by Cora Kenborn
“Alexandra,” she says, not bothering to look at me.
“Right,” I start again, tugging my fingers through my hair. “Alexandra, there are some things you need to know. Things I haven’t told you because I didn’t know if you could handle hearing them.”
“Nothing you could say can shock me now. I’m the only surviving member of the Romanov family. A family I can’t even remember because my brain turned off. I’m Russian, did you know that?” She lets out a humorless laugh. “Of course, you did.”
“So, you don’t remember anything?”
She lifts one shoulder in a lethargic shrug. “I have flashes of things every so often. I thought they were dreams. Night terrors, day terrors, voices, male and female,” she lists, the cadence of her voice almost melodic. “But nothing I can put together. I forget everything when I wake up.” There’s an abrupt pause, and her fingers grip the sides of the chair. “Except…”
“Except?”
“Six,” she whispers, as if the word is blasphemous.
I blow out a harsh breath. “Six.”
She nods, now sitting straight up. “When I get scared, I count. But it’s only to five. If it’s ever any more, I always pass over six.” Her shoulders sag, and she picks at a loose thread on her shirt. “I don’t know why.”
She doesn’t, but I do. But even if I cut open every vein I have just to bleed the truth at her feet, I’m not sure she’d believe me. So, I do the unthinkable. The cruelest thing a man could do to the woman he loves.
I drag her into her own nightmare.
“Why are you counting, little girl?” I say in a low, controlled tone.
Angel’s head snaps up, and her eyes glaze over. Physically, she’s right here on this balcony, but my Angel—my little Alexandra—she’s locked away in her own mind. Tucked between a dresser and a bed inside a room in the east wing.
“Because I’m scared of six,” she whispers, closing her eyes like she’s afraid I’ll laugh at her.
Only I don’t laugh. Nothing’s funny about this.
“One. Two. Three. Four. Five.”
She counts my footsteps as I rise and stand in front of her.
Kneeling, I cover her hands with mine. “Look at me.”
So, she does, opening her eyes, not because I ask her to, but because she has no choice.
Her lip quivers. “Fate always finds a way.”
Hunching down, I brush my thumb across the bandage on her wrist. “You’ll never have to count again.”
I know she believes me because a soft breath escapes her lips just before she presses them against the back of my hand. The kiss is innocent, but both of us go completely still.
Looking back on it now, I know it was that moment that sealed our fates. It permanently entwined our lives, the roots grounding us to this spot. This house. This life. It was the hope shining in those earthy green eyes and the pain simmering just below the surface.
I rescued her from one cage only to lock her inside another.
“Are you God?” she asks quietly.
My heart stutters as I offer a regretful smile. “No. I’m the Angel of Death.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Dominic
Fifteen Years Ago
My knees bounce as Joey turns off the ignition and kills the lights. I have a bad feeling about this. Real bad. Jobs like this are never easy. Even the best laid plans always come with surprises. That’s why Luciano sent me instead of one of his usual soldiers. I may only be seventeen, but I’ve gained more trust in two years than men who’ve licked Marco and Luciano’s designer shoes for twenty.
“Will you stop jumping around?” He slams the magazine into his gun. “Jesus, you gonna walk up there and ring the doorbell, too?”
“Let’s just get this over with.” My eyes draw back to the house. I try to forget it’s Christmas Eve. Try to forget I know Nicholas and Katerina Romanov have five kids. Five kids who won’t have parents soon. The thought hits hard in my chest, burning so deep I almost lose my breath.
My hand tightens around my gun, irritated at whatever the hell has got me so twisted up. I never hesitate on a job. Luciano counts on me to keep conscience out of business. It’s easy because I have no conscience. I’m a machine.
Point. Aim. Fire. Leave.
If you fucked up enough to end up on Luciano’s list, it’s not my place or concern to question why. That’s what makes me good. No, fuck that—the best.
So, if this shit in my chest is sympathy, then it can just get the fuck out. Kids are resilient. They’ll survive. They’ll have their little trust funds to take care of them. Those brats will never know what real suffering feels like.
Joey swings his gun toward me, the barrel inches from my face. “You don’t call the shots around here, kiss ass. You might suck Luciano’s dick, but I rank above you. Don’t forget that.”
He hates me because I’m half his age. He hates me because this job is considered an honor, and Luciano gave it to me. He hates me because I have Irish blood in my veins and not Italian. But mostly, he hates me because he can’t do anything about it. Because if he touches one hair on my head, Luciano will put him in the ground.
I know it, and he knows it. That’s why I don’t bother giving a shit about the gun pointed at my face as I grab a pair of binoculars and scan the perimeter. “So, what did the king and queen of Hollywood do to end up on Luciano’s shit list?”
“Pissed off the wrong people.”
“I’m serious.”
“And you’re seriously getting on my last nerve. Those two are just like every rich fuck in this town. They pretend to be these upstanding role models but it’s just a mask. The Romanovs are coke snorting, hooker fucking, kid touching, silence buying, pieces of shit.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Luciano told you that?”
He doesn’t answer. He just tucks his gun away and climbs out of the car. “Grab your shit and try not to fuck up.”
“Wait,” I call out, racing to catch up with him. “Aren’t we going to cover our faces?”
“Why? It’s Christmas, not Halloween.”
“But the kids will see our faces. They can ID us, Joe.”
“Yeah,” he says, spitting on the ground. “I guess you’re right.”
Joey’s words bother me as we cross three streets toward the Romanov estate. That bad feeling comes back. A raw, churning in my gut that warns me things are about to go really wrong. But letting Luciano down isn’t something I’m willing to do. Therefore, I keep my mouth shut as Joey punches in the access code.
It’s late. Almost two o’clock in the morning. Most of Bel Air is sleeping, but there’s a light or two on in the Romanov estate. I start to ask Joey about it, but he silences me with his hand.
Again, I say nothing.
We sneak around the back where a spiral staircase leads to the second landing balcony. Joey gazes up at it, excitement flickering in his eyes.
“Are you just going to break the glass?”
“No. We’re walking in.” Reaching in his jacket pocket, he pulls out a key and slides it into the lock. I watch shell-shocked as it turns without any resistance, and he opens the door.
I wait for an alarm that never comes.
This is too easy. Things are going too textbook.
As we step inside the dimly lit house, I whisper, “Where did you get a—”
A glass hits the floor and shatters. “Papa!”
My heart slams against my ribcage as I turn to my right, and that’s when I see her. The girl with the bright green eyes and short dark hair. She’s standing frozen in terror, a shattered glass of water at her feet.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Why is she up? This wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to go this way.
I catch a flash of metal out of the corner of my eye a fraction of a second before Joey pulls the trigger. The girl’s chest blooms dark red seconds before she hits the floor.
I can’t speak. I can’t breathe. All I can do is stare at this kid,
barely a few years younger than me. I don’t think she saw it coming. It was a clean shot, so she didn’t suffer.
That’s something. Right?
It has to be something.
We’re no longer hidden by the shadows. Joey’s rogue bullet has caused every light to flicker on like scattered dominoes. My hand shakes as sweat drips down my temples.
He just killed an innocent kid. He fucking shot a defenseless little girl.
Joey walks past me. “Come on. It’s showtime.”
“What the hell are you doing? She was a kid! That wasn’t part of the plan!”
“New plan.”
“Oksana!” I barely have time to look up before another Romanov kid comes barreling toward her fallen sister. This one is even younger. Even more innocent.
She doesn’t see us.
Please see us.
Joey pulls the trigger again, and another little girl falls only a few feet from her sibling. “Two down, five to go.”
This can’t be happening. I’m a monster, but even I have limits. Killing kids is a sin even I won’t lay at the devil’s feet. And Joey, fuck, it’s like he’s taken a line up the nose. He’s high off the slaughter of the innocent, and seems to be getting off on it.
Luciano is a criminal. He’s a cold-blooded killer, but I refuse to believe he’d sanction this. I don’t care who ordered it.
“Stop it!” I yell. “Don’t fucking shoot another kid, or I swear to God, I’ll—”
“You’ll what, bitch boy? You gonna shoot me? Go ahead. Go back and tell Marco Vitoli you put a bullet in one of his own men over some worthless targets, and see how long you last.”
A guttural howl echoes at the bottom of the stairs. “Nyet!” No!
Joey gets off another shot, but misses his mark, hitting Nicholas in the shoulder. The miss knocks him off his game for a split second, but that split second is all the Romanov patriarch needs to fire back. Staggering off the railing, he shoots, landing a lucky shot into Joey’s upper thigh.
“Russian cocksucker!” Growling in pain, he doubles over while hissing my name. “Go! Find the mother and the other three brats.”
So, I go. But not for the reason he thinks. I can’t do anything for those two little girls, but maybe I can save the other three.
Nicholas raises his gun again when multiple footsteps race down the staircase behind him.
“Papa!”
Shit!
Nicholas’s head swivels around. “Mariana! Take Artem, go! Go find your mother! Go now!” It’s a mistake. He should’ve pulled the trigger first. Instead, he takes his eyes off Joey long enough to allow him to stand back up and survey the scene.
When he hears the panic in Nicholas’s voice, two more shots clip the air, ending the lives of two more Romanov children.
“No!” Nicholas and I shout at the same time.
A father’s grief is palpable. I’m not one and I’ve never had one, but I can feel it. It’s dense and dark, like a heavy wool blanket wrapped tightly around you until there’s no air. No light. Nothing.
And that’s what I see on that man’s face.
Nothing.
So much nothing he doesn’t lift his gun again. Even as Joey aims his at his temple, he doesn’t flinch. He just keeps his eyes on his slain children, waiting to join them.
But he won’t go alone.
So, as Joey pulls his trigger, so do I.
And as Nicholas takes his last breath, so does Joey.
This Irish boy is one hell of a distance shot. Something Joey neglected to remember.
I stand there, my lungs trying to remember how to breathe, when Joey’s last words to me flash through my head. “Go find the mother and the other three brats.”
Shit! There’s another kid. I take the stairs two at a time, weaving from hallway to hallway and room to room. This house is the size of my whole neighborhood. I could search the rest of the night and come up empty.
Jesus, why didn’t they just stay in their rooms?
Frustrated, I’m about to give up when I hear it.
“One. Two. Three. Four. Five.”
It’s faint, but there. Soft. Whispered. Shadows fall around me as I spin toward the door where the voice is coming from. I turn the doorknob, expecting to find it locked, but it welcomes me without any resistance. Unlike downstairs, it’s dark in here. Only the full moon and the flicker from the candle on the window light my way.
But it’s enough to see her. And once I do, I can’t move. All I can do is watch her count to five over and over as she cries. This small girl with the long dark hair.
“Why do you count the same numbers over and over, little girl?”
“Because I’m scared of six,” she whispers, closing her eyes. Somehow, I know it’s because she thinks I’m going to laugh at her. But I don’t. I listen.
“One. Two. Three. Four. Five.”
I close the door, each whispered number matching my steps as I make my way across the room and kneel before her. Something in me needs to touch her. To comfort her and let her know she’s not alone. I cover her shaking hands with mine. “Look at me.”
When she looks up, I know I’ll never forget the pain in those earthy green eyes. It’s deep, and if I wasn’t such a selfish man, I’d spend my life making sure she never hurt again. But all I can do is end this pain.
These children weren’t supposed to die today. I know that. And I can’t help but think maybe I was meant to save this girl.
“Fate always finds a way,” she says, as I brush my thumb against the bruises on her wrist. Bruises. Suddenly, I don’t feel so guilty about Nicholas Romanov lying in a pool of his own blood anymore.
“You’ll never have to count again,” I promise.
She nods, a soft breath escaping my lips as she presses them against the back of my hand. She’s a child. It’s an innocent kiss, but we both still because that feeling from earlier is back. That gut feeling that something bad is about to happen. It’s thick and heavy in the air.
“Are you God?” she asks quietly.
I could tell her yes. Maybe it would give her some peace when I do what I’m about to do. But even I can’t lie to her like that. So, I tell her the only truth I can. Words that became her truth the moment her last name crossed my lips.
I offer a regretful smile. “No. I’m the Angel of Death.”
She gasps and damn it, there’s hope in her eyes. “Will you make me an angel, too, so I can fly away?”
“No. Not today, little one.”
Her eyes glisten with tears. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear they look like tears of relief.
That can’t be true. I just told her I was the Angel of Death. “Don’t cry,” I tell her.
She stiffens. “I don’t cry. Mama says tears are a tool not a weakness.” Clearing her throat, she remains quiet until she’s forced the last of the water from her eyes. Flicking her gaze back up, she stares at me as if mesmerized. “Your eyes are frozen.”
“When you have a cold heart, your eyes turn to ice.” Better she doesn’t think of me as a savior. I’ve found fear is a better motivator than comfort.
We need to get out of here. I have no doubt the police are on the way. There might not have been an alarm, but the servants’ quarters aren’t far away. Six gunshots could wake the dead.
“What’s your name, little one?”
“Alexandra.”
“Well, Alexandra, I’m going to find your mom, and then we’re going to take a trip, okay?” I don’t elaborate. She doesn’t need to know it’s just going to be the two of us. At the end of the day, I still work for Luciano and the contract was for Nicholas and Katerina.
Like I said, I don’t kill kids.
She just turns and stares at the door. “It smells like pennies.”
It takes me a moment to understand what she’s talking about.
Pennies. Copper. Blood.
In a little girl’s mind, blood smells like pennies.
“Did you see the pennies?�
�
She nods. “I was scared. I wanted my papa.”
Fuck. She watched Joey gun down her whole family. “Alexandra, I—”
She has that damn look in her eyes again. The one where she stares at me like I’m some kind of god. “Am I going to smell like pennies, too?”
Jesus, this kid is killing me. “No,” I tell her. “Never.”
Those sad eyes seek mine as she holds up her pinkie finger. “Pinkie swear?”
I’ve never pinkie sworn in my life, but if it makes her feel better, why the hell not? “Pinkie swear,” I say, wrapping my much larger finger around her tiny one. I let a silent pause hang before breaking the moment. “Can you stay here for me while I go find your mom?” When she nods, I add, “Good girl. I’ll be right back.”
Unable to take my eyes off her, I back toward the door. It’s ridiculous, but it feels like as soon as I do, she’s going to vanish into thin air. Maybe she feels the same because she takes in every move I make, watching from her hiding place in between the dresser and her bed.
There’s a fraction of a second when I see her eyes widen before the door flies open behind me, slamming me in the back of the head and jolting me forward. The impact is so sudden, it knocks me to the ground, sending my gun flying out of my hand and skidding across the floor.
Right at Alexandra’s feet.
“Alexandra!”
I turn to find Katerina Romanov standing in the doorway, blood splattered across her white nightgown. She’s a grownup version of Alexandra. Long, dark hair and piercing green eyes. Only there’s a hard edge to this woman.
“Pick up the gun, zvyozdochka! That’s right! Hold it in your hands.”
“Alexandra!” I coax, using the calmest voice I can right now because I know where this is going. This bitch is about to tell her kid to shoot me. “No more counting; remember? No pennies. Just give me the gun. You don’t want that, little one.”
“Alexandra! Shoot him!” Out of the corner of my eyes, I see her fling a diamond encrusted finger toward me. “He killed your sisters! Your brother! Your father! Kill him! Kill him now or their blood is on your hands!”
Fuck, even I flinch at that one.
