Page 6 of Twisted Fate

The memory curdles my stomach, and I shove it away, stretching out on the blanket on my stomach and settling down with the folio. I flip it open to the first page, and those startlingblue eyes stare up at me again from the photo clipped to the sheets of paper outlining who Konstantin Abramov is.

Surely faking a marriage to him can’t be worse than that. I’ve pretended to be someone else before.Just because this is a marriage, and those other false identities didn’t involve being someone’swife,doesn’t make it so much worse.

I bite my lip, scanning the photo again. He’s devastatingly handsome in a way that few men are. Miami has no shortage of gorgeous men, but there’s a certain quality that I can see, even from the photo, that makes Konstantin stand out. A charisma, a force of personality, that shines through even in a picture. It’s in those eyes that I can’t seem to look away from every time I glance at the photo.

I yank it free, shoving it into the back of the folio as I look at the descriptions in the dossier. The first page contains his basic information. Thirty-eight years old. Six-foot-two. Dark blond hair, blue eyes. Heir to the Abramov Bratva family in Miami. All things I already knew from my conversation with Kane.

I flip to the next page, which details his daily routines, his known associates, his businesses, both legitimate and otherwise. I can tell before I’ve read very far that he’s the sort of man who rules himself with the same discipline that he expects from others. He runs in the mornings, then lifts weights. He spends his day working—business meetings, hours in the office, making appearances at the Abramov businesses to ensure that everyone is working as they should, before going back to the gym in the evenings to box. His father has an enforcer, Damian Kuznetsov, but Konstantin isn’t above getting his own hands dirty.

His family has close ties with one of two Italian mafia families here—the Ricci family, while the Genovese family is at odds with the Abramovs and the Riccis. They run guns through the Dixie mafia, collude on offshore gambling with the Cuban mafia, and have a drug-running agreement with the Costa familyin New Orleans. It’s clear that the Abramovs have more friends than enemies in the organized crime circles of Miami, which makes my stomach clench at the idea that I’m going to be the one to kill Konstantin. This family is insanely powerful—but I can see why Kane is worried about Konstantin’s modern ideas.

The Abramovs control most of the shipping in and out of Miami, along with a healthy portion of the gambling and protection rackets. They've been in power for decades, with Konstantin's father, Viktor, ruling with an iron fist. If Konstantin gets his way when he inherits, the destabilization that could occur might have ripple effects that could reshape the entire face of Miami’s underworld.

According to the intelligence Kane has gathered, and matching what he told me earlier, Konstantin has been pushing for changes within the organization. Modernization. Legitimization of some of their businesses. I have no idea if there are younger members of the other families who share Konstantin’s more modern ideas, but with every day that passes, he gets closer and closer to inheriting the Abramov empire.

And he could upset the delicate balance of power that strings it all together.

Not that I really care, except to the point where the fact thatI’mgoing to be his assassin could put a target on my back. I know one thing for certain—as soon as the job is done, I’m going to take the information Kane gives me, put an end to the person responsible for my family’s death, and then get the hell out of Dodge for a while. I trust Kane to keep my name out of all of this, especially since it would lead back to him. But I still don’t like the idea of lingering here too long after I come back, not until the dust has settled.

It’ll be a good time for me to do some of the traveling for pleasure that I’ve always wanted.

I flip the page, where more private details that Kane has unearthed are scattered across the page. Konstantin, I find out, prefers rum over any other liquor, the more rare and expensive the better. He collects vintage motorcycles. He has a black card membership to Miami’s most exclusive sex club.

The last detail sends a flutter through my stomach, one that I quickly do my best to quell. I’m not in this to enjoy myself.Actuallydesiring Konstantin—letting myself get caught up in lust and pleasure—would be the quickest way to walk myself to my doom. I have to be thinking clearly every moment, and stay focused on the goal.

There are a few pictures at the back of women he’s dated before—all heiresses and socialites, women who were probably being courted as potential brides for him. But there hasn’t been anyone in his life—at least not anyone photographed—for nearly two years.

I flip back to his personal information, scanning it once more. There’s a note about his training—he’s extensively trained in martial arts and marksmanship with former special operations teams from Russia. It won’t be an easy kill. It won’t even be possible unless I get the upper hand on him, and do it quickly. If I hesitate, if I miss, if I choose the wrong moment—I’ll be dead.

Or worse. A chill runs down my spine, making me shiver despite the heat. Konstantin is Bratva. His assassin would likely get much worse for their trouble than a quick death.

Tucking the folio back into my bag, I take a deep breath, chasing the fear away.I can do this.I’ve done it before, albeit never with so high-profile and capable a target. But that’s why I’m getting him away from here, to a remote location without his security and without prying eyes.

I just have to get close to him, gain his trust, and eliminate him. It’ll be no different than other jobs like this one that I’vetaken on—except that it’ll be my last… and I’ll have to marry him to do it.

But I can do this. And it’s better than letting Kane continue to own me until he feels I’ve made up for refusing him.

I roll onto my back and close my eyes, letting the sun dry the last of the water from my skin. I try to imagine what my life will be like after this is all over. After I've killed Konstantin Abramov and learned the truth about my family's murder. After I've exacted my revenge on those responsible. All of the things that would make the lies and blood worth it.

I’ve never allowed myself to envision it too clearly before. I’ve only held on to the goal, not the potential of what comes afterward. I’ve always known that, in my line of work, a future is a luxury that few of us get to have. But now the end is in sight, and I find myself mulling over what comes next. Not just the solo, undirected travel that I’ve dreamed of, but more than that.

A home of my own. Someone to share it with, maybe. The possibility of going out on dates, developing hobbies, of locking away my guns and only ever taking them out in an absolute emergency. Of moving away, even, if I wanted to. I have no doubt that I’d always come back home… but the possibility of somewhere else is tempting. Just for a little while. I could go to California. Vegas. I could go up north and find out if I like living somewhere where there are seasons.

The possibilities are endless, and a thrill runs through me, prickling my skin with anticipation and banishing my lingering reservations about pretending to be Konstantin Abramov’s fiancée—and then his wife. The thought of everything I could explore is both exhilarating and terrifying.

And all I have to do is complete one final mission.

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Friday night,four days after Kane handed me the dossier, I’m meant to meet Konstantin Abramov at a party thrown by his father. Ostensibly, it’s a dinner party for some business associates, but I know the truth via Kane. Kane has done his groundwork to present me to the Abramovpakhanas a potential wife for his son, and tonight will be the moment of truth.

I have a dossier on myself now, as well. I study it—open on the sink counter—as I roll my hair into hot rollers and pin them to set, scanning it over and over again until I’ll be able to play the part flawlessly.

Once I step foot onto the Abramov estate, I’ll no longer be Valentina Kane. I’ll be Sophia Moretti, an heiress with ties to the Italian mafia in Boston—albeit thin ones, so as to not step on any toes or make it too easy for them to find any holes in the paper trail that Kane has created for me. Educated in Europe, at St. Andrews in Scotland. Spent a gap year traveling, before returning to Boston to do charity work. On paper, even I have to agree, I’m the perfect wife for Konstantin Abramov—elegant, refined, with an education that a man like him will appreciate and all the tastes that fit into his world. Rich enough—according to these documents—that his family won’t think I’m just after their money.

Kane has created an impeccable persona for me. Everything is there—bank accounts, school records, identification. No social media—Sophia Moretti is a private person, another detail carefully curated to appeal to the Abramovs. No Bratvapakhanwants to marry his son to a woman who will bandy their personal information about, always posting photos of where she is or where they are together, using the name and influence for social media clout.

That desire for privacy is probably the only thing Sophia Moretti and I have in common. I’ve never had a social media account in my life.

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