Page 96 of Fastest Kill

Dario's head cocked thoughtfully. "Now, I have two things in mind to give you."

Frederica laughed because he was as ridiculous as she was, and she loved that about him. She kissed the casing and put it back in his wallet, winking. Dario tucked a strand of hair back from her face and kissed her again.

Outside the window, the clouds had thinned enough to show a strip of gray-blue sea somewhere beneath them. The plane was quiet except for Silas's snoring and the steady hum of the engines.

Dario's arms were around her, easy and warm, and Frederica snuggled into him to make the most of it. Her head rested on his shoulder, his chin on her hair, and he stroked her back gently in a content gesture.

Finding out that Dario Colleoni was the love of her life was still mildly alarming, but she was sure she would get used to it.

42

Prague at Christmas had transformed itself from a beautiful old city into a snow-covered fairytale. From the rooftop, Dario could see the Vltava River, dark and glittering below, the bridges strung with light, the spires of Malá Strana rising black against a sky heavy with snow that was due to start falling again.

Somewhere down in the streets, near the entrance of the Charles Bridge, a brass band was playing carols badly and with great enthusiasm. The smell of mulled wine, smoked meats, and cinnamon pastries came up from one of the Christmas markets two blocks over.

It was magical, but it was also freezing, and Dario had been leaning against a decorative stone grotesque for two hours.

Across the river, warm and gold behind its baroque facade, the Grand Prior's Palace of the Knights of St John was hosting a Christmas party for two hundred people who had paid ten thousand euros a plate.

Somewhere in that gilded building, enjoying excellent wine and the company of people who would be appalled to know what he actually did between his humanitarian photo opportunities, was Viktor Horák. He liked to use his philanthropic networks and political connections to move women out of rural Slovakia and into situations from which they never returned.

Three women from a village outside Bratislava had gone to a Midsummer festival, and they hadn't come home. Their families had pooled every resource they had and sent a petition to Frederica, along with the promise of a large batch of medovníky, a soft honey gingerbread. It was the gingerbread that got her. Frederica had told them to keep their money and make two batches of medovníky, and they had a deal.

Dario had spent Christmas Eve in some strange places over the years. He had never spent one on a Prague rooftop with an assassin who had accepted a contract in exchange for cookies. This, he thought, studying the back of Frederica's head, was exactly what he loved about her.

He had been watching her for two hours and had been hard for at least one of them.

She was stretched prone across the low stone wall, her modified VSS Vintorez balanced on an old carved corbel that happened to be exactly the right height. Her eye was at the scope, her feet on the rooftop gravel, the rest of her arranged in a relaxed patience that told Dario she would wait like that for days if she had to.

She was wearing a dark beanie pulled down over her ears, a long black leather jacket, and jeans. Her breath fogged in the cold. She hadn't moved in eleven minutes except to flex one gloved hand and then return it to the stock.

The target was late, but she wasn't anxious, just waiting. She made a small adjustment that had her ass pointing directly at Dario, and his dick throbbed.

He got up from where he had been sitting and moved to stand behind her. His hands found the back of her leather jacket and stroked down her spine.

She made a humming sound that wasn't annoyance. He knew what that was from experience.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked. She hadn't moved her eye from the scope.

"Keeping myself amused." He kept his hands moving, slowly, along her sides. "You look cold."

"Is that so?"

"Freezing, probably. I should warm you up."

"You should sit back down and stop distracting me."

She was smiling. He could see her mouth twitching in the sketchy light. She hadn't told him to stop.

"You just keep your eyes on the prize, Spartana." He slid his hands around to her hips, and his thumbs found the waistband of her jeans. "I'll take care of the rest."

"I am literally on a job⁠—"

He undid her belt and worked it open before taking care of the button and zip.

"That's why you need to keep watching," he said, low against the back of her neck. "You're a professional."

"Dario, what are you⁠—"