Todos los capítulos de The Assassin Alpha's Heir: Capítulo 61 - Capítulo 70

Ivy's POVThe thud of Alfonso’s boots finally faded down the quiet corridor.I stood by the thick glass for another thirty seconds, watching Luka's chest rise and fall in that steady, deep, medicine-induced sleep. The steady green blip on his heart monitor was rhythmic, quiet, and real.He was breathing clean air. He was covered in warm blankets. He had two armed syndicate killers posted outside his door ready to rip the head off anyone who so much as looked at him crooked.The debt is cleared.The words echoed in my skull, heavy as lead. Alfonso had held up his end of the bargain. He didn't just hold it up—he ripped a black-ops facility in half with his bare claws to drag my brother out of hell. He didn't ask for a down payment, he didn't hold Luka hostage as collateral, and he didn't treat me like a compromised asset.He just kept his damn word.Which meant it was time for me to keep mine.I took a deep, shaky breath, pushed off from the observation window, and marched straight down

Ivy's POVThree steps left. Pivot. Three steps right. Pivot.I was going to wear a permanent trench right through the floorboards of this bedroom.I clamped down on the inside of my cheek until copper flooded my mouth. It didn't help. Nothing helped. My stomach did violent flips, and my palms were clammy.Tonight.The word kept slamming against the inside of my skull like a sledgehammer.I had marched into Callisto’s sterile little dungeon on my own two feet, looked him dead in his smug face, and volunteered as tribute. Why? Because I have a big mouth and an allergic reaction to being in someone's debt. I’m Ivana Solokov. I don’t run, I don’t beg, and I sure as hell don’t welsh on a deal like some gutter rat. Alfonso pulled Luka out of hell, and in return, I give him his heir. A simple transaction.Except the second I pictured Alfonso’s scarred hands on my waist again—the heat of him, the way he looked at me on that catwalk like he wanted to swallow me whole—my pulse went wild.*Get a

Ivy's POVThe murmur of Alfonso's voice next door had finally stopped.I'd been tracking it for twenty minutes. A phone call, low and clipped, something about a shipment. Then a drawer sliding shut. Then a long, long nothing.Counting was what I did when my brain refused to shut up. Exits, guards, the seconds between a target's footsteps and the stairwell door. For twenty minutes, I'd counted everything in that room twice, perched on the edge of a mattress the size of a small country, strangling a pillow like it owed me money.Callisto had delivered me to the master suite himself at half past nine, tablet tucked under one arm, wire-rimmed glasses glinting in the lamplight, and recited the schedule in the same tone other people used to read out a dry-cleaning ticket."Mr. Alfonso will join you shortly after ten," he'd said. "The window opens tonight and closes in roughly thirty-six hours. I will collect a blood sample at sunrise to confirm your hormone levels. Hydrate. Rest afterward.

Ivy's POVMy head hurt like crazy. It was a dull, persistent ache behind my eyes that usually only followed an explosion at close range, except my ears weren't ringing and nobody was currently pointing a barrel at my skull. In fact, everything around me felt far too comfortable. The pillows beneath my neck were soft, the bedding was thick, and my limbs felt loose and tired in a way that immediately set off warning bells.Then I realized where my face was resting.My cheek was pressed against a broad chest, rising and falling with slow, steady breaths. A tattooed arm held my waist, keeping my hips securely against his side so I couldn't move without pressing directly against him.The memories of the previous night returned in an instant, and my thoughts turned into an immediate spiral.The embarrassment was immediate and hard to stomach. It made me want to grab the nearest pillow, press it over my face, and stay there until the room cleared out. I had spent days presenting myself as a

Ivy's POVClick.The deadbolt turned, Alfonso’s footsteps faded down the hall, and I didn't wait three seconds."Sit pretty in this wing," my ass.I threw the charcoal duvet off, swung my legs out, and instantly winced at the dull, persistent throb deep between my thighs. My muscles felt like they’d run a marathon, but I aggressively shoved that thought into the trash where it belonged. Now was seriously not the time to be reminiscing about how thoroughly that man had ruined my posture a few hours ago.I ripped my duffel bag open, tugged on a pair of dark cargo pants, jammed my bare feet into my combat boots, and laced them tight. I grabbed an oversized black hoodie, pulled it over my messy hair, and made sure my ceramic dagger was secured against my ribs.I’m Ivana Solokov. I don’t sit on satin sheets twiddling my thumbs while a bunch of dusty, fossilized old men argue over whether to throw me in a cage. I’m not a hostage, and I’m definitely not some fragile little damsel waiting for