So why visit his house?
Unless she's lying. Unless the contempt is performance. Unless the Albanians are using Arthur to pressure her, to turn her into a spy feeding them information about Severyn operations.
She agreed to this arrangement quickly. Too quickly.
What if she's been compromised this whole time?
What if I missed it?
"Sir?" Vitor's voice cuts through the spiral.
I force focus. "That's all. Dismissed."
He nods once and leaves.
I turn back to the monitors, find Victoria's location through the security grid. Kitchen.
I stand. Move through the warehouse with purpose, each step deliberate. My hands flex at my sides, old instinct, preparing for confrontation the way soldiers prepare for combat. Automatic. Unavoidable.
The kitchen is on the second floor. Bright lights, warm colors, a space designed for life and noise and meals shared. The opposite of the security room's cold efficiency.
I find her at the refrigerator, bent over, putting containers inside. Multiple containers stacked and organized like she's provisioning for winter.
We have groceries delivered weekly, but mostly we eat out. The fridge stays mostly empty except for beer and leftovers in various stages of questionable edibility.
She takes a step back, surveying her work with quiet satisfaction.
I slam the refrigerator door shut.
She jumps. Spins. Eyes wide with surprise that quickly narrows into wariness when she sees my expression.
Good. Wariness means she knows she's been caught.
"What were you doing at your father's house?" My voice is level. Controlled. The calm before violence that every soldier recognizes.
Surprise flashes across her face, then understanding, then fury that makes her eyes flash.
"Are you spying on me?" The words come out sharp as broken glass. "Am I not free to go where I want?"
"Answer the question."
"No." She steps forward, chin raised, every inch the aristocrat unused to being questioned by men she considers beneath her station. "Not until you explain why I'm being surveilled like a criminal. Is Vitor your spy? Is that why it took you so long to find a bodyguard? You were looking for a snitch?"
"Vitor is loyal. That's different from being a snitch."
"Loyal to you." She laughs, bitter and sharp. "Which means you don't trust me. So just say it, Zakhar. Say what you really think. Call me a traitor with all the letters."
The accusation hits wrong. Lands somewhere I didn't expect, exposing nerves I thought were dead.
I need to regain control. Need to step back from the edge of rage that has no tactical value.
"You're the Pakhan's wife," I say, forcing my voice back to neutral assessment. "I need to ensure you're safe. That you're not taking unnecessary risks. It's my job to protect you."
She moves closer. Too close. Close enough that I can smell the scent that's been invading my thoughts at inopportune moments.
"Is that all?" Her voice drops lower, quieter, dangerous in its intimacy. "Your only concern is making sure the Pakhan's wife is okay?"
My jaw clenches. The question feels like a trap I can't identify, territory I'm not equipped to navigate.
