The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 263

Vivian

I want to argue, but his logic is sound. If we're wrong about him being alone, if there are guards, the Presidential Suite is where they'd be concentrated. "Fine. Business suite it is."

Dmitri steps back into the elevator, but before the doors close, he pulls out a nearly invisible earpiece and hands it to me. "Emergency extraction only. If things go sideways, retreat immediately. Don't try to be a hero."

I slip the device into my ear and test the connection. "And the target?"

"According to everything we know, he should be deep asleep at this hour. You get in quiet, one clean shot, mission accomplished." Dmitri's expression grows serious. "But Vivian, this rush, this excitement you're feeling—I understand it. I've been there. But don't let it cloud your judgment."

I manage a tight smile as the elevator doors begin to close. "Honestly? I wish you were the one facing him. I don't have the same personal history with the Pakhan that you do."

"Let's hope he's in the Presidential Suite," Dmitri calls out as the elevator carries him upward.

The thirteenth floor corridor stretches before me like a tunnel, emergency lighting casting long shadows between the doors. The silence is complete except for the distant hum of ventilation systems. True to the desk clerk's word, this hotel feels abandoned.

I approach Room 1307 with practiced stealth, my footsteps silent on the plush carpeting. I pause outside the door, pressing my ear against the wood and listening for any sound from within. Nothing. Complete silence.

I slide the key card through the reader, watching the light blink from red to green. The lock disengages with a soft click that sounds thunderous in the quiet hallway.

I push the door open slowly, expecting darkness and the sound of deep breathing.

Instead, every light in the suite blazes to life simultaneously, revealing a figure seated calmly in an armchair as if he's been waiting for me all evening.

Nikolai Volkov—the Pakhan himself—sits with the composed dignity of European aristocracy. His silver hair is perfectly styled despite the late hour, and he wears an impeccably tailored charcoal suit that probably costs more than most people make in a year. His pale blue eyes study me with the calculating intensity of a chess master who's already planned the next ten moves.

Before him on a small table sits an ornate chess set, the pieces arranged mid-game.

"Welcome, Vivian," he says in accented English that carries the weight of absolute authority. "I've been expecting you."

My blood turns to ice. Through my earpiece, I hear Dmitri's voice crackling with static: "Presidential Suite is empty. What's your status?"

I don't have time to respond. My hand moves instinctively toward my concealed weapon, but Nikolai raises a single finger.

"Before you do something we'll both regret," he says with infuriating calm, "aren't you curious about who you're really dealing with?"

"You're the Pakhan," I snarl, my gun halfway out of its holster. "That's all I need to know."

He rises from his chair with fluid grace, gesturing toward the chess board. "Tell me, do you play?"

"Cut the small talk!" I snap, fully drawing my weapon and taking aim. "This ends tonight!"

But even as I line up the shot, a red laser dot appears on my forehead, dancing slightly with my breathing. My blood runs cold.

"Ah yes," Nikolai says casually, as if commenting on the weather. "My sniper positioned in the building across the street. Magnificent view from up there. He has a clear shot through this window, and I assure you, his aim is quite exceptional."

He begins moving slowly, never staying in one position long enough for me to guarantee a clean kill shot. "Of course, you could certainly pull that trigger and end my life. Assuming your marksmanship is adequate, of course."

I track him with my weapon, but he's right—the angle keeps changing, and at this distance, with him moving, I can't be certain of a headshot. A wounded Pakhan is infinitely more dangerous than a dead one.

"You see the problem," he continues, noting my hesitation. "Trading one life for one life is rarely good business. Especially when you're so young, with so much potential ahead of you."

Despite myself, I find my weapon lowering slightly. The red dot on my forehead follows the movement precisely.

Nikolai approaches with the confidence of a man who knows he holds all the cards. Without warning, he steps close enough to snatch my gun away, his movement so quick and practiced that I barely register it happening.

"Much better," he says, walking back toward his chess set with my weapon in hand. "Now then, returning to my earlier question—do you play chess? I find myself in the mood for a game."

He settles back into his chair, arranging the pieces with meticulous care. "Perhaps we could make it interesting. Win, and you walk out of here unharmed. What do you say?"