was it just about your promise to my father?"
Understanding dawned in his eyes. Slowly, deliberately, he took my face in his hands.
"No," he said simply. "That's why I fought it so hard. That's why I tried to keep my distance. Because what I feel for you has nothing to do with promises or obligations." His thumbs brushed away tears I hadn't realized I'd shed. "It terrifies me how much I want you. How much I'd risk for you."
The raw honesty in his voice broke something open inside me—something I'd kept carefully guarded for ten years. I kissed him, pouring everything I couldn't yet say into the press of my lips against his.
When we parted, both breathing hard, I whispered, "Show me again."
His eyes darkened with renewed hunger. "With pleasure."
As he lowered me back to the bed, I knew with sudden clarity that everything had changed. The revenge I'd sought no longer mattered. The hatred I'd nurtured had transformed into something else entirely—something frightening in its intensity, but impossible to deny.
The enemy I'd come to destroy had become the man I couldn't live without.
And somewhere in the city, the real monsters were watching, waiting to take us both down.