Agent 7. The Shadows: Part I

▪️◼️Chapter Twenty Four◼️▪️

"Ms. Lenkov?"

The doorman questions from behind me. My lashes flutter, breaking myself from my kidnapper's green-eyed stare.

Matteo.

Somehow the name fits him perfectly. It's masculine and undeniably Italian.

After a moment I nod at him grimly and then pull myself from the car.

"One hour." He reminds me.

I nod again and step away allowing the doorman to shut the door. I watch Matteo drive into the darkness away from me, dragging my fortitude through the dirt as he goes.

I grimace turning away from the rounded driveway.

I pull in a steadying breath. I can do this. I square my shoulders and turn toward the preposterous four story mansion. The doorman waves a hand out in front of him in a showy manor beckoning me toward the house.

"Right this way, Ms." He says.

Nervous, I nod at him and follow as he heads us up cement stairs toward the front door. My breathing is shallow, little puffs tumble from my lips frantically as I walk in sky-high heels.

It's freezing. The temperature has dropped even more since running in the chilly rain with Matteo earlier this evening. Between my nerves and the frigid temperatures, I can hardly contain the shivers overtaking my body. I wish I would have never had to step out of the warmth of the hotel shower earlier.

No, I wish I had never met Vladimir in the first place. Never said yes to his offer for dinner.

I glance down at the watch Matteo wrapped around my slender wrist. Eight PM.

With a heady breath I step through the threshold of Mayor Borkov's home.

"Mr. Borkov is right this way," the man says to me leading me through a large, two story foyer that has an elaborate five-tier chandelier hanging above.

I grip the wooden box in my hands as I reluctantly follow behind the doorman. The interior of Borkov's home is as ostentatious as the man himself.  

Gaudy marble statues of naked women in different positions line the wide hallway, while a floor-to-ceiling commissioned oil painting of Oleg himself hangs at the far end of the hall. His eyes seem to eat me up with every step I take closer to it.

Chills roll down my spine. This place is creepy.

The man showing me in, pauses in front of a large door. I look at him and his eyes drop to the floor guiltily.

That can't be good. With hesitant steps, I walk past him to find Oleg sitting in a chair in the middle of the room. There is a large leather couch and other chairs surrounding him, but his's purposefully central and facing the door.

His back is straight, his arms are strung along both chair rails, his scrawny legs wide, and his belly rests heavily on his thighs. He looks the way Matteo did when I first walked into Vladimir's hotel suite—what feels like ages ago. Only Borkov is failing miserably at looking deadly. It's obvious he's trying to appear powerful in ways that come naturally to Matteo. He was threatening where Borkov is mearly vile.

His eyes light up with delight the moment he sees me. My stomach quivers. The first thing I notice is the hungry set of his lips as he runs his fat tongue across them, while beaming up at me.

"Alina welcome!" He says exuberantly as he stands to greet me. He is almost an inch shorter than I am in these heels. Short and stocky. His small, snail eyes take me in, lingering far too long on my breasts and between my legs.