Chapter 3: The Predator's Eyes
496 Words
I watched her get out of the car. Her hands trembled with the fury I had caused.
Good.
Control had been established. She could hate me, but she knew who was in charge.
She wasn't a victim to me. She was a symbol. A spoiled princess living in a palace bought with my father's blood.
Every defiant look she gave me was an insult to his memory.
This wasn't a job. It was justice.
And the threat I'd whispered in her ear? Just a tool.
I followed her into the cold marble mansion.
She slammed her bedroom door. Seconds later, I heard the shower turn on.
Predictable.
This was my chance. I had twenty minutes, minimum. Twenty minutes to find the flash drive. The "insurance policy" my father had foolishly given his killer.
I slipped into her room without a sound. It smelled like her, vanilla and florals. I ignored it. This wasn't a sanctuary. It was a battlefield.
I started the search.
Nightstand: perfume, a book. Nothing.
Desk: sketchpads, pencils. Nothing.
Under the bed: dust. Nothing.
My eyes caught on a silver frame on her desk. A younger her, maybe fourteen, smiling next to her mother. The same innocent smile I had crushed in that alley.
I shoved the thought away. Weakness was not an option.
My search led me to the bed. Propped against a mountain of silk pillows was a worn teddy bear.
Hector.
I picked it up. Heavy. I squeezed it, feeling the dense stuffing. A perfect hiding spot.
But my mind scoffed. Moretti, hide the key to his destruction in a child's toy? Pathetic.
I tossed the bear back on the bed in disgust.
My phone vibrated. Encrypted number.
Marcos.
I answered, my voice a whisper. "Yes."
"Report," his voice was tense.
"I'm in. Started the search. Nothing."
"Nothing isn't good enough, Dante Volkov," he snapped, using my cover name. "Pressure is building. Find it. And then... Avenge your father, Leo. Kill the girl."
"I will," I started to say, but a sound froze the blood in my veins.
The shower stopped.
I ended the call, shoving the phone in my pocket. I moved toward the door, fast and silent, but I knew.
Too late.
The bathroom door opened. A cloud of peach-scented steam rolled out.
And then, she appeared.
Isabella Moretti.
Wrapped in a white towel that barely covered her thighs. Her wet hair clung to her flushed skin. A single drop of water slid down her collarbone, into the valley between her breasts.
My eyes followed it.
For an instant, the soldier was gone. The avenger was gone. All that was left was a man.
A man staring at the most forbidden beauty he had ever seen.
The air grew thick, heavy with a tension that had nothing to do with my mission.
Her eyes widened. Shock turned to a storm of fury.
The fear was gone, replaced by cold violation.
Her lips parted.
"What are you doing here?"
- Writer
