Stolen from the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance(6)

“No idea. Never seen him before and nobody else seems to know him,” Dad comments, shaking his head. “But he looks European, doesn’t he?”

Mom nods and whispers, “Maybe he’s just a spy for the Russian gymnastics team. They’re always neck and neck with the Americans at the Olympics.”

My parents both chuckle to themselves and I roll my eyes, sighing. Their laughter halts abruptly as the subject of our conversation turns to look toward us from across the room, his smoky gaze startling all three of us.

Then, the tall, severe-looking man comes sauntering over to us, looking like a lion stalking up to his prey.

My heart races, wondering if maybe he has supersonic hearing or something and he’s miffed that we’ve been talking about him. He stops just in front of me, and now that we’re standing so close together, I’m overwhelmed by our size difference. I’m barely over five feet, and he’s well over six. While my frame is petite and slender, everything about him is imposing and powerful.

I gulp, and I can feel my parents bristling uncomfortably behind me.

“You’re Olivia Greenwood,” the man says, and I realize now that it’s the first time I’ve heard his voice all night. In fact, a lot of other people have stopped their conversations to glance over at the surprising sound. His voice is deep and somber, with just a lick of an accent I can’t quite place. Every word from his lips seems to vibrate in the air.

“Y-yes, that’s me,” I reply awkwardly.

He nods. “I have seen videos of your training and competitions and read your stats. You have a few achievements under your belt,” he explains. Coming from anyone else, it might have sounded like a compliment, but in his grave tone it sounds almost like a put-down. Or a threat.

“Thank you,” I murmur, blushing.

“May I speak to you in private for a moment?” he asks, glancing briefly at each of my parents behind me. All three of us nod in response and the man gestures for me to follow him to the little outside patio. I’m half-afraid that my father is going to demand to come along, but to my relief, he doesn’t. I need to be able to handle whatever this guy has to say. On my own.

So I follow Mr. Mystery outside, where the air is slightly chilled. Goosebumps prickle along my arms and bared legs, but I suspect that may be less due to the weather and more about the fact that an intimidating stranger has cornered me alone.

“My name is Maksim Pavlenko, but my colleagues often call me Max. I have come on behalf of an elite gymnastics company with a close affiliation to the Sorbonne in Paris. After reviewing your progress as an athlete and sending me out to review your last performance live, the company has chosen to offer you a place in their highly competitive program. You would study at the Université de Paris and train under the tutelage of world-renowned instructors, such as myself,” he explains, his expression never lightening up for even a second.

I am stunned and overwhelmed by this barrage of information, and apparently it shows, because he then gives me an even colder, impatient look.

“This is an opportunity to die for, and it is not offered lightly. If you wish to accept, it is imperative that you tell me now,” he commands. My mind is racing, my heart pounding. How am I even supposed to respond to something like this? I had no expectation of anything so serious happening tonight — especially not to me!

But I quickly stammer, “Yes, I-I would love to. I just —”

“Very well,” he interrupts, guiding me back into the restaurant and toward my waiting parents, who both looked utterly bewildered. Without another word to me, Pavlenko describes the details of the arrangement to my parents, leaving me standing stock-still and silent the whole time. Holly and Ashley shoot me concerned, questioning looks, but all I can do is give them a strained smile and shrug. I know they’ll be happy for me, but it also means that I’ve bested them. We’re all friends, but we’re competitors, too. Besides, if I go away to Paris — which still seems like an impossible pipe dream — who knows if I’ll even ever see them again?

Still, I tell myself as Pavlenko arranges my travel and schooling plans with my parents, he is right. This is an opportunity I cannot pass up. On the ride home from the banquet, I don’t say a word even as my parents chatter excitedly about Pavlenko’s offer. It’s all happening so fast, but it’s definitely for the better, isn’t it? Gymnastics is my passion, and I will never fulfill my ambitions if I just languish away here in Toast.

Paris is the place to be. Even if it means leaving behind everything I’ve ever known or loved.