From the corner of his eye, Alfonso saw a dark figure rear up. Spinning expertly, he grabbed Nikita with one arm, securing it around her waist. With the other, he drew a knife from the pocket of his bathrobe and pressed it against her throat.
"Don't be stupid," he snarled, teeth barred in a menacing growl. "One move and the girl dies."
Michael's insides clenched as he saw the gleaming steel indent into Nikita's skin. It was beyond torture for him to watch. Her skin was glistening with a cold sweat and her wide eyes were desperately pleading for his help.
"Alfonso Cosimo? Nice cover, Aleksandr." Michael snapped, trying to bide his time. "Gogol's gotten more clever."
"I thought so," he scowled back. "I assumed the plastic surgery and spray tanning was a bit much, but apparently, it does the trick."
He shook Nikita violently, the tip of the blade slicing through her skin and drops of crimson blood skimmed slowly down her neck, leaving a pale red trail behind. "Even, your little agent fell for it. Глупая сука."
Michael watched Nikita's eyes widen at the insult, then narrow into cat-like slits. Inwardly, he rejoiced at the murderous look on her face. The last time it had appeared—during one of Amanda's 'tests'—she had kept up iron walls around her subconscious, even until the physical pain had blasted her into unconsciousness and left sickening welts on her wrists and ankles. Whatever happened today, whatever fight exploded amongst them, he knew that she would deliver the last blow, have the last laugh.
"Your accent is impressive. From Russian to Italian? That must have been difficult. So where is the real Alfonso Cosimo?"
Aleksandr laughed harshly. "On the bottom of the Grand Canal with a knife in his back.
" Why do you want Cosimo?"
"Because Division wanted him. I figured when your little agent was just so willing to come to bed with me," he said, dragging his hand delicately over Nikita's collarbone. She shuddered, disgusted.
"You were just as desperate." Michael pointed out, trying to galvanize Alexandr's temper.
"Stop trying to distract me," he snarled back, any traces of the Italian accent gone. "I want you to turn around and face the wall. Do it. Now."
Michael's jaw hardened and he glared at him. "Do you honestly think I'm that stupid?"
Alexandr's eyes were cold; it was rather like staring into the face of a shark. "Turn around or I will gut her like a fish."
He poised the knife menacingly over her heart; the razor-sharp tip hovered dangerously over her skin. "Turn around now. You don't want me to ask again."
Nikita tilted her head ever so slightly; eyes still dark with a wrath that he'd never seen before.
"Don't move!" Alexandr rattled her body violently, the knife pointed hazardously close to her chest.
Slowly, Michael revolved on the spot. He prayed silently and desperately, every fiber of his being teetering nervously. God Nikki, I hope you have a plan.
Alexandr pulled Nikita's arms behind her, momentarily easing the knife away from her skin. One second was all it took for her to make her move. Clenching one hand into a fist, she threw it downward, hoping it would land in the right spot. A sharp yowl pierced the air and she smiled devilishly. Pirouetting on one leg, she flung the other out, slamming a wheezing and incapacitated Alexandr into a bookshelf. Volumes rained down and Nikita was glad that that shelf only contained hard cover books. She was on top of him in a second, swiftly kicking his knife into a corner. Her own dagger slid out of another hidden pocket. It was instantly pressed against his throat and her mouth curled into a snarl, any trace of compassion she had for 'Alfonso' gone.
"Now," she breathed. "You will tell me what I want to know or I will gut you like a fish."
"Impressive." Michael was scrolling through the remaining files they had managed to extract from Alexandr. "They even left a fake paper trail of 'Alfonso Cosimo'."
Nikita glanced up at him from behind his computer. "Well, I'm not impressed. He was terrible in bed."
He rolled his eyes, though inside he was beyond smug. "Spare me the details, would ya?"
She slapped the laptop shut, bouncing up from her spot on the floor. Plopping herself on the bed next to him, she pulled impatiently at his hand. "Michael, let's go do something. We're in Venice for another two weeks, in one of the swankiest hotels ever, with an unlimited allowance. Seriously, any honeymooning couple would die for this."
After his failure to respond, she leaned forward and snatched the phone out of his hand. Speeding to a nearby window, she held it out threateningly.
"Nikki, be smart. Think of what you're doing."
"Promise me you'll take me out tonight." Her eyes narrowed when he shook his head, hand still outstretched. The phone slipped treacherously in her grasp.
"Crap! Nik, don't do this to me." He tried to get closer, but she leaned even more precariously out the window.
"Promise me."
He threw up his hands in defeat. "Fine, fine. You win. We'll go out tonight."
"Somewhere nice. That means expensive."
"Maybe."
She beamed at him, lips curled up into a blissful smile. "Good. I'll go change. You should too."
Turning away, she marched into the bathroom, fingers still curled around her phone. He looked down suddenly aware of gray gun powder lightly dusted over his shirt and a tiny blood stain underneath it, a minuscule remnant of Alexandr. He'd burn the shirt later. Yanking it off, he tossed it into his empty suitcase. He pulled a black button-down on and tightened a crimson neck tie around the collar of his shirt. Turning toward the mirror set into the bedroom wall, he smoothed out his collar and slicked his disheveled hair back to its original shape.
Although he would never admit it, Nikita was right. They were in one of the most beautiful cities on the planet and he might as well enjoy the charming company he had been provided with.
"You're getting rusty." Her voice came out from behind him. He started slightly, too preoccupied with his hair to have noticed her entrance.
Twisting away from the mirror, he soaked in his partner's flawless appearance. She was wearing his choice dress, and black stilettos elevated her slender frame. Leaning against the door frame, she smiled flirtatiously at him.
"We match." He said, pointing at their complimentary outfits.
He was right. The bright red of her dress and that of his tie were an easy pair.
"Amanda," she breathed, flushing pink. Popping open her black clutch, she slid her phone in. She then placed it under one arm, hitching it up. His eyes immediately flitted towards her body and her eyes narrowed.
"Don't get any ideas. You're not getting the phone back tonight."
She didn't know it, but he wasn't staring at her purse.
Walking to the doorway, he extended his arm. "Shall we, Mrs. Langston?"
Grinning broadly, she accepted his arm. "We shall, Mr. Langston."
The limousine slid to the front of the hotel and the chauffeur hopped out, popping open the door with a bow. Michael slid out, Nikita following close behind. Both their mouths were set in stony grimaces. Silently, they walked into the hotel and inside the elevator. The moment the door slid shut, Michael turned on her.
"Finish what you started."
*I'm terrible at writing fight scenes, so I thought that Nikita should just nail the guy in the nuts.
**if anyone was wondering, Глупая сука is Russian for 'stupid bitch'.