6. THE LAST ASSIGNMENT

The restaurant where Barbara had agreed to meet her uncle for dinner was one of those exclusive places that screamed wealth and yelled it so loud, begging for the whole world to take a look.

Chandeliers dripped with crystals like raindrops frozen in time, their soft white glow laced with gold, reflecting on the elegant mahogany tables littered across the space.

Every surface gleamed with an almost tacky elegance… gold chairs, diamond-studded glasses, fragile porcelain… large-bellied men with pretty stick-perfect women dangling from their arms, playing the perfect role of trophy wives and girlfriends…

Barbara hated it.

Places like this reminded her too much of her past life as Barbara Neil Aryan, the woman who hung out with the upper echelon. It reminded her of the weak woman she had been, the one who never felt like she belonged.

At least tonight, she was putting up with this moment for one last time, and then she’d be done with her insane godfather for good.

Now, I know what you may be thinking.

That he’d bested her once, and would probably do it again, and you were right to think that.

But Barbie knew that too.

Which was why she had been very intentional about this second deal.

She had all the papers, and the stamp of his red signet ring—the only thing that signified that one had his word— to prove it.

She had spent weeks planning this.

Every detail, every clause.

There was definitely no way Kenneth was going to play her now.

Barbara adjusted the strap of her black dress, her gaze cutting across the restaurant like a blade as they searched for their target. Heads turned towards her like they always did, and once upon a time, those looks would have made her shrink… recoil into her shell, they would have made her suck in her stomach and pray to go unnoticed, for the world, or the ground, to swallow her up. But now, she drank it all in, meeting gazes head-on with a confidence that was so daunting that it made people cast their eyes down in fear.

She spotted the man in question just as the maître d’ approached, and her thoughts were out of that space as the poor woman welcomed her and made small talk, which Barbie honestly didn’t hear much of.

All she could think of as she was being led to his table was how good it’d feel to stab him with one of the many knives she had on her person, but almost as instantly as the thought had come, she snuffed it out just as immediately.

Her uncle, Kenneth, had come to her rescue at a time when she had needed it the most, and even though she wasn’t particularly happy with him right now, it didn’t mean that she no longer had a soft spot for him.

In fact, if anything, it was the only thing saving him from her wrath right now.

Kenneth’s table sat by the farthest window, overlooking the city lights, and she’d be damned, but the man looked like a king at his throne. He looked perfectly at home there, with his tailored navy suit, his silver hair slicked back, and a cigar balanced lazily between two fingers.

“Ah, my favorite niece,” he said as she approached, rising to kiss both cheeks. The gesture was warm, but the eyes above it were glacial.

“Let’s skip the theatrics, Uncle Kenneth,” Barbara replied, sliding into her seat and getting straight to the point.

“Morcetti’s taken care of.” The words came out detached, like she was dissociating from what she had just said, and the cruelty behind it, and perhaps she was. Her tone was flat, practiced. The words were cold, and there was no emotion on her face, none at all for him to feed on.

There was no denying that Kenneth was impressed.

Frankly speaking, he hadn’t expected that his harmless, little goddaughter had it in her to get this far, and yet she continued to surprise him at every turn.

Not that he was going to let her know, though.

His eyes were bright as they looked at her, but they held no emotion. Instead, he took his sweet time sipping his wine, and then, when he noticed that she started to fidget, a smile started to play at the corner of his lips.

“Good,” he murmured, the single word oiled with satisfaction.

Good?

Barbara wanted so desperately to wipe that infuriating smirk off his face, but she told herself that in just a little while, all of this would be over, and so she clenched her jaw and steeled her shoulders. “Anyway, now that that’s done, you said you had one last job for me. Then I’m done.”

Kenneth chuckled, signaling a waiter. “Ah, Barbie, Barbie… now you always did like to get straight to business. But relax, my dear. Dinner first.” He smiled happily at the waiter, “Bring in her favorite—steak, medium rare! I’ll have the same.”

The waiter nodded and scurried off, leaving the two of them alone once again.

“Did I mention? You’re looking… radiant.”

Barbara smirked at the pitiful attempt at making conversation. “Oh, really? Well, I guess that’s what happens when you know you’re about to stop killing for a living.”

Kenneth laughed again, this time louder than the first. “Oh, my dear goddaughter. Always so dramatic.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Now, come on. You and I both know you were born for this. Killing. You’ve got the instincts. The rage. The precision. Face it. You’d rot in normalcy if you ever stopped.”

Her jaw tightened. “Try me.”

Their meals arrived before he could say a word. For steak, it was the smallest she had ever seen.

Insultingly small.

Barbara knew he had a hand in it.

She knew Kenneth?

This wasn’t about dinner.

This was about control.

It always was with him.

“So,” Barbara broke the silence when the waiter left, “who’s the target?”

Kenneth dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin, his smile slow and satisfied. “Right. Your final task. Now, here’s the thing. This one’s really special. You complete this assignment, and you’ll never have to hear my name again.”

“Great!” Barbie exclaimed, sitting up in her chair, her steak long forgotten as her pulse quickened in a mix of nerves and excitement. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Kenneth pushed his napkin aside and reached down to a small, unsuspecting leather briefcase at his feet. The motion was effortless, and Barbie watched with bated breath as he unclasped the case in one smooth flick and drew out a slim folder, placing it on the table between them and turning it over to her as if it were a verdict being pronounced.

Barbara’s fingers tightened around the stem of her glass as she stared at the information before her.

Addresses.

Public affiliations.

But none of them held her gaze like the candid photos before her.

She knew the face very well.

Hell, it haunted her dreams, her every thought.

The man in the pictures had the same rugged features she remembered. That strong jaw, that dark hair slicked back with a stubborn curl refusing to lie flat, that faint scar near his ear… those eyes that seemed amused, dark, dangerous all at once…

It was him.

The man she had hooked up with almost a year ago!

The only man who had made her feel alive… who had seen her darkness in all its glory and had embraced it instead of running away… the only man who had seen beyond her weight and ravished her like she was a goddess who deserved all of his worship, the only man who had fucked her so right that even a year after, her sex still creamed at the thought of him.

“Knight.” Kenneth said, snapping her from her thoughts.

“That is the only name we have of him. Public philanthropist, private complications. Every information you see in there is exactly what he wants us to see. Carefully curated. No one knows who he really is, or how he came to be.”

Barbie kept her features blank, refusing to give anything away, even though her heart was pounding in fear and excitement.

“He has no real files, no birth certificate, no bank accounts. No trail. The man doesn’t exist… not in any way that matters.”

Barbara forced her expression blank, though her insides churned. “And yet you found him?”

Kenneth smirked. “I didn’t. People find him only when he wants to be found. But whispers travel, Barbara. Dangerous men attract dangerous rumors. And I think I have had him trailed for quite enough time to know exactly how he moves.” He sipped his wine and set it down with a soft clink. “One more thing, dear child.” He grinned sadistically, “There are… rumors. They say this Knight… he’s lethal. And that he cannot be killed.”

Barbara wanted to laugh at the serious look on her uncle’s face. Of course, people would say that about him. It sounded exactly like the kind of myth that would grow around a man whose aura screamed danger like Knight.

She could almost believe it herself.

“Why do you sound almost like you believe them, Uncle Ken?” she asked, her voice carefully neutral, and yet amused.

“I don’t, though I wish it were true.” Kenneth’s laugh was short, cruel. “Every man bleeds. Every man dies. Including this Knight.”

Barbie’s nails dug crescents into her palms beneath the table. The pain kept her rooted in the moment, “So why?” she pressed. “Why go after him if you don’t even know who he is?”

Her uncle leaned forward, steepling his fingers, his grin spreading wide. His teeth were sharp, his eyes hungrier than any wolf. “Because if the rumors are even a little bit true, then assassinating him will be your most challenging task yet.”

Barbara couldn’t believe her ears.

“And that, dear niece,” Kenneth continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush, “is exactly what I want.”

The blood in the redhead’s veins turned to ice as her godfather picked up his knife and resumed slicing his steak, calm and collected as if they were discussing the weather. “Because if you fail, it means you’ll keep working for me. Forever. And if you succeed…” He lifted his fork and slid the piece of meat into his mouth, chewing with deliberate pleasure. “Well. Then I will know you are every bit as extraordinary as I always suspected. Talent like that will never give up killing that easily, meaning it’s only a matter of time before you come running back, begging for me to take you and put you to use.”

He let out a pleased grunt. “See the picture I’m trying to paint with all of this? I win, either way.”

Barbara’s heart thudded painfully, but her face remained stone.

Rage boiled under her skin, so powerful that for the first time ever, she actually wanted her favorite uncle dead.

Of course, the fact that he wanted her to kill the one man she had completely felt attracted to was a reason, but the slammer was the realization that he actually had no intention of letting her go and had been manipulating her all this time.

And if there were any people Barbie hated more than anything in the world, it sure were manipulators.

She had the blood of Mariana and Peter on her hands to prove it.

Kenneth slid the itinerary across the table.

Mariotte. Leukemia Awareness Gala. 8 pm. Tomorrow.

“Don’t be late.”

Barbara could feel his gaze on her like a hawk eyeing prey, that patient, hungry smile itching for a reaction… an angry burst, anything that would let him know he’d been victorious in breaking her yet again.

She gave him no such reaction.

Her disappointment was great, but so was her determination to break free of this arrangement.

She slipped the paper into her clutch, her pulse steady, her eyes unreadable as he continued to drone on,

“If finesse fails, Cara Mia,” Kenneth murmured, his smile widening, “you’re at liberty to use all means necessary. Your call, Black Widow. I wish you luck.”

Barbara smiled back, the kind of smile that promised hell as she stood to her feet and packed her stuff to leave. “Thanks, but I don’t need it.”

She walked away with those words, but her mind wouldn’t stop racing with thoughts.

Tomorrow night, she was going to face Knight.

The one man she could never forget…

The man she might very well have to destroy.

Ah, fuck.

Freedom had never looked so much like damnation.