8. Kat

Chapter 8

Kat

I rush to meet A.J. at our favorite coffee shop, weaving through inconvenient downtown traffic. I can’t afford to be late.

It’s only been a week since the gala, but I’ve been busy. Since that night, I’ve been busy. After I left Nikolai, I called A.J. to let her know the heist was successful. I still haven’t told her about my one-night stand. I want to, badly—but the words won’t come.

Instead, I had her set up the drop for the Flame of Mir with her contact. The diamond was too hot to keep overnight. It hurt to give something so beautiful to a monster, but it was smarter to pass it on quickly. When the news broke that the Flame of Mir was missing, I had already handed it to the stronzo .

Now, I’m hoping we’re close to freeing ourselves from his grasp. A.J. and I have spent months answering his every whim since she landed herself in trouble by defrauding him. She managed to skim off a few million, but he caught on.

In our line of work, confidence is essential—but so is caution. But A.J. got too cocky, ignoring our one golden rule: stay away from anyone connected to the mob.

The stronzo wasn’t going to forgive and forget. Even after she returned the money, he refused to let her go. When he found out who we were, he saw an opportunity. In the end, he agreed to spare A.J.’s life in return for our services. Now, we’re under his thumb indefinitely.

And I hate it. I don’t take well to being controlled, but my urgency isn’t just about me. I’ve lost countless nights worrying about what he’ll demand of us next. It’s only a matter of time before he pushes us past our limit, landing us either dead or in jail.

A.J. and I may be skilled, but we’re still just two white-collar con artists. We’re not equipped to take on a mob boss who wouldn’t hesitate to kill us.

But then, a stroke of luck: our friend Alana overheard her Irish mafia boyfriend joke about an old rumor involving the stronzo . At first, we laughed it off. But the more we looked into it, the more credible it seemed. This rumored secret could be our way out.

So, when the old mobster ordered me to steal the Flame of Mir, I realized the high-stakes heist could actually work in our favor. If I pulled it off, he’d have to lay low, giving us time to dig up the proof we need.

Now, with the diamond out of our hands, we’re closer than ever. Today’s meeting could lead us to the last piece of leverage to take him down.

I was highly successful in the first part of my plan. Now, it’s time to close the deal, so I must keep my head in the game and stay out of trouble. Mainly of the tall, dark, and handsome variety.

The woman we’re meeting today was extremely hard to track down. And once we found her, it took a lot of reassuring, cajoling, and begging to convince her to speak to us. Camilla was the stronzo ’s secretary two decades ago, and if anyone can help us find the last puzzle piece, it’s her.

As I pull up near the coffee shop, I miraculously find a parking spot. I grab my purse and make my way toward the cafe, nerves buzzing in anticipation.

A.J. is already inside, probably as anxious as I am. I catch my reflection in a boutique window and make sure I look normal and trustworthy. I can’t risk spooking our contact.

For a split second, I think I spot Nikolai in a dark SUV parked across the street, my heart lurching. I stare at the vehicle, but its heavily tinted windows are impenetrable, raised to the top. I’m sure it’s just a flash of wishful thinking, anyway. Now isn’t the time for distractions.

I turn back toward the cafe, smoothing my skirt. The soft silk calms my nerves as I close in on the corner. But then, two sets of footsteps echo behind me, syncing with the clack of my heels.

Alarm bells ring in my head. God knows the stronzo is capable of anything. My pulse quickens. Instinctively, I glance into the window beside me, pretending to fix my hair. Reflected in the glass, two large men in black follow close behind me.

The one on the left has longish dark hair and an aquiline nose, with a suit that barely conceals the bulge of a gun. His partner, even more menacing, sports a cropped haircut and a jagged scar that runs from his eye to his mouth. He wears a black earpiece. They’re dressed to kill. Possibly literally.

Shit. No doubt about it—they’re after me.

I avert my gaze, but the dark-haired man catches me looking. His eyes narrow as mine widen, and I take off, abandoning all pretense.

They shout in a language I don’t understand, their voices angry as they chase me down the sidewalk. Adrenaline kicks in, and I push through the crowd, shoving people and tossing whatever I can find in their path.

Under normal circumstances, I’m confident I could’ve lost two burly men dressed in restrictive suits in the crowd. But my shoes slow me down—six-inch heels weren’t meant for running—and I can’t kick them off, not with the straps buckled tight around my ankles.

I glance over my shoulder. They’re closing in.

I round the corner, and my ankle twists painfully. I manage to keep my balance, but the black-haired thug grabs a handful of my hair, yanking me back.

“ Suchka ,” he growls, blood trickling from his lip. He must’ve been hit by something I threw.

His partner approaches, holding a white cloth aimed at my face. The sharp scent of chloroform fills my nose.

Fear like I’ve never known before surges through me, and I thrash against their grip. I try elbowing and kicking, but they’re too strong. The scarred man edges closer, and my heart races in terror. If they get me unconscious, I’m as good as dead.

Desperate, I sink my teeth into the dark-haired man’s arm, tasting blood. He snarls, punching me hard in the temple, and my head snaps back.

“What the fuck are you waiting for? Do it now ,” he says, scolding the scarred one.

Still dazed by his blow, I barely struggle as the scarred one presses the cloth to my mouth and nose. The overpowering chemical smell invades my nostrils and burns my throat.

I don’t get a chance to do anything but despair as the unrelenting darkness consumes me.