The Mafia Boss Tried To Humiliate Me In Russian In Front Of His Dangerous Guests—He Had No Idea I Was A Government Translator, And His Queen Just Asked For My Help To Destroy Him

The Grand Casino de Monte Carlo glittered against the Mediterranean coastline like a jewel of decadent royalty.

High-rollers in bespoke tuxedos and women draped in millions of dollars in diamonds crowded around roulette wheels and baccarat tables, completely oblivious to the lethal black-ops crossfire waiting to detonate around them.

I stood on the mezzanine balcony overlooking the grand gaming floor, dressed in a stunning, midnight-blue silk gown with a concealed tactical knife strapped to my inner thigh and an encrypted transmitter hidden in my diamond hairpin.

Down below, Dominic walked toward the private VIP salon, radiating unstoppable power. He was flanked by Victor and four of our top tactical operatives.

Across the salon sat Mikhail Volkov and Director Hayes—the silver-haired, cold-eyed CIA bureaucrat who had ruined my life.

"The contracts are drawn," Hayes said in smooth, arrogant English as Dominic entered the salon. "Sign over the Odesa maritime corridors to our designated shell corporation, Mr. Pierce, and this entire dispute goes away."

Dominic sat down at the velvet-lined table, tossing a single pen onto the center of the green felt.

"I don't sign contracts with traitors who murder American scientists for kickbacks," Dominic said coldly.

Hayes’s smile turned into a sneer. "You should have stayed in New York, Pierce. You think you're a king? You're just a glorified street thug. Take him."

Before Dominic’s guards could draw their weapons, the salon’s heavy oak doors swung shut, and six private contractors wearing tactical gear and suppressed weapons stepped out from the VIP curtains, aiming their rifles directly at Dominic’s chest.

At that exact second, Mikhail looked up toward the mezzanine balcony and pointed directly at me.

“Take the translator!” Mikhail roared in Russian over the comms. “She has the backup drives!”

Two rogue operatives lunged toward me on the balcony.

I didn't panic. I drew the tactical knife from my thigh, sidestepped the first operative’s reach, drove the blade into his shoulder joint, and used his momentum to flip him over the gilded marble railing. He crashed onto an empty craps table twenty feet below with a sickening crunch.

The second operative drew a taser, but I grabbed a heavy bronze champagne bucket, swung it with lethal precision into his temple, and sprinted down the private service staircase toward the VIP salon.

Inside the salon, Dominic was already a whirlwind of lethal violence.

He flipped the heavy mahogany poker table upright, using it as a shield against the incoming gunfire, drew his dual Kimber .45s, and dropped three contractors in rapid, rhythmic succession.

Victor drew a concealed revolver and put two rounds straight into Mikhail’s chest, ending the Russian traitor once and for all.

"Hayes is heading for the rooftop helipad!" Victor shouted over the deafening gunfire. "He has the original BioVance ledger!"

Dominic vaulted over the overturned table, caught me by the waist as I burst through the salon doors, and pulled me tight against his side.