I stare at her eyes for a moment before my gaze drops to her lips.
"You must work for the Volkovs, I assume. I thought they were in bed with this guy. Why send an assassin?"
She scoffs, the sound sharp and dismissive.
"I am not an assassin. I am a cleaner. There is a difference."
I raise an eyebrow.
"Is there? It all looks the same from this end of the barrel."
Her eyes narrow on me.
"An assassin is like you. Leaves a mess. I was sent to clean up the one your brother left in Switzerland."
I shrug, glancing around at the scattered papers and the blood-soaked rug.
"I mean, it is pretty messy in here."
Her jaw tightens. She raises the gun, aiming it directly at my head.
"Okay, okay," I say quickly, raising my hands slightly in mock surrender. "Before you do whatever you have to do, tell me why the Volkovs wanted him dead. Why send a pretty girl like you all the way over here to do this?"
She takes another step back, toward the hallway, but she doesn't lower her gun.
"Do you always run your mouth with bad pickup lines?" she asks.
I laugh and rub my chin.
"Sorry, you're just not who I expected to see. Is it working?"
"No, Victor Ionescu. It's not," she says, and stares at me for a moment.
I flash my signature, arrogant smile.
"So you know me. I'm flattered," I say and wink. "Next time, don't rush the pat-down."
Her expression doesn't change, but something shifts in her eyes.
"You should have stayed in your suit, politician," she says, her voice cold.
Then her eyes narrow, and I know. I can see it in the micro-shift of her stance, the tightening of her finger on the trigger. She's going to shoot.
Before I can think better of it, I lunge for her.
I grip her hand holding the gun and push it up. She fires two bullets into the ceiling.
Then she moves fast, impossibly fast. I feel two fists to my chest, and she's spinning around me.
I reach for her, but my hand closes on empty air where she stood a second ago.
Then a white-hot pain steals the breath from my lungs.
A knife punches through my suit jacket, through the expensive shirt, sliding between my ribs.
She leans in close, her lips nearly brushing my ear.
"You're not running your mouth now," she says, her voice soft. "What a shame."