Present day
Katie grinned.
It was like taking candy from a baby. Not that she would ever do something that heartless. She wasn’t a mean bitch. She opened the door to the safe with a small flourish and did a little dance. She almost wished she had an audience. So few people knew what she was actually capable of. Everyone back home thought she was this good little girl with her Master’s degree in art history. They thought she travelled the world in style, buying and selling paintings for wealthy clients.
Well, technically she did sell paintings. It was the buying part that was a little less crystal clear. She walked into the safe room and looked around, impressed with the sizeable cache of goods. It wasn’t the best she’d ever seen, but it certainly wasn’t the worst either. Paintings, jewels, high-end liquor, and one-of-a-kind brand label clothing lined the beautifully lit room.
“Concentrate, Pullman,” she reminded herself, when a big, sparkly tiara caught her eye. Such a shame. That beauty would look amazing perched atop her stylish, blond coiffure. Lise Rousseau had no idea how to truly appreciate such a piece. Clearly, since it was sitting in a safe room instead of on the woman’s head while she drank chocolate martinis with her lover on some beach in Portugal. If Katie owned an honest to goodness tiara it would be on her head all the freaking time.
Katie turned away with a sigh and forced herself to move toward the item she had come for. She eyed the painting for a moment, her azure eyes sweeping over the landscape critically. Each line screamed fruit bowl romantic era. She didn’t get it. But then, she was more of a modern Warhol kind of girl herself. Whatever. It would pay the bills. Lifting it, she retraced her steps, leaving the tiara sadly untouched on her way out. She slipped the painting into the leather folio case she’d brought for that purpose, then closed and relocked the walk-in safe.
She swung the leather case onto her back and strapped it carefully on before making her way out of the master suite of the Rousseau’s penthouse bedroom. She glanced out the window and pursed her lips in disappointment. Shouldn’t people this rich have a spectacular view of the Eiffel Tower? There seemed to be a building, or several, in the way. If she were them, she’d want her money back.
Katie climbed out the fourth-floor window she had come in and carefully made her way back along the ledge until she was once more clear of all the building’s security measures. She pulled herself up into a crawl space that had probably been storage once upon a time but was now a pigeon coop. Lucky for her, the building manager hadn’t thought to put a camera on that particular spot. She crawled through the tunnel until she was in the ventilation system and once more back in the building where she quickly exchanged her black leggings and turtleneck for a revealing dress. She mussed up her hair and smeared the make-up she’d carefully applied earlier. She added a pair of sky high heels and tossed a cashmere wrap over her leather bag.
She took the elevator down to the lobby and stumbled into the marble entranceway with a half ashamed giggle. She shot the concierge and security guard a sexy look from under her long, fake lashes and stumbled against the marble desk, dropping her wrap on the floor. She swung the leather bag into the folds of her skirt so it would go unnoticed. The guard was the first to react when she bent over to adjust her heel as though she hadn’t put it on properly while leaving one of the apartments doing the walk of shame. She knew he would get a superb view directly down the front of her dress, nearly to her naval.
“Laisse moi aider,” the guard said reaching for the wrap, his eyes never leaving her pale chest. He handed the buttery soft material to her, his fingers caressing her wrist for just a moment.
“Merci, vous etes trop gentil!” she rattled breathlessly, a grateful smile lighting up her face. She included the concierge in her look, drawing him into her orbit so he wouldn’t wonder where she had come from, as she most certainly hadn't entered the building with anyone.
She accepted the expensive wrap from the guard, squeezed his arm, slid her shoe back on and breezed out the front door of the building with a wave. She would be memorable, but not for the stolen painting that would be discovered in several days when Mrs. Rousseau opened the safe to choose jewelry for the upcoming Paris fashion shows. If she was remembered, there would be no record of her face. Katie was very careful to keep her profile away from the cameras. And just in case she was unable to keep track of all angles, she had a hacker in the system erasing her footprints as she made them. It helped to have an ace in her pocket at all times.
Katie hailed a cab and headed immediately for the airport. Now that she had what she came for, her benefactor would have a plane waiting for her. He would want the painting stateside and available for auction as soon as possible. She didn’t mind. She could sleep on his private jet. He never seemed to care when she used his things.
Besides, she had fourteen hours before she needed to make her next instalment to Colin, and Paris was a long way from Seattle. She wasn’t looking forward to this meeting. Not that she ever looked forward to seeing Colin. Maybe after the divorce she’d been pathetic enough to hope he might take it all back and welcome her home again. Now, she wished she never had to see him again.
She knew it made her a horrible person, but a small part of her wished he would just up and die. Like, she had actual fantasies of police officers coming to her apartment and telling her that Colin was killed in a car accident. Then she would collapse in a sobbing heap and the big, strong officer would hold her while she calculated the insurance payment in her head, because she was pretty sure Colin never took her off his insurance plan. He was kind of an idiot that way.
Not so stupid that he couldn’t figure out how to blackmail and extort his ex-wife though. Her stomach twisted in protest at the thought of what exactly she would have to do with him in less than a day. She sighed and stared longingly up at the Eiffel Tower as the taxi made its way through the city of love. She closed her eyes, settled back in the car and switched to her favourite fantasy of climbing to the very top and leaping off. Not of ending her life. Never that. She wasn’t brave enough for suicide. No. She would stretch her arms wide and fly into the inky darkness, rushing over the beautiful buildings with all of their incredible history. Eventually, she would float softly down. In this fantasy, landing didn't hurt.
***
The razor-sharp knife penetrated the artery with the smoothness of silk. It was a beautiful blade. The only vanity he allowed in his simple existence. It had belonged to his culero father. One of the few things he’d managed to grab, after the fall of his family, before his race for the border in the middle of the night. The handle was bone with a wolf carved into it and a metal grip welded around the edge. There was a matching dagger that had been lost that night.
He eased the victim away from his body and held him against the floor as life quickly ebbed away. He’d played for long enough. Taped the man’s mouth and landed his fists in different parts of his body until the little bitch squealed and begged beneath his gag. If he’d been allowed to live, he would’ve peed blood for a week. Roman would have enjoyed making the man suffer for longer, but he had work to do. He would need to get rid of the body and then come back to collect the girl.
Katerina.
Everything he did was for her. This was for her. Even if it wasn’t exactly what she would’ve chosen for herself. Retribution and death for her extortionist was essential. He lived by only one code. She’d belonged to him from the moment he set eyes on her all those years ago. She had been too young to claim. She had been thirteen and he had been twenty. She’d gone toe to toe with him when she found out he was in the same gang as her big brother. This tiny little, yellow-haired thing, yelling at a big, tattooed gang animal, fresh out of jail. She’d been lucky he hadn’t raped and killed her on the spot.
Back then he had no moral code, he had no sense of honour or family. Just black rage and his best friend, who was behind the door she was standing in front of. Instead, he’d fallen in love with the first syllable she spoke, the first poke of her little finger against his leather-clad chest as she told him to get the fuck off their family lawn and never come back. She’d been way too good for the likes of him, even once she grew up. He had been a dirty street rat. Piece of gang shit. So, he had watched from the shadows as she bloomed in the sun.
But then something happened. She had wilted under the touch of the scum currently dying in a pool of his own blood. Her husband. His lip curled in disgust as he watched the other man coldly. There was no understanding her choice. He was small in Roman’s eyes; weak. Had barely put up a fight when he understood what Roman had come for. He’d begged like a cunt and offered money. Her fucking money.
Roman didn’t know why or what had happened to go so wrong in her life. He’d done as she’d asked. He’d kept to the shadows and allowed her to live her life separate from him, despite the out of control chemistry that flared up between them every time they set eyes on each other. He would force her to tell him, once he got his hands on her. And he would put hands on her. He was done keeping his distance. She’d begged him to leave her alone, to let her live her own life. She hadn’t lived it well. She’d allowed this limp-dicked, now dead, piece of shit to fuck with her head and to damage her perfect self.
Now he was coming back to pick up the pieces of her life. He was coming for Katie and he was coming with a vengeance. He was going to put her back together and then he was going to keep what was left for himself.