“This is insane,” I snap, unable to contain my frustration. “You’re walking straight into his web.”
Remy stops, fixing me with that penetrating stare. “We can’t ignore the meeting, not without raising real suspicion. But if he’s testing me, he won’t get the satisfaction of seeing us falter.” His voice carries an edge of steel. “Keeping him in the dark is the safest option. If he thinks I’m still on his side, he won’t question anything. It gives me more time to finish what you started. I’ll be gaining some time.”
“Time?” I bark out a bitter laugh. “Ano doesn’t give people time. He gives them rope to hang themselves with.”
Marcus interjects, his practical tone grating against my nerves. “He’s right. As long as he believes the deal is intact and there is no foul play, he has no reason to rush anything. And our security team is on standby, ready with anything.”
“Your security team won’t mean shit if—”
“Enough,” Remy’s command cuts through my protest. He’s shifted into strategist mode, his expression hardening. “I’ll go to the meeting, but only on our terms. Marcus, double-check the security measures and gather intel on the venue.” His gaze shifts to me. “Eve, focus on finishing what you need to do with Heath and your investigation.”
The weight of unspoken words hangs between us. I watch him turn to Marcus, issuing precise instructions in that clipped tone that brooks no argument. My chest feels tight, emotions warring between wanting to trust him and knowing exactly what Ano is capable of.
Marcus nods and heads for the door, leaving us in charged silence. Remy glances back at me, his expression softening fractionally though his voice remains firm. “If Montoni senses anything is off, we’re all dead. Keep that in mind.”
I stare at Remy, bile rising in my throat. “You’re really going through with this.”
“It’s the only way.” He moves closer, invading my space. “Think about it, Eve. If I don’t show up, he’ll know something’s wrong.”
“And if you do show up, you might not walk out.” My hands shake as I push against his chest.
Remy catches my wrists, his grip firm but not painful. “You’re letting fear cloud your judgment.”
“Fear?” I wrench away from him. “I watched that man destroy everyone who ever crossed him. My mother, my friends, anyone who dared question his authority—”
“I’m not them.” His voice cuts through my rising panic. “I know how to play this game.”
“It’s not a game!” The words explode from me. “Ano doesn’t play games. He orchestrates executions. And you’re walking right into his trap like some arrogant—”
Remy’s hand slides to the back of my neck, forcing me to meet his gaze. “I haven’t survived this long by being careless. You have work to do. I’ll make sure Heath sends everything you need within hours.”
“And if something goes wrong tonight?” The question comes out raw.
“Then you’ll have everything you need to finish what you started.” His eyes darken. “One way or another, Ano’s empire falls.”
“You better be right about this,” I snarl, grabbing his shirt. “Because if anything happens to you at that meeting, I swear to God, Remy—”
He silences my threat with a kiss, hard and demanding, tasting of coffee and promises I’m afraid to trust.
Chapter 23
Rain stripes across the tinted windows, each droplet catching the glow of passing streetlights. Marcus hasn’t spoken since we left the secured safehouse twenty minutes ago. His silence—usually a comfort between us—feels wrong tonight.
“Status check,” I say, my voice cutting through the dense quiet.
Marcus’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. “All clear, sir.” His grip tightens on the steering wheel, knuckles bleaching white against the leather.
I check my phone. Eve’s face flashes across the screen, a candid shot I took while she slept. I silence it, ignoring the twist in my gut. She’s safe in my apartment, surrounded by the best security money can buy. Still, leaving her feels like severing a limb.
“You’ve been checking the mirrors every thirty seconds,” I say to Marcus. “Want to tell me what you’re seeing?”
“Nothing concrete.” He adjusts the rearview mirror again. “Just… patterns feeling off tonight.”
I lean forward, studying the rain-blurred traffic behind us. No obvious tails, but Marcus’s instincts rarely miss. The last time he was this tense, we lost two men in a past operation.
The Montoni estate appears through the downpour, a monument to old money and older secrets. Four unfamiliar guards man the gate, their stances too perfect, movements too synchronized. These aren’t Montoni’s usual thugs—they move like military. My mind catalogs details: bulges beneath rain-slicked jackets suggesting body armor, the way they position themselves to cover multiple angles.
“New faces,” Marcus murmurs.
