On the monitor, Vivianne's father takes her arm. His grip is possessive, fingers digging into the silk at her elbow hard enough that she winces.
"Paul." CJ doesn't look away from his screens. "Remember the plan."
The plan. Right. The plan where I crawl through dirt and wine cellars while the woman I love is being sold off fifty meters away.
"Security is shifting to ceremony positions." Sam's voice cuts through. "Donovan's moving his primary team to the garden perimeter. You've got your window."
Merlin cracks the van doors and peers out. We're parked behind a maintenance shed, technically on the neighboring property but with a clear line of sight to the estate's service areas. The morning sun casts long shadows that we'll use for cover.
"Mitzy, we need those blind spots."
"Already on it." Her voice is calm, focused. "Bumbles deploying to cameras three, seven, and twelve. You'll have a rolling blackout—ninety seconds per camera, sequenced to give you continuous coverage."
On another monitor, the garden fills with guests. Five hundred of the elite, here to witness what they think is a fairy tale but is actually a public execution. Prescott stands at the altar, adjusting his cufflinks with the satisfied air of a man about to receive a long-awaited package.
I'm going to kill him. Not today, not during the mission, but someday when he least expects it, I'm going to?—
"Move." Merlin's command cuts through my dark thoughts, and we're out of the van, running low across the manicured lawn.
The grass is still wet with dew, soaking through my shoes, making each step treacherous. We reach the first checkpoint—a decorative wall that separates the service area from the main grounds. I boost Merlin up and over, then follow, landing silently on the other side.
"Camera twelve going dark in three... two... one..." Mitzy counts down.
We sprint across the exposed ground, reaching the shelter of a delivery truck just as she announces, "Camera twelve back online. Camera seven going dark now."
It's like playing the world's most dangerous game of red light, green light. Move, freeze, move again. My pulse pounds so loud I'm sure the guards will hear it.
Through my earpiece, the wedding march begins. Strings and organ, traditional and suffocating.
"Bride entering garden area." Charlie's voice. "She looks... fuck, she looks like she's walking to her execution."
I force myself not to think about it. Can't think about it. One mission at a time.
We reach the wine cellar's service entrance—a simple wooden door that looks like it hasn't been updated since the house was built. But I know better. The wood is just a façade. Underneath is reinforced steel, and the lock...
I kneel, pulling out my picks. It's a Fichet Primlock, French-made, seven pins, false gates on three of them. Not impossible, but not simple either.
"You've got ninety seconds before the patrol comes around." Merlin keeps watch, voice low.
My hands steady as I work. This is what I know, what I'm good at. The picks slide in, feeling for each pin's position. First one sets. Second. The third is sticky—false gate trying to catch my pick.
"Sixty seconds."
Third pin sets. Fourth. Fifth is another false gate.
"Processional beginning." Jenny's report. "All eyes on the bride."
Vivianne walking down that aisle, every step taking her further from freedom. My hand trembles, nearly dropping the tension wrench.
Sixth pin. Seventh. The lock turns with a satisfying click.
We slip inside, closing the door just as footsteps round the corner outside. The wine cellar is exactly what you'd expect from old money—stone walls that breathe history, perfect temperature control, thousands upon thousands of bottles that represent more wealth than most people see in a lifetime.
But we're not here for the wine.
"1947 Château d'Yquem." I orient myself, voice barely a whisper. According to Vivianne, it's in the third row, halfway down.
We move through the cellar like ghosts, our footsteps silent on the ancient stones. The bottles seem to watch us pass—silent witnesses to another crime in a house built on them. First row: Burgundies. Second row: Bordeaux. Third row...
