The Sinful Kings of Miami Bundle

Twisted Fate
Chapter One
Valentina

The Miami sun is casting long shadows over the clay-colored tiles of the Spanish-style mansion that I call home, dappling them in a golden glow as I step out of the car and shoulder the single bag that I have with me.

I traveled light for this last mission; it didn’t require much more than my weapons and a few changes of clothes. For once, I didn’t have to speak to anyone, or charm them, or convince them to let me close enough to kill. 

I just had to wait.

Now, I roll my head back and forth briefly as I step out into the late afternoon Miami sunshine, stretching out my tired muscles, breathing in the humid air, and relishing the taste of salt on the back of my tongue. For all of the complicated feelings that I have every time I return here, this city is my home.

And I’m glad to be home.

With my leather duffel over one shoulder and my purse in my other hand, I head up the winding stone pathway that leads to the teakwood front door. A proliferation of summer flowers bloom in sprays of color all along the front of the house, bright pinks, yellows, and blues contrasting with the summer green of the grass. The owner of this estate, Nicholas Kane, spends a fortune on watering it every summer.

My mentor—and the closest thing I’ve ever had to a father.

The head housekeeper, Rosa, appears almost as soon as I step into the entryway. I take another deep breath, savoring the scent of lemon, salt, and flowers, that perfumes the air. She chuckles softly, alerting me to her presence. I should have known she was there already, but after days spent tirelessly watching for my last target from a high-rise window in Moscow, my senses are dulled from exhaustion. 

“Welcome home, Ms. Kane.” She smiles, reaching for my bag, but I shake my head.

“I’ve got it, Rosa. Don’t worry about me.”

She frowns at me but doesn’t argue. It’s a familiar back-and-forth between us. While Kane relishes having staff at his beck and call every moment of the day, I’ve always been a bit uncomfortable with the concept of having people wait on me. I’d rather carry my own bags, make my own bed, and get my own meals.

Despite Kane’s disappointment that I’ve never been able to adapt to the “finer” ways of life, that’s never changed. Not since I was a child, when he first brought me here.

“Mr. Kane said that he wanted to see you as soon as you arrived,” Rosa says, taking in my rumpled appearance. “But maybe you want to wash up first?”

I can’t help but crack a smile at that. I’m wearing rumpled yoga pants and a T-shirt with a hoodie thrown over it from the flight, and the trip back from Moscow was exhausting. What I want is to take an hour-long shower and then sleep for another eight, but I know Kane well enough to be sure that he won’t be patient enough for that.

“Tell him I’m going to shower and change, and then I’ll come down and we can chat.” I know he’ll want to be debriefed on the mission, but I have things I want from this conversation, too. I need to be in the right state of mind. 

I had a lot of time on the flight back to think.

“I’ll tell him, Valentina.” Rosa slips easily back into the old familiarity between us, giving me a gently wrinkled smile. I’ve known her for most of my life, and like every other familial relationship that I have, she’s stood in for what I’ve been missing—a mother, a grandmother, an aunt. 

I smile back before heading toward the curving staircase that leads up to the third floor, where my bedroom is. The moment I step inside, breathing in the familiar scents of wooden furniture and pineapple candle, mixed with the lingering traces of my perfume, I feel more of the tension drain from my shoulders. The conversation waiting for me with Kane won’t be easy, but anything is better than where I’ve just come from. And for all the complexities of my life here, this is home.

Tossing my bag on the bed, I strip off my hoodie, T-shirt, and sweatpants, and head straight for the shower. I’ll put my guns back in the arsenal room later. No one will touch them here, and right now, scrubbing several days’ worth of stakeout grime off me is my first priority. There was a shower in the hotel room I was holed up in, but it wasn’t much, and I didn’t have a lot of time to use it.

Thirty minutes later, I emerge freshly scrubbed, my legs silky smooth and my wet hair piled into a bun atop my head tied with a silk scrunchie. I feel like a new woman, and changing into fresh clothes—a pair of wide linen pants in a seagrass color and a sleeveless tan cotton shirt—only adds to that sense of comfort. 

Grabbing my bag, I head down to the first floor to clean and stash my guns away, and then meet Kane. I know where to find him at this time of day—he’ll be in his study, a gorgeous old-world styled room that’s all high ceilings, teakwood bookcases and furniture, and a huge window that opens out to the glorious waterfront view at the back of his Miami property.

I can hear the crashing waves as I knock on the door. His deep, resonant voice answers immediately.

“Come in.”

As always, I have the sensation of being much smaller than I am when I enter the room. Something about this particular room always reminds me of being a child, of sitting here for hours while Kane tutored me, taught me, explained to me what my life would be. Even as a twenty-eight-year-old woman, that feeling still comes back vividly, every time.

Kane is sitting in a leather chair near the open window, the breeze from the beach floating into the room and ruffling his dark hair. There’s a cut-crystal tumbler of scotch near his hand on the wooden side table, and he looks utterly relaxed, wearing a summer-weight suit with no tie or jacket, his sleeves rolled up to reveal tattooed forearms. 

As a child, I used to trace those tattoos, marveling at the intricacies of them, not understanding the meaning. Now, looking at the ink curling up his arms, I know the truth. Each tattoo is a mark, a trophy from a kill. A reminder of all the unseen blood on his hands that he now uses me to shed instead.

“Valentina. Welcome home.” His voice is deep and cultured, with just the smallest trace of a Southern accent that he’s tried hard over the years to remove entirely. To a person not trained to notice such things, it might be indiscernible. 

Kane prefers to hide his roots—the knowledge of the Mississippi swamp rat upbringing that he had, many years ago. I’m one of the few people who knows the truth about him—that the old-money facade that he presents isn’t his reality. 

“Sit.” Kane gestures to the tobacco-colored leather chair across from him, standing to retrieve a bottle of aged Macallan from the bar cart. He pours two fingers into another cut-crystal glass and extends it out to me.

I’d prefer a gin cocktail right now, or maybe tequila. Something crisp and clear and strong to cut through the summer humidity. But this is Kane’s preference, and so I take it, sipping lightly. The whiskey burns a path down my throat, sending a faint shiver down my spine.

“It has a bite, doesn’t it?” Kane smiles, pleased, and sinks back down into his chair opposite me. I smile back, trying not to let my exhaustion show.

It’s ingrained in me, after years, to not want to disappoint him. I don’t truly believe he’d ever hurt me, but like an attack dog that wears the guise of a family pet, it’s better to be cautious.

“It’s good.” I take another sip of the whiskey. “The job is done, Kane. He’s dead. I verified the kill myself.” 

“I’ve heard already.” Kane’s smile spreads across his face, warm and genuine. “You did well, Valentina. My little assassin. You’ve never failed a job. Never botched a kill. You make me proud, every time.”

Warmth spreads through me at his praise. A breeze washes through the wide windows, ruffling my hair, and I glance out toward the beach. Aqua-colored waves are crashing up onto the shore, soft and foamy, and my toes curl in my flats with the desire to go out and walk on the sand, to feel it crumbling under my feet. I want a break. A respite. I know what’s coming next—another assignment, another job, another kill. Just the thought makes my shoulders slump. After ten years, I’m exhausted.

I’m tired of hunting, tired of killing. The act itself has never bothered me. I’ve never felt any sympathy for the marks that Kane sends me after. Most of them are evil men in one way or another—scammers, liars, cheats. Men who made promises and failed to keep them. I’ve never asked too many questions or allowed myself to think too deeply about it all. Whatever these men have done to put a target on their backs, it’s not my business.

My business is hitting the target, that’s all. 

The one in Moscow was a banker. I don’t know who he crossed, for his name to slide across Kane’s desk. Only that it did, and that I was his end.

But Kane is a puppet master, and after ten years, I’m tired of having my strings pulled. I want more freedom. I want the possibility of a life that I might choose for myself.

I’m not even sure what that would look like, but I’ve begun to want to find out. To fantasize about possibilities that right now aren’t an option for me. Not when Kane holds all the cards. 

“You look tired.” Kane’s voice cuts through my unspooling thoughts. “Perhaps you need a vacation.”

My gaze snaps to his. “It’s like you read my thoughts,” I say lightly, taking another burning sip of the whiskey. “I could use a vacation. Maybe an extended one. I was thinking—”

Kane cuts me off. “What about a job that’s also a vacation?”

I laugh at that. “Those are mutually exclusive, Kane. You can’t be working and on vacation.”

He chuckles, stretching in his chair like a pleased cat. “Why not?” He shrugs. “Look at my life. Every day, it’s as if I’m on vacation. I’m surrounded by the most beautiful beaches, in a city with thriving nightlife, the best food at my beck and call, and gorgeous women available to me whenever I please. Sure, I spend some hours of my day working, but it hardly feels like it in this setting.”

“Because you stay home.” I take another sip of the whiskey, swirling the amber liquid in the glass. The sunlight catches the cut crystal, sending off bright rays. “I go to places like Moscow, Kane. I sit in cramped hotel rooms with dirty showers and a bed that I pulled the blankets off of because I was afraid I was going to get bedbugs, awake for twenty-one hours a day, watching for a sniper mark.”

Kane’s gaze sharpens. “Is this work not to your liking any longer, Valentina? Do I not keep you in fine enough style, give you enough comforts when you’re home, pay you well enough?”

I bite my lip. “It’s not that.” That’s true enough. My every comfort has always been attended to when I’m home. Kane pays me generously on top of that, and with no need to pay for rent or groceries or pretty much anything other than on whatever I please, my bank account and investment portfolios are egregiously fat. I don’t want for anything—except for the one thing he hasn’t given me yet.

“I want the information about my parents.” I lean forward, looking into Kane’s ice-blue eyes. “It’s time, Kane. It’s been ten years. You’ve raised me, taken care of me, made me the perfect weapon. And I’ve done everything you’ve ever asked of me, always. You’re right, there’s nothing that I want for when I’m home. But now I want to be home. I want to know what happened to my parents, and…” I lick my lips nervously, tasting whiskey. 

I lean back in my chair, trying to adopt Kane’s casual posture, his attitude of assuredness that no one will ever refuse him. “I want out.”

It’s as if the windows slam shut and an icy chill enters the room. Kane’s gaze hardens instantly, turning flinty in a way that sends a shudder down my spine. For the first time, I feel real fear in his presence. I haven’t just disappointed him—I’ve upset him.

“You had to know this was coming,” I say softly. “Ten years, Kane. You just talked about how your life feels like a vacation because you live it here. How long did you travel and kill for before you wanted out? Before you wanted to pull the strings instead of being directed?”

Kane appraises me, taking a sip of his own drink. “Longer than ten years,” he says finally. “You don’t wish to work for me any longer, Valentina?”

I swallow hard. “I could do something else,” I suggest. “Train someone to take my place, or…” I trail off. “I need to know,” I say finally. “This has been hanging over my head all my life, Kane. My past—what happened to my parents. It’s kept me here, working for you. And it’s been a good life… but I want to know what else it could be. I want to travel for myself, without a mission telling me where to go. I want to not have to look over my shoulder constantly while I’m away, wondering if someone has picked up that I’m following them. Even… just getting to be home for a little while, without knowing that sooner rather than later, you’re going to send me off again.”

There’s a note of pleading in my last words that I wish I could shake off, but it’s there all the same. 

“You’ve thought about this.” Kane regards me with that same flinty look, but it’s softened slightly. A good sign.

“All the way home from Moscow,” I confess. 

Kane tips back his glass, finishing off the remainder of the whiskey before setting it aside. “You’re an exceptional assassin, Valentina. One of the best I’ve ever known. It would be difficult to let you go.”

My fingers tremble, and I tighten my grip around my glass to hide it. “Kane. You promised me.”

He knows that as well as I do. At thirteen, he started my training with a promise—that if I was a good student, if I trained hard and learned well, if I obeyed without question and succeeded in my missions, he would find the one thing for me that I wanted above all else…the truth about what happened to my parents when I was a child. Why they were killed, and who was responsible. 

Kane told me that he was shaping me into a lethal weapon toward that end. I would work for him, and in time, I would be able to exact my revenge on the person responsible for stealing my family’s lives. For stealing my life, the way it was meant to happen.

No matter how good my life is now, it’s not the one I was born to have. Someone took that from me, and I’ve been working for fifteen years toward my revenge.

“You promised me when I turned eighteen. You said you knew who it was. That when I was ready, you’d tell me, as long as I did as I was told. As long as I never failed.” I lean forward. “I’ve never failed, Kane. Not once. And you know I’m ready.”

He lets out a slow breath. “You’re right, Valentina,” he begins, and relief washes over me. I hadn’t realized just how done I was until I thought that he was going to refuse me. “But—”

“Kane.” My stomach tightens. 

He holds up a hand. “Hear me out, Valentina. You’re right, you are ready. And you’ve never failed me. So this is my compromise.” He stands and pours himself another two fingers of whiskey before crossing to his desk and retrieving a leather folio from on top of it. He returns to his chair and sits, holding the folder out to me. “Look at it.”

I press my lips together, biting back my impatience, but I humor him. I take the folio from his hand, the leather cool against my fingertips, and flip it open.

A photo of one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen looks back up at me.

He looks deadly even from the picture. I’ve spent my life around dangerous men, some of my ten years as an assassin hunting them, and I know the look. His blue eyes stare back at me with a calm arrogance, his chiseled face the perfect backdrop for full lips twisted in a smirk. Tattoos climb above the collar of his dress shirt, and his dark blond hair is perfectly styled. He might be a cocky billionaire or a reserved crime boss—except he’s more than that. It’s in his eyes. 

This is a man who knows the scent of blood, the way it feels slick and hot on the knuckles after a well-timed punch, the taste of it when it sprays back on his lips. I’d bet money on it, and I’m not even a gambling sort of woman.

I flip the photo up to see a dossier sheet, his name typed at the top. Konstantin Abramov.

I know that name. Anyone with connections to Miami’s criminal underworld does.

“The heir to the Abramov Bratva.” I flip the folder closed, not wanting to look at the photo any longer. Those blue eyes sent a strange sensation through me, a chill down my spine followed by a warmth pooling in my belly. I’m no stranger to handsome men—and some who weren’t—but there’s something different about this one. I don’t want to linger on it. “What does that have to do with me?”

It might as well be a rhetorical question, for all that I know the answer before Kane speaks it aloud. “He’s your next mission,” he says calmly. “Your final one, if you accept it. If not—” He shrugs, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “I’m sure we could revisit this conversation after another year.”

My stomach tightens, my pulse leaping into my throat. I can feel my entire body rebelling against the idea of doing this for another year. More flights to far-flung countries, more long nights, more stakeouts, more seductions. More kills. I’m not sure I can handle it.

But I also can’t fathom taking on a job like this. 

“Someone wants him dead?” It’s not beyond belief, but to take out a hit on a Bratva heir requires money, balls, and a hell of a good reason. “That’s beyond my skill set,” I shake my head, holding out the folio to Kane. 

He doesn’t take it from me. “You know that’s not true, Valentina. With your weapons skills alone, you could do the job. But those aren’t the only skills you’d be employing.”

Seduction. Of course. It’s far from the first time Kane has sent me in as a honeypot. Those are my least favorite missions, the ones where I have to make some stranger believe that I’m going to take him to bed in order to go in for the kill. There’ve been times when I’ve had to actually do it. A few times, it wasn’t so bad. When the men have been handsome, I haven’t minded so much. But Kane doesn’t hand out those targets with their attractiveness in mind. It’s just been a bonus, now and then.

“I can’t do it,” I insist. “You’re going to get me killed.”

Kane clicks his tongue. “Now, now, Valentina. Would I put you in danger like that? You’re like a daughter to me. I wouldn’t give you a mission that I didn’t believe you could handle.”

“I’m in danger every time I go out on a job.”

“Danger you’re equipped for,” he takes a sip of his whiskey. “But if you want to revisit this conversation in a year, I’m sure I can find another mark for you. I believe there’s a contract in Mozambique—”

I glare at him, not bothering to hide my annoyance any longer. I like the heat, but an African desert is a bit much, and Kane knows it. “Who wants him dead?”

Kane smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, which meet mine with a cold stare. “I do.”

I blink with shock, too stunned for a moment to speak. Kane doesn’t take out contracts. He brokers them. “You’re the client?”

He nods. “Thus why I want you to do the job, Valentina. You’re the only one I can trust with it. Think about it. The biggest job you’ve ever done, and for me. Your mentor, your father figure.” He smiles placatingly. “Your final job. What a way to finish your illustrious career as an assassin, hm? This last job for me… and then one for yourself, when I give you the name you want.”

The name. A prickle runs over my skin. I’m so close to the thing I’ve wanted since I was eight years old. And all I have to do is take a job that, if I put the slightest foot wrong, could kill me.

All assassinations come with danger. But this is walking into a lion’s den.

“Why do you want him dead?” My fingers tap against the leather of the folio, and I see Kane’s smile broaden. He knows I’m considering saying yes.

“Konstantin is Victor Abramov’s heir. By all considerations, he’s a fine specimen. Thirty-eight, so still young enough to marry and provide heirs of his own. Intelligent, ruthless, and brutal when necessary. But unfortunately, he’s forward-thinking as well. Too intelligent for his own good.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Unfortunately?”

Kane taps a finger against his glass. “He has ideas about modernizing the Bratva. Legitimizing their businesses, moving away from the old ways of thinking and running his father’s empire. Victor disagrees, of course, but he’s old. He was in the hospital this past winter for pneumonia, and every day since, his health has deteriorated.”

I don’t bother asking how Kane knows all of this. He has his ways, and there’s no point in questioning them. I just listen, silently.

“He represents a threat to the established order,” Kane continues. “An order that benefits me. His ideas of legitimization will destabilize the criminal enterprises here in Miami. The other families will see him as weak, and make bids for his territory to undermine him. As a part of the fragile web of crime in this city, I stand to get caught up in all of that.” He sets his glass down, fixing me with his icy stare. “With Konstantin dead, I can influence Victor’s next choice.”

I narrow my eyes. “Are you thinking it should be you?”

Kane snorts. “Of course not. I like my life as it is. I have no desire to deal directly with the responsibility and politics of running a crime family. But I could… suggest to Victor who that replacement should be. And with his days running short, he’ll be inclined to listen to good advice.”

I swallow hard. Something feels off about this. I should trust my instincts, I know; they’re what’s kept me alive all this time. But Kane is dangling what I want right in front of me. One job… just one more, and I can have what I want. What I need.

I can be done.

“Alright.” I press my hands down flat against the folio, as if to keep myself from opening it again and looking at that chiseled face, those dangerous blue eyes. “What’s the approach, then? I can’t just waltz in and kill this man. A stakeout won’t work, either. He’s going to always have security with him. Every location he goes to will be checked. This won’t be—”

“You’re going to marry him.”

I stare at Kane, sure that I’ve heard him wrong. “Excuse me?”

Kane smiles, clearly pleased that he’s caught me off guard. “Victor Abramov is dying, as I said. I have it on good authority that he’s pressuring Konstantin to marry. You will be presented as a potential bride, with an impeccable pedigree that Victor won’t be able to ignore. With your forged background, my talents of persuasion, and your own charms, I have no doubt that you’ll be successful at securing an engagement.”

My head feels like it’s spinning. Engagement. Marriage. It’s one thing to go into an assignment with the intention to seduce a man, to get him as far as the bedroom, or even sleep with him for a night to get close enough to finish the job. I’ve even taken on a couple of missions where I needed to pose as an escort companion for a weekend or spend a week flattering and seducing and pretending to be genuinely interested in a man. A companion or a temporary girlfriend—those are easy parts to play.

But marriage is different. And even if I’ve never really had aspirations of real marriage for myself, even if I’ve never expected to meet that mythical one that would make me want to say ‘for better or for worse’—something in me balks at saying those vows when I won’t mean them.

I’m a killer, not a liar. 

“And if I’m not successful?”

Kane shrugs lightly. “You’ve never failed. Why would you start now, when this is the most important mission I’ve ever tasked you with?”

Why indeed? I’m not as confident as Kane seems to be that the Abramov pakhan will choose me for his son. But Kane seems to think it’s certain, and if there’s one thing I do know about him, it’s that he’s not a gambler, either. If he’s setting this up, it’s because he believes it will work.

I could get what I need. The resistance I have to Kane’s idea wars with that bone-deep need, the only thing that’s kept me going through all of these years, through every agonizing hour of training, every discomfort, every unpleasant aspect of this job. And all I have to do is push myself just a little bit further… do one more thing that I don’t want to do. 

“It’s still not going to be easy to get to him—”

“You won’t kill him at first,” Kane clarifies. “You’ll secure an engagement and go through with the wedding. If you gather any intel on the Abramov family in the meantime—their businesses, their wealth, their connections—all the better. You will suggest to Konstantin that you want to go on a honeymoon to this location.”

My stomach twists. I’d hoped that maybe Kane’s plan involved an engagement that would end in an ‘accident’ or murdering Konstantin on our wedding night. But he wants me to play a longer game. He wants me far, far away from him when I pull the trigger or dig in the knife, and while it makes sense on the surface, I can feel my anxiety about all of this ratcheting higher with every word. 

He taps his phone and turns it outward, showing me a picture on the screen. It looks like a luxury resort, something pricey and secluded.

“It’s an exclusive resort in the Serengeti,” Kane explains. “Very far away, and they don’t allow extensive security to come with their guests, touting their own location and security as sufficient. You’ll convince Konstantin that you want the privacy for your honeymoon. While you’re there, you’ll use that proximity to fulfill your mission. As soon as you’re done, contact me, and I’ll have you extracted.”

“And you have arrangements for how to cover my tracks?”

“Of course,” Kane confirms. “You’ll be the grieving widow, nothing more. You’ll come home to me, where I’ll give you the information you desire. You might even inherit something from your dead husband, if you’re lucky enough.”

I press my lips together, considering. I don’t think it’s going to be as easy as Kane makes it sound. But the way he describes the job sounds almost plausible. Like it’s possible for me to pull it off, if I can get beyond my own personal hangups on the matter.

I’m not beyond a little arrogance. I know that I’m good—as good as he claims, even if I don’t think I can easily take out the heir to a Bratva crime family. But Kane’s plan might work.

And if it does…

Think about it, Valentina. Everything you’ve worked for. It’s this… or more time working for Kane. Another year—maybe more…

All I have to do is pretend to be married to a man I plan to kill. All of those things that most women get to dream of—a wedding dress, a ceremony, saying vows, a reception, a wedding night… for me, all of those will be fake, the first time that I experience them. Maybe the only time. 

But is this really the line I can’t cross? Is something that I’ve never imagined I’d ever really have worth being precious over, when this could give me my freedom?

I know the answer to that, but I feel an ache in my chest all the same. 

I look up, meeting his gaze. “This is the last job,” I say firmly. “I mean it, Kane. If I do this, I get the name, and everything that goes along with it. All the information you have at your disposal and anything you can do to help me get what I want.”

Kane nods. “Of course. You’ve more than earned your freedom. But I can’t trust this job to anyone else, Valentina. Surely you understand that.”

It’s flattery meant to disarm me. To make me feel special, instead of trapped. I hate that it works, just a little. That I feel the same warm satisfaction at knowing that I’ve pleased him that I’ve felt since I was a child. 

I hate that I want him to be proud of me. That even after all these years, I crave that love and adoration from the man who’s been my father since I was eight.

“I’ll do it. But I’ll need anything you have on him that can help me ensure that he chooses me, anything that will get me closer to him. Routines, likes and dislikes, preferences in women. All of it.”

“Most of that is in there.” Kane gestures to the folio in my hands. “Anything else, you can learn during your courtship. I have faith in you, Valentina. You’ve come so far since you were that frightened girl that I brought home. You won’t fail.”

His words ring with sincerity. But as I stand, the folio clutched in my hands as I turn to leave, I can hear what’s unspoken as well.

You won’t fail. Or else.