Xavier sighed, a sound that carried the weight of every bad decision he'd ever made.
If I die here, I'm haunting Mila first. Then I'm haunting whoever invented security cameras. Then I'm haunting whoever decided husbands should come home early.
But wait. He'd survived Prague. He'd survived that clusterfuck in Montenegro where he'd accidentally seduced a warlord's three daughters simultaneously. He was Xavier fucking Valentine. He was him. And he was going to survive this.
Think, you beautiful disaster.
Xavier slowly rose from behind the sectional, ceramic blade palmed against his thigh. His free hand smoothed his disheveled hair into something resembling respectability. Nine men filled the entrance—eight in matching black suits with the subtle bulges of concealed weapons, and one in a perfectly tailored charcoal three-piece that screamed money and menace.
Hiroaki Takeda stood at the center like a spider in his web. Silver hair swept back from a face that belonged on ancient coins—all sharp angles and cold calculation. His dark eyes held the kind of emptiness that came from watching too many people die.
Xavier gave his most sheepish grin, the one that had gotten him out of trouble with angry fathers, jealous boyfriends, and at least three different mafias. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, catching the lingering taste of Aiko's sweetness.
Damn. Even facing death, she tastes incredible.
"Mr. Takeda!" Xavier's voice pitched perfectly between surprise and embarrassment. "You're home early. I was just—"
"Fucking my wife."
Xavier spread his hands, the picture of wounded innocence. "I was appraising your collection. Mrs. Takeda mentioned you had some remarkable pieces, and as an art dealer, I couldn't resist a private viewing."
Hiroaki stepped forward, his men flowing around him. "Art appreciation?"
"There's been a misunderstanding." Xavier's mind worked frantically, weaving truth and lies into something that might pass for believable. "Your wife mentioned you were in Singapore until Thursday. She seemed lonely, and I've never been good with bounda—"
"Stop."
Aiko stood behind the sectional, kimono hastily retied, tears streaming down her face. Her hands shook as she pressed them against her mouth.
"Please," she whispered, the word breaking on a sob. "Please don't hurt him. It was my fault. All of it."
No, you beautiful fool. Take the out. Blame me.
Hiroaki's head tilted. "Did this man force himself on you, cherry blossom?"
Xavier held his breath. This was her chance. The smart play. The safe play. She could claim assault, play the victim, and walk away clean. He'd be pissed, but he'd understand. Survival trumped honor every time.
"No." Aiko's voice cracked. "He didn't force anything. I—I initiated. I wanted..." She covered her face with her hands. "I'm so sorry, Hiroaki. I'm so sorry. But please, let Avery go. He had no idea I was married. He thought I was single. This is my fault, not his."
Something twisted in Xavier's chest—an unfamiliar warmth that had nothing to do with lust or satisfaction. She'd thrown herself on the sword for him. A stranger. A liar. A man who'd seduced her for a job.
Fuck. Why did you have to be noble?
Hiroaki began to clap. Slow, deliberate applause that echoed off marble floors like gunshots.
"Magnificent," he said, still clapping. "Truly magnificent. To think my bitch of a wife would be so foolish as to be tricked by such an obvious performance."
Xavier's blood chilled. The temperature in the room seemed to drop twenty degrees.
"You see, my dear," Hiroaki continued, his voice conversational, "your lover isn't Avery Hemmingway, art dealer extraordinaire. He's Xavier Valentine. Assassin for hire. Thief. Gigolo." His smile widened. "And currently, a dead man."
Well. That's not ideal.
Xavier's grip tightened on the ceramic blade. "How long have you known?"
"Since your second visit." Hiroaki pulled out a tablet, swiping through surveillance photos. "Facial recognition is wonderful technology. Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Valentine. Though I must say, your file doesn't do justice to your... theatrical talents."
The bodyguards shifted, hands moving toward weapons. Xavier counted exits—main door blocked, balcony too high, kitchen maybe, but he'd have to go through them first.
"The question," Hiroaki continued, "is what you stole from me. The keycard, perhaps? Or something more valuable?"
Play dumb? Confess? Attack first?
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Lying doesn't suit you." Hiroaki nodded to his men. "Search him."
The first bodyguard moved forward. Xavier waited until the man was within arm's reach before striking.
The ceramic blade sliced across the bodyguard's throat in a spray of crimson. Xavier pivoted, using the falling body as a shield while his free hand grabbed the man's pistol.
Bang! Bang!
Two shots center mass dropped the second bodyguard. Xavier rolled behind the sectional as return fire shattered crystal vases and punched holes in priceless paintings.
"Alive!" Hiroaki barked. "I want him alive!"
Xavier vaulted over the sectional, ceramic blade spinning through the air to embed itself in a third man's eye socket. He landed in a crouch, grabbed a marble sculpture, and hurled it at the chandelier.
Crash!
Crystal shards rained down like deadly snow. Xavier used the distraction to close distance, his fist connecting with a bodyguard's solar plexus. The man doubled over, gasping, and Xavier's knee introduced itself to his face with a wet crunch.
"Four down," Xavier muttered, spinning to face the remaining threats.
A baton caught him across the ribs. Xavier grunted, stumbled, and barely ducked a second swing that would have caved in his skull. He grabbed the attacker's wrist, twisted until bones snapped, and relieved him of the weapon.
The baton whistled through the air, catching another bodyguard across the temple. The man dropped like a stone.
Xavier turned, chest heaving, blood trickling from a split lip. Three men left, plus Hiroaki. Not terrible odds.
Then he turned and saw Aiko.
She'd pressed herself against the far wall, eyes wide with terror. If he dodged, she would die.
No.
The bodyguard's finger tightened on the trigger just as Xavier's shoulder slammed into Aiko's midsection, driving her to the floor.
Bang!
Fire erupted across Xavier's back as the bullet meant for her tore through his shoulder blade. He rolled, coming up in a crouch between Aiko and the gunman.
"Run," he gasped.
She didn't move.
The other two bodyguards hit him simultaneously. A fist to the kidney dropped him to one knee. A boot to the ribs sent him sprawling. Xavier tried to rise, but a baton across his skull sent stars exploding behind his eyes.
Get up. Get up, you vain bastard.
He made it to his hands and knees before another kick to the ribs flipped him over. Blood filled his mouth. His vision blurred as boots rained down on his chest, his face, his already injured shoulder.
This is it. This is how I die. Not in some romantic shootout or dramatic duel, but beaten to death on a marble floor.
The beating stopped. Xavier lay gasping, every breath a struggle. His left eye was swollen shut, his ribs felt like broken glass, and something warm and sticky pooled beneath his head.
Footsteps approached. Polished Oxfords entered his limited field of vision.
"Disappointing," Hiroaki said, crouching beside him. "I expected more from the famous Xavier Valentine."
Xavier tried to speak, but only managed a wet cough that sent blood spattering across white marble.
Hiroaki stood, brushing imaginary dust from his suit. He reached into his jacket and withdrew a sleek black pistol.
The gun barrel pressed against Xavier's forehead. He closed his eyes, thinking of chocolate gelato and purple sunsets and the way Aiko had tasted like a delicious strawberry ice cream.
At least I went out doing what I loved. Being an idiot.
"Wait."
The word scraped from his throat. Hiroaki paused, the gun still pressed against Xavier's skull.
"What?"
Xavier's lips curved into a bloody smile. His good eye opened, meeting Hiroaki's gaze with defiant satisfaction.
"Your wife," he whispered, voice barely audible. "She tasted amazing."
Bang!
The gunshot echoed through the penthouse like thunder. Xavier's world exploded into white light, then faded to nothing.
Darkness claimed him, complete and final.
Xavier Valentine was dead.