Page 134 of Jewel of the Assassin
Roman takes my hand and kisses my knuckles, speaking low and intimate, “On my honor, Moya Koroleva.”
We kneel together before the waste of space. I wrinkle my nose but take a deep breath, steadying myself, hoping I don’t retch again. Gripping the knife with my still bloody hand, I lower it to Nikolai’s flaccid dick.
Roman’s hand closes around my wrist before I can make the first cut. “Not there,” he murmurs, his voice as clinical as if he were correcting a child’s handwriting. “If you slip, he’ll bleed out too quickly. I want you to be precise.”
Nikolai writhes against his bonds, a gagged sob choking in his throat. Roman doesn’t so much as glance at him. His emerald eyes are fixed only on me.
“Look at me,” he instructs, angling the knife in my hand with unnerving calm. “This is delicate work. Do not let your hand shake.” He guides the blade lower, tracing a line in the air. “Here. That’s where you cut. A clean incision, straight down. Nothing more, nothing less.”
I swallow, my pulse hammering, but his hand steadies mine.
“Good girl,” he purrs, though his tone is still more scalpel than silk. “Once you expose him, you take the blade under. One swift motion. You sever the cords, not the flesh. Understand? Otherwise, it will be…messy.”
I can’t help but laugh softly. “Of course, you wouldn’t want to be messy.” I notice how even his bullets and knife cuts were cleaner, neater than mine. Like Michelangelo to my Jackson Pollock.
Nikolai screams against his gag as Roman angles my wrist. His mouth curves, cold and cruel.
“Don’t look at him. Look at me.” His gaze pins me in place, unblinking. “This isn’t about him. This is about you. Aboutus. Our moment. Give me your hand until it becomes as sure as mine.”
His fingers press over mine, forcing the knife lower. “Now. Do it. Slowly. Learn what it is to unman someone.”
My fingers tighten around the hilt, following his exact instructions. I do it. The cords give beneath the blade. Nikolai’s gagged scream rips through the room. My arm trembles, my pulse pounds, but I do not falter.
Roman’s hands lift from mine. He steps back, eyes dark and calculating, assessing. And then…a small, sharp nod. His lips twitch into a near-smile, the first warmth breaking through the ice.
Nikolai has passed out.
“Exquisite,” Roman murmurs, voice low and dangerous, almost reverent. “As exacting as I imagined. You never cease to impress, Valentina. Perfect control, perfect execution. My hand would be proud.”
I grin at him. “I have many plans for that hand tonight, Roman.”
He matches my grin with a predatory one.
I lower the blade, heart hammering, sweat beading, and the muffled screams fade behind the hollow satisfaction of my success. His eyes linger on me in approval, admiration, and hunger.
I cradle the severed organ in my hands. Fleur waits nearby, jar at the ready, their fingers steady despite the gruesome task. I step forward, and with Roman’s quiet nod, I place the organ inside. They lift the jar like it’s a trophy. Their gaze flicks to Roman, then to me, with sweet and wicked amusement. Only them.
And just like that, the evidence of vengeance is contained, cataloged, and rendered almost ceremonious.
And now, I turn to my father.
44
It was Valentina’s diabolical idea
ROMAN
“Your song next, Moya Samotsvet.”
Valentina taps her lip with her bloody finger, and I fantasize about biting those painted lips. Her mouth on me was both flawless and dark, sating the deep need inside. But my erection has not faded. And I know soon, we will come together in a coupling so excruciatingly beautiful, it will rock the foundations of this unholy chapel.
Valentina looks at me, and I lower my brows, finding tears turning her eyes glassy, filled with an unreadable emotion. Without her gaze breaking from mine, she says, her voice cracking, “Zina, could you please play ‘Face Down’ by Red Jumpsuit Apparatus?”
Oh, my beloved jewel of a soul…
As the music pulses to life, I take her trembling hand and lead her to where Levka has tied her father to the pew closest to the altar. Mikhail’s sharpened focus is all for Anton, and he keeps asafe distance of a few feet to prevent my brother from attacking and trying to swipe the gun from his hold.
“I knew I should have left you in the snow with the dead body of your mother,” Victor spits at Valentina as she approaches. “Nothing but trouble since you came out of the womb screaming up a storm. Should have strangled you at birth.”
