"I think we're fucked."
The words slipped out before I could stop them, barely audible against Dominic's chest as we lay in the darkness, maintaining our cover of sleeping lovers while my mind raced through nightmare scenarios.
His arms tightened around me, his lips finding my ear. "What did you see?"
"Sergei," I breathed. "When we got back from Petrov's office. The way he looked at me—like he knew."
Dominic's hand traced soothing circles on my lower back, the gesture tender even as tension radiated through his body. "Could be paranoia. Could be nothing."
"Or it could be everything," I countered, pressing closer to disguise our whispered conversation. "He's not stupid, Dominic. What if the commotion was a test? What if they wanted to see what I'd do alone in that office?"
His breath hitched, fingers momentarily stilling against my spine. "Then we move now. Tonight."
The urgency in his voice made my stomach twist. We'd planned to transmit the data tomorrow, using the backdoor I'd created during my work in the server room. Accelerating our timeline meant accepting a higher risk of capture.
"We need to be sure," I insisted. "One wrong move and we're dead."
His fingertips traced my jawline in the darkness, finding my lips. To any watching eyes, it would appear to be a lover's caress. To me, it was a lifeline.
"I'm not leaving without you," he whispered, fierce determination in every syllable. "Either we both make it out, or neither of us does."
My heart squeezed painfully at his words. Ten years ago, I'd been consumed by hatred for this man. Now, the thought of losing him felt like losing part of myself.
"Sleep," he murmured, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "I'll keep watch first."
But sleep was impossible. My body might have been still, wrapped in Dominic's protective embrace, but my mind wouldn't stop racing. The data we'd stolen contained evidence of Russian infiltration at the highest levels of American government. Blackmail material that had turned senators, judges, even military leaders into puppets. The sort of information that got people killed—just as it had gotten my father killed.
After what felt like hours, Dominic's breathing changed, becoming deeper and more regular. He'd fallen asleep despite his intention to keep watch. I carefully extricated myself from his arms, moving to the bathroom with deliberate casualness for the benefit of the cameras.
Once inside with the shower running to mask any sound, I pulled out the small transmitter we'd used to steal the data. The plan had been to wait until morning, to send the information through the backdoor I'd installed during my system upgrades. But Sergei's suspicious gaze had shaken my confidence.
My fingers hovered over the device. Sending now meant using an unsecured connection—riskier, more traceable. But waiting could be even more dangerous if Sergei was already onto us.
"Fuck," I whispered, weighing our options.
The bathroom door opened silently, and I nearly dropped the transmitter. Dominic slipped inside, his expression grave in the dim light.
"What are you doing?" he asked, voice barely audible beneath the shower's noise.
"Considering our options," I admitted. "If Sergei suspects something—"
"He does."
The certainty in his voice made my blood run cold. "How do you know?"
"Guard rotation changed twenty minutes ago. They've doubled the men outside our door." His jaw tightened. "They're waiting for something."
"Shit." My hands trembled slightly as I held up the transmitter. "If I send this now—"
"They'll trace it immediately." He took the device from my hands, setting it on the counter. "We need a diversion. Something big enough to occupy everyone while we make our move."
I nodded, mind already shifting to tactical mode. "The kitchen. You said there's a service tunnel that leads outside the perimeter."
"Heavily monitored," he reminded me. "We'd need to disable the security system first."
"Which I can do from the server room." I met his gaze, a plan forming between us without words. "But I'd need at least five minutes uninterrupted."
His eyes darkened with resolve. "I'll give you ten."
"How?"
A dangerous smile curved his lips. "I'll give our Russian friends exactly what they're expecting—a security breach."
Understanding dawned. "You're going to trigger an alarm."
"Better." His hand came up to cup my face, the gesture achingly gentle despite the violence implied in his next words. "I'm going to cause a real security incident. Northeast section, opposite from the server room and kitchen."
Fear clutched at my chest. "That's suicide, Dominic."
"Not if I time it right." His thumb traced my lower lip. "You get to the server room, disable the systems. I'll create enough chaos to keep them occupied, then meet you at the kitchen access point in fifteen minutes."
"And if you don't make it?" My voice cracked slightly.
His expression softened. "Then you go without me. Get the data out. Finish what your father started."
"No," I shook my head fiercely. "I won't leave you behind."
"Valentina." The use of my real name, my true identity, sent a shiver down my spine. "This is bigger than us. You know that."
I did know. The evidence we'd found could expose a network of corruption that threatened national security—exactly what my father had died trying to reveal. But the thought of sacrificing Dominic to complete the mission made me physically ill.
"Fifteen minutes," I conceded, my throat tight. "Not a second longer. If you're not there, I'm coming to find you."
Something flickered in his eyes—pride, fear, resignation. "Fair enough."
We returned to bed, maintaining our cover until the compound quieted in the early morning hours. At precisely 3:17 AM, we made our move.
Dressed in black, we slipped into the hallway, immediately aware of the heightened security presence. Two guards stood at the far end of the corridor, their attention momentarily elsewhere.
Dominic pulled me into a shadowed alcove, his body shielding mine from view. "Server room, then kitchen," he whispered. "Fifteen minutes."
"Fifteen minutes," I confirmed, fighting the irrational urge to cling to him, to beg him not to go.
His eyes held mine for one heated moment, then he leaned in, his lips capturing mine in a kiss that felt like a promise and a goodbye all at once. When he pulled back, his expression had hardened into the cold mask of Alexei Volkov, Russian operative.
"For luck," he said, his accent flawless.
Then he was gone, moving with silent efficiency toward the northeast section where he planned to create his diversion.
I headed in the opposite direction, using the service corridors we'd mapped during our reconnaissance. The server room was three levels down, in the secure heart of the compound. Getting there unseen would require precise timing and a bit of luck.
I made it halfway before I heard the first explosion.
The blast shook the building, alarms immediately blaring to life. Emergency lights bathed the corridors in pulsing red as guards shouted in Russian, their footsteps thundering toward the source of the commotion.
Dominic had created one hell of a diversion.
I used the chaos to my advantage, slipping past distracted security personnel as they rushed to respond to the threat. The server room door was locked, but the emergency protocols had triggered an automatic override—exactly as I'd anticipated when I modified the security settings during my "upgrades" yesterday.
Inside, I moved quickly. Fingers flying across keyboards, I executed the commands that would disable the surveillance systems throughout the compound. One by one, security cameras went dark, motion sensors deactivated, and electronic locks reset to their default open state.
Next came the transmission. I connected our device to the system, initiating the upload of Petrov's secret files to the secure server Dominic had established before our mission began. The progress bar crawled forward with excruciating slowness—10%, 15%, 23%...
"Come on, come on," I muttered, checking my watch. Seven minutes had passed since we separated. Eight remained before I needed to be at the rendezvous point.
The transmission reached 68% when the door hissed open behind me.
I whirled, knife already in hand, only to find myself facing Sergei. His expression was cold, calculating, a pistol aimed steadily at my chest.
"Mrs. Volkov," he said softly. "Or should I say, Ms. Ricci?"
Ice flooded my veins. He knew. He knew everything.
"Where is your partner?" Sergei asked, closing the door behind him. "Or did he abandon you when things got difficult?"
I kept my face carefully blank, mind racing through options. The transmission needed another minute to complete—time I had to somehow create.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I replied in Russian, playing for time. "There's been a security breach. I'm trying to lock down the systems."
"A convenient explanation." His smile was devoid of humor. "Almost as convenient as your husband's cigarette break last night."
He took a step closer, gun unwavering. "Petrov suspected something was off about you two from the beginning. Too perfect. Too polished." Another step. "The real Volkovs were found dead in Chicago three days ago. Funny coincidence, don't you think?"
Fuck. We'd underestimated Petrov's resources. I shifted my weight subtly, preparing to move.
"You're making a mistake," I said, watching the progress bar from the corner of my eye—86%, 87%...
"The only mistake was letting you near our systems." Sergei's eyes flicked to the monitor behind me, widening as he realized what was happening. "You bitch—"
I lunged before he could finish, driving my knife toward his gun arm. He was fast, deflecting my strike and countering with brutal efficiency. The pistol clattered to the floor as we grappled, his strength nearly overwhelming me.
His hand closed around my throat, pinning me against the edge of the console. "Who are you working for?" he demanded, fingers tightening. "CIA? FBI?"
I struggled for breath, spots dancing at the edges of my vision. Behind me, the computer chimed softly—100%. Transmission complete.
With the last of my strength, I drove my knee up between his legs. His grip loosened enough for me to twist free, gasping for air. I scrambled for the fallen pistol, fingers closing around cold metal just as Sergei recovered.
Our eyes locked for a fraction of a second—his filled with rage, mine with grim determination.
I pulled the trigger twice in quick succession. The first bullet caught him in the shoulder, spinning him halfway around. The second hit center mass, dropping him to the floor.
My ears rang in the sudden silence. Sergei lay motionless, a dark stain spreading across his chest. The transmission was complete, the evidence safely delivered. Now I just needed to reach Dominic.
I checked my watch—thirteen minutes since we'd separated. I had to move.
The corridors were chaos, security personnel rushing to contain the breach in the northeast section. Smoke filled the air, acrid and burning in my lungs as I moved against the flow, keeping to the shadows.
The kitchen was deserted, staff having fled when the alarms sounded. I located the storage area, finding the access panel to the service tunnel exactly where Dominic had described it.
Fourteen minutes.
I crouched beside the panel, listening for approaching footsteps, heart hammering against my ribs. If Dominic didn't make it—if he'd been captured or worse—
Fifteen minutes.
My throat tightened. I should go. I needed to go. The mission was complete; the evidence was out. Every second I remained increased the risk of capture.
Sixteen minutes.
"Fuck this," I whispered, standing. I couldn't leave him. Not now. Not after everything.
I turned toward the door, prepared to fight my way back through the compound if necessary—and found myself staring down the barrel of a gun for the second time that night.
"Going somewhere?" Petrov asked, his face twisted with cold fury.
Behind him stood two guards, weapons trained on me. No sign of Dominic.
"Where is he?" I demanded, dropping the pretense of my Russian accent.
Petrov's smile chilled me to the bone. "Your partner? Currently experiencing Russian hospitality in my private interrogation room." He gestured with his gun. "You'll be joining him shortly."
"He's alive?" Hope flared, painful in its intensity.
"For now." Petrov stepped closer. "Though I can't promise for how long. That depends entirely on how cooperative you both decide to be."
My mind raced, evaluating options, calculating odds. The tunnel entrance was behind me—freedom just inches away. But Dominic was still inside, alive but captured.
"Take me to him," I said, making my decision.
Petrov studied me, something like recognition flickering in his eyes. "You're Alessandro Ricci's daughter," he said suddenly. "I see the resemblance now. He had the same stubborn look before we killed him."
Rage boiled up, hot and vicious. "You'll pay for that," I promised, the words coming from a place of absolute certainty. "All of you will."
"Bold words from a woman about to die." He nodded to his guards. "Take her."
As they moved forward to seize me, a deafening explosion rocked the compound—closer than the first, powerful enough to knock us all off balance.
I didn't hesitate. In the moment of confusion, I launched myself at Petrov, driving my shoulder into his chest. We crashed to the floor, his gun discharging harmlessly into the ceiling. The guards recovered quickly, but not quickly enough—I'd already rolled away, scrambling toward the pantry.
Gunfire erupted behind me, bullets splintering wooden shelves as I dove for cover. I crawled rapidly through rows of supplies, emerging at the far side of the kitchen just as the emergency sprinklers activated, drenching everything in cold water.
Through the chaos of alarms, sprinklers, and shouting guards, I heard something that made my heart skip—a familiar voice calling out in Russian.
"Fire in the east wing! Everyone out!"
Dominic.
He appeared in the doorway like an avenging angel, blood streaking one side of his face, gun in hand. Our eyes met across the room, relief flooding his expression.
"Time to go, malyshka," he called, firing twice at the pursuing guards.
I ran to him, heedless of the danger, my body singing with the knowledge that he was alive. He caught my hand, pulling me into the corridor.
"Did you get the data out?" he asked as we sprinted toward the service exit.
"Yes," I confirmed. "Sergei's dead. Petrov knows who we are."
"I gathered as much when they tried to put a bullet in my head." He grimaced, touching the bloody gash at his temple. "Fucker almost succeeded."
We reached the service tunnel, Dominic covering our retreat as I wrenched open the access panel. Behind us, Petrov's voice rose above the din, ordering his men to cut us off.
"Go!" Dominic urged, pushing me toward the opening. "I'm right behind you."
The tunnel was narrow, damp, and pitch black. I activated the small flashlight from my pocket, revealing a concrete passage that stretched into darkness. Behind me, Dominic sealed the access panel, buying us precious seconds.
"They'll follow," he said grimly, taking the lead. "We've got maybe two minutes before they breach that door."
We moved as quickly as the confined space allowed, the sound of our breathing echoing off the close walls. My mind cataloged injuries—the cut on Dominic's temple, the bruises forming on my throat where Sergei had tried to strangle me, the burning in my lungs from smoke inhalation.
But we were alive. The data was out. We'd completed Alessandro's mission.
The tunnel ended at a rusted metal ladder leading to a trapdoor. Dominic climbed first, pushing against the heavy cover with a grunt of effort. Night air flooded in, sweet and cold after the stagnant tunnel.
He climbed out, then reached back to help me up. We emerged in a small maintenance shed, just as he'd described, beyond the perimeter fence of the compound. In the distance, we could see flames licking at the east wing of the main building, emergency vehicles already arriving at the front gates.
"Your distraction?" I asked, gesturing toward the fire.
A grim smile touched his lips. "Had to improvise when they caught me. Turns out Russian vodka is extremely flammable."
I couldn't help it—I laughed, the sound bordering on hysteria. "You set fire to a Russian mobster's multi-million dollar compound using his own alcohol."
"Seemed fitting." He pulled me close, his hands running over me as if to assure himself I was really there, really whole. "Are you hurt?"
"Nothing serious." I touched the wound on his temple, my fingers coming away bloody. "You need medical attention."
"Later." His eyes scanned the tree line. "Right now, we need to move. There's a caretaker's cabin about two miles east. We can regroup there, contact our extraction team."
As if to emphasize his point, shouts erupted behind us—Petrov's men had breached the tunnel.
We ran, disappearing into the dense forest surrounding the compound. The night cloaked us as we pushed through underbrush, putting as much distance as possible between ourselves and our pursuers. Despite the cold, sweat soaked my clothes, my lungs burning with each ragged breath.
Dominic moved with single-minded purpose, his hand firmly clasping mine as he led us through the darkness. Occasionally he would stop, listening for sounds of pursuit, before changing direction slightly.
After what felt like hours but was probably closer to forty minutes, a small structure emerged from the trees—the caretaker's cabin. It was little more than a glorified shed, weathered and abandoned, but it represented safety.
Dominic checked for threats before ushering me inside. The interior was sparse—a small table, two chairs, a rusted woodstove. No electricity, no running water.
"Charming," I commented, collapsing onto one of the chairs as exhaustion hit me like a physical blow.
Dominic secured the door, then immediately began checking the perimeter of the one-room cabin. "It's not the Ritz," he agreed, "but it's off the grid. No one should find us here."
"How long until extraction?" I asked, watching as he pulled first aid supplies from a hidden compartment beneath a floorboard.
"Twenty-four hours, assuming everything went according to plan." He knelt before me, antiseptic wipe in hand. "Let me see your throat."
I tilted my chin, allowing him to gently clean the bruises Sergei had left. His touch was feather-light, his expression darkening as he examined the damage.
"Sergei?" he asked quietly.
I nodded. "He knew who we were. Said they found the real Volkovs dead in Chicago."
"Fuck." Dominic's jaw tightened. "I underestimated Petrov's intelligence network."
"We both did." I caught his hand, stilling his ministrations. "What happened after we separated? They told me you were being interrogated."
Pain flickered across his features. "They caught me setting the charges. Three of them. I took down two, but the third got the drop on me." His hand rose unconsciously to the wound on his temple. "They were dragging me to Petrov when I managed to break free. Set off the second explosion as a distraction."
I reached for the antiseptic, gently cleaning the cut on his head. "That was one hell of a distraction."
"Seemed appropriate, given the circumstances." His eyes never left mine as I tended to his wound. "Did you really kill Sergei?"
"Yes." I didn't elaborate. Didn't need to.
Dominic nodded, understanding in his gaze. "He would have killed you without hesitation."
"I know." I finished dressing his wound, my fingers lingering on his face. "Just like Petrov would have killed you."
"About that." A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "We might have a problem."
"Just one?" I arched an eyebrow.
"Petrov seems particularly interested in keeping us alive for questioning." His expression grew serious. "Which means he'll dedicate significant resources to finding us."
"The data's already out," I reminded him. "Even if they catch us now, the evidence is secure."
"True. But I'd rather not spend my remaining days in a Russian black site." He stood, moving to the window to check the perimeter again. "We need to assume the extraction point is compromised. We'll have to find another way out."
I joined him at the window, the reality of our situation sinking in. We were deep in hostile territory, hunted by one of the most dangerous men in the criminal underworld, with limited resources and no clear escape route.
"So we're fucked," I said, echoing my words from earlier.
Dominic turned to me, his expression softening as he traced my cheek with his fingertips. "Not yet," he murmured. "Not while we're still breathing."
The tenderness in his touch made my heart stutter. Ten years of hatred, weeks of confusion, days of trust building between us—all culminating in this moment of perfect understanding. We might die here, hunted like animals in the wilderness. But we'd completed the mission. We'd honored my father's sacrifice. And somehow, against all odds, we'd found each other.
I leaned into his touch, desperate suddenly for the connection, the confirmation that we were alive, that we'd survived against impossible odds. His eyes darkened, recognizing my need because it mirrored his own.
When his lips found mine, it wasn't gentle. It was hungry, desperate, a claiming. My hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer as if I could absorb him into myself, keep him safe within the cage of my ribs.
"Valentina," he breathed against my mouth, the name a prayer and a plea.
I answered by tugging his shirt over his head, needing to feel his skin against mine. He complied, then returned the favor, stripping away my tactical gear with urgent efficiency. Each newly revealed inch of skin was worshipped with his hands, his mouth, as if he needed to memorize me through touch.
"If this is our last night," I whispered as he backed me toward the small cot in the corner, "I want to spend it feeling alive."
His eyes blazed with heat and something deeper, more profound. "It won't be our last," he promised, lowering me onto the thin mattress. "But I'll make sure you feel everything."
He was true to his word. In that abandoned cabin, with danger circling outside, Dominic made me forget everything but the feel of his hands on my body, his mouth against my skin, the perfect stretch as he pushed inside me. Each thrust was a declaration, each gasp a promise. We moved together with desperate intensity, chasing release as if it could somehow save us from the dangers that awaited.
When I came, it was with his name on my lips and tears on my cheeks—tears for what we'd found too late, for what we might lose too soon. He followed moments later, his face buried against my neck, his body shuddering with the force of his release.
Afterward, he held me close, our sweat-slicked bodies tangled together on the narrow cot. Outside, the night creatures resumed their chorus, undisturbed by our passion.
"We should rest," he murmured, fingers tracing idle patterns on my back. "Tomorrow will be challenging."
I nodded against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. "What's the plan?"
"We move at first light. Head north toward the Canadian border." His hand stilled on my skin. "I have contacts there who can get us new identities, passage to Europe."
"And then?"
"And then we disappear." He pressed a kiss to my forehead. "Become ghosts again, but together this time."
I closed my eyes, allowing myself to imagine it—a life with Dominic, free from danger and pursuit. A life where we could simply be.
"I'd like that," I whispered.
His arms tightened around me. "Sleep, malyshka. I'll keep watch."
As exhaustion claimed me, I drifted toward sleep with Dominic's heartbeat as my lullaby. Whatever tomorrow brought—escape or capture, freedom or death—we would face it together. The dancer and the mafia boss. The assassin and her target. Two people who should have destroyed each other, but somehow found salvation instead.
My last thought before sleep claimed me was that some obsessions truly were worth dying for.
But this one—this man—was worth living for.