“So, what’s the plan?” he asks, voice calm but sharp.
I glance at Mikhail. “Let’s get Niko and Kaz on a call and discuss it.”
Mikhail taps his laptop, and within moments, the video call connects. Niko and Kaz appear on the screen, their expressions serious, already matching the urgency in the room. The weight of what’s coming presses down on me, but I force my face to remain unreadable.
“So, what’s the plan?” Niko asks.
I lean forward, eyes scanning the screen. “We’re on our way to the meeting with Christos. We go together—Villa first, then straight to him. No detours.”
Niko’s face appears tense. “Lev…stay calm. Don’t make any sudden moves. Monitor his movements, get a read on him, but don’t escalate. Let him make the first mistake.”
I let his words sink in, though my gut already tells me I won’t be able to sit still if he tries anything. I can see the worry in Kaz’s eyes too, mirrored in Roman’s.
“I know what you’re saying,” I answer steadily. “But we need to be ready for everything. He’s not coming to talk casually. Christos doesn’t negotiate. He never has.”
Mikhail keeps typing, pulling up satellite feeds and security details of Christos’s usual routes. The room fills with a quiet intensity, the kind that presses on your chest and makes every breath feel deliberate.
I glance at Roman, whose jaw is tight. “You’ve been in these operations before. Any intel I should know before we move?”
Roman’s eyes flicker. “Everything we have. But stay sharp—Christos has layers. One wrong move, and it won’t just be business. It’ll be personal.”
I nod, taking in their warnings. My fingers tighten around the edge of the table. Sasha’s face flashes in my mind. Every precaution, every plan, every second—everything is for her.
I take a deep breath. “All right. We move carefully, but we move with purpose. Christos thinks he’s in control. He’s about to find out he isn’t.”
“Good.” Niko and Kaz nod.
I end the call and glance at Roman. “Time to leave.”
Roman nods, but I hold up a hand. “Wait.”
I head upstairs, moving quietly through the villa. The soft carpet muffles my steps. Sasha is still sleeping, curled up underthe light blanket, the morning sun slanting across her face. My chest tightens. I kneel beside the bed for a moment, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.
“I love you,” I whisper, my lips pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. She stirs slightly but doesn’t wake.
I stand, lingering for just a heartbeat longer, memorizing her face. Then I turn and leave the suite.
Outside, Roman and Mikhail are already waiting in the car, engines idling. I climb in and exhale slowly. Time to focus.
We arrive at Christos’ mansion in an hour. I grip the edge of the seat as Mikhail eases the car through the ornate iron gates. Gravel crunches beneath the tires, sharp in the morning air. The estate unfolds before us like a fortress draped in luxury—white columns rising from manicured gardens, marble terraces glinting in the sun, the Aegean sparkling just beyond.
Two men in black suits step forward as we exit the car. Their eyes are hard, hands brushing near their holsters. They fall into step with us silently, flanking us as we walk toward the mansion. Each footstep feels heavy, measured, the weight of every possible outcome pressing down.
The double doors swing open before us, revealing polished marble floors, towering ceilings, and crystal chandeliers scattering sunlight across the hall. The guards guide us through the corridor, past walls adorned with priceless art, until we reach the center of the estate—the room where Christos Petropoulos waits.
The guards halt at a heavy wooden door. One steps forward, voice low but firm. “You may enter.”
I exchange a quick glance with Mikhail and Roman before pushing the door open. The room is lavish but restrained—dark wood panels, leather chairs, and a desk that dominates the space. Behind it sits Christos Petropoulos, calm, composed, his eyes sharp as they sweep over us.
“Gentlemen,” he says smoothly, standing to greet us. His handshake is firm but measured. He gestures toward the chairs in front of his desk. “Please, have a seat.”
We settle in, eyes never leaving him. Christos signals a servant, who promptly offers drinks. Wine, neat, in crystal glasses. I take mine, keeping my hand steady, my posture loose but alert.
I set my glass down, untouched. Roman and Mikhail don’t touch theirs either. Christos notices; I can feel it in the way his gaze lingers for a fraction too long, but he doesn’t comment.
He leans back slightly, a faint smile playing on his lips. “As soon as I heard you and Roman were in Athens, I felt it prudent to extend an invitation.”
I return his polite smile, keeping my tone even. “And we honored it. Care to tell us why you invited us here today?”
