Ivan (Underworld, #1)

by Sophie Lark

I want a man to die in front of the fire with his slippers on and his favorite cigar in his mouth. I’m a very considerate grim reaper.

Murder is easy. Stealth is a little harder.

I hate these men who think that their power and money buys a woman as easily as it buys a car or a watch.

He deserves it. My targets always deserve it.

“What you know is just as valuable as what other people know. Never let them see what you know.”

Whoever this guy is, I don’t want to tangle with him. I should make my exit and take care of Yozhin another night.

If someone else kills Yozhin before I do, I won’t get the rest of my money.

I don’t know what’s on that drive, but I know it must be valuable. On the one hand, it would be so easy to slip my hand inside his jacket and take it. On the other, it’s not part of my job to steal anything. I really didn’t like the look of the man in the black suit. It would be stupid to tangle myself up in his business without even knowing who he is. I really should just leave the flash drive alone. But I’m so curious.

It’s done.

“Have I ever fucked you like a gentleman?”

“I don’t lie,” I say, my voice deadly quiet. “I always keep my promises. So you know I mean it when I say that if you see my face again, it’s the last thing you’ll ever see.”

“I am a killer.”

What kind of woman would I actually date? I have no idea. That’s why I’m single.

I think I’m just meant to be alone. And I’m fine with that.

I know all too well that if someone can find you, they can kill you. We all have to sleep sometimes.

Everything in it is for me alone. I never bring anyone here.

‘The Angel of Death’. I don’t mind it. I’ve been called worse.

He made a killer. And I’m very good at it. I’ve never missed a target.

$500K. Huh. That is big. Five times my usual fee.

There’s something very intimidating about this man. Confidence and power radiate from his expression, and something else . . . Anger. Even rage. I’m not surprised in the slightest when the rest of the file loads and I see the name and title: Ivan Petrov, head of the Petrov Bratva.

I’m in.

If I’m going to kill this guy, I need to learn absolutely everything about him.

But if I’m going to take over the dock, better to start fresh.

Men who are loyal to me and me alone. I’ve earned their respect and their trust.

The Bratva is not a democracy and never can be. My father didn’t understand that people want to be dominated. They feel safest when they have a strong leader to follow.

The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting. Sun Tzu

5’9 and 135 lbs.

I don’t want the boogeyman after me.

Bingo. If there’s a master suite beyond those doors, it surely belongs to Ivan Petrov. Does he lock his doors at night?

Ivan Petrov. I know it.

His dark brown eyes are open, staring up at me.

But I’m also the smallest bit impressed. Nobody’s gotten this close to me before.

I seize the assassin by the throat. I’m going to squeeze the life out of him. But I want to watch the light fade from his eyes as I do it. So I grab the stocking covering his face and I tear it off his head. And I’m face to face with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I stare at her in utter shock. She stares back at me, my body pinning her down, our faces inches apart.

She’s trapped. Like a wild animal, she’s desperate to flee. I can’t understand how I didn’t realize her gender when we were rolling around on the floor. I suppose it’s because I never could have imagined a woman breaking into my room to kill me. I’m mesmerized, staring at this face that’s flushed with exertion and sheer terror.

I’ve never actually killed a woman before. I’m not against it, in principal.

she’s made me curious. Who is she? Why did she come here? For practical reasons alone, I should find out who sent her.

I’m in deep shit.

What you don’t want is to be captured by the Bratva. Because once you’re captured, you’re at their mercy. And the Bratva don’t have any mercy.

He seemed to actually see me for once—a frightened teenager, snot-nosed and red-eyed. His face softened.

I already know what he’s going to ask me. He wants to know who hired me to kill him. I honestly don’t know the answer.

His dark eyes are boring into me, drilling right down into my soul. It takes everything I have to hold his gaze, to keep my face steady and still. No matter what happens, I’m determined that I’m not going to break down like I did when I was thirteen years old. I won’t blubber and cry.

I’m all too aware how strong this man is.

I can tell he’s just as keyed up as I am. I have no intention of playing games. “I came here to kill you,” I reply.

This man is a brute, but he has a sense of humor.

Like snake venom.

He’s intrigued, and that’s good. Intrigued is better than enraged, or worse of all, bored. “What’s your name?” he says. “Sloane.”

But also, inexplicably, horribly aroused. It’s sheer madness. But I can’t help it.

Being tied naked to this chair, with this brutal, virile man looming over me . . . that’s doing it. That’s breaking down the barriers fast. I have to get a hold of myself.

I think he wants to reach out that hand to touch me . . .

But somehow, my skin is still burning.