As previewed, we park in a side alley next to the hotel. If Dimitrov’s men are watching, our arrival must appear inconspicuous. Petrova would respect secrecy. Flipping oversized sunglasses over my eyes, I slip into my role. My shoulders are squared and my breasts pushed out when I get out of the van. My steps are long, my legs not faltering in the high heels. I nod at the doorman waiting at a service entrance like I’m the Queen of Sheba and proceed ahead of the transporters who are carrying the crate and my bag. We enter via the kitchen and take the service elevator that only runs to the first floor, where the conference room is situated.
I step out on the first floor, the men following behind. From behind my dark glasses, I keep a watchful eye. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. There are no suspicious men lurking around, only some of Dimitrov’s regular guards hovering in front of the conference room, pretending to help themselves to coffee from a carafe that stands on a table in the hallway. I recognize them from the photos in the file I studied during our preparations.
The manager is on the floor. He makes a big show of greeting me and wishing me a good stay, then flicks his fingers at a bellboy, who comes running to take my bag from Yan. The manager offers to walk me to my suite, but I decline in my Natasha Petrova voice, stating I don’t wish to be disturbed. He hands me the keycard before bowing and kissing my hand, assuring me of his loyal service. I sway my hips as I cross the hallway while the guards drool after me, their eyes fixed on the impressive size of my fake boobs.
It’s a good show, a convincing one.
I enter the regular elevator ahead of the bellboy. Yan and Ilya follow, balancing the crate between them, their caps with the transportation company logo pulled down low over their eyes. The bellboy pushes the button for the fourth floor. We ride in silence. I exit on the landing, casting an eye around for surprise elements, but all is quiet. Opening the door to the Klimt suite, I study the space with a critical eye for the bellboy’s sake, who isn’t in on our plot.
“Everything to your satisfaction, ma’am?” he asks.
“This will do.” I take a hundred from my purse and slip it into his hand.
“Why, thank you, ma’am.”
“Please put the Do Not Disturb sign on the door on your way out,” I order.
“Yes, ma’am.”
When the door closes behind the bellboy, Yan and Ilya work fast. They use the hammers in their tool belts to crack open the crate while I inspect the suite. There’s no one hiding inside and no cameras I can detect. I take the handheld scanner Yan has zipped up under his jacket to check for bugs and transmitting devices. By the time I’m done, the twins have leaned the painting on the wall in the living room and discarded the crate on the balcony, making sure they’ve left the sliding door unlocked.
“It’s clean,” I say when the scanner light comes up green.
“We’re out of here,” Ilya announces, moving to the door.
Yan grips my hip, hesitating. “Take off the glasses,” he says in a strained voice. “I want to see your eyes.”
The request unbalances me. It throws me out of my role, and when I remove the sunglasses and place them on the coffee table, I’m Mina. I’m Yan’s. For a moment, we simply stare at each other, an instinctive knowledge of belonging passing between us.
Checking his watch, Ilya says, “We have to go.”
There’s nothing Yan can say without jinxing the operation, certainly nothing like, “It’ll be fine,” or, “I love you.” Love was never part of the plan. My heart aches knowing I’m inevitably going to hurt him, but it’s a new love, a young love. He’ll get over it. He’ll carry on, maybe find someone less damaged to care about. And yes, I want that for him. I want him to be happy. God knows, he had little enough of happiness growing up.
With a squeeze, Yan lets go. Ilya smiles at me before exiting into the hallway. Yan follows in his brother’s steps, but stops in the frame.
“Go.” I wave him out. There’s no time for second thoughts. Timing is everything. The hotel security will already be waiting in the elevator.
He gives me one last look laced with something like longing and uncertainty, and then he’s gone. The door closes with a click, locking me into silence.
Right away, my body tingles with energy, like it always does on a mission. It’s the adrenaline. Yet despite the physical high, I’m calm and focused. The job makes me feel like I have a purpose other than being Yan’s sexual distraction. I didn’t realize how badly I needed to get back into action until now.
It only takes me a moment to assume my role again. I straighten my dress and check my lipstick in the mirror. I’m pushing a curl behind my ear when the knock I expect sounds on the door. Donning my sultry face, I open the door to an entourage of men in dark suits. Dimitrov stands in the center, flanked by two bodyguards with earpieces and holstered guns. A short man with gold-rimmed glasses and mousy hair hovers on his left. With his willowy frame and pinstriped suit, he stands out from the rest of the muscled, black-clad clan.
He must be the art expert.
“Right on time.” I hold out a hand. “I appreciate a punctual man.”
Dimitrov’s murky-brown eyes zoom in on me like I’m the piece of art up for auction. “Miss Petrova.” He kisses my hand, sneaking some tongue into it. “I’m ecstatic that my manners please you.”
The wetness of his slimy tongue sends an internal shiver of repulsion through me, but I hide it behind a smile. “I can’t wait for us to do business.”
The
