Victoria isn't a pawn in this game. She isn't leverage or liability or even just an asset.
She's the woman I will burn the world to protect.
17
VICTORIA
I step out of the SUV in front of Maison Lyra, and Vitor's voice stops me before I can close the door.
"You need to hurry," he says, stress bleeding through his usually calm demeanor. "If Zakhar finds out you left the house, he's going to kill me. Actually kill me, not metaphorically."
"Thirty minutes," I promise. "In and out. He'll never know."
Hopefully. Zakhar knows everything. It's what makes him so effective and so terrifying.
I walk into Maison Lyra, the familiar scent of espresso and butter pastries hitting me like comfort and guilt mixed together. The lunch rush is starting, servers moving between tables with practiced efficiency, conversations rising and falling in waves.
Yesterday plays on repeat in my mind. The way Maksim held my hand in the SUV like it was the only thing keeping him tethered. The silent ride home where none of us spoke but we all felt the nearness of violence, the way death had brushed past us wearing Ramiz Krasniqi's poisonous smile.
When we got back to the house, Maksim's first words were about security. Upgraded protocols. No one leaves without explicit permission. Victoria especially stays inside until further notice.
I nodded. Agreed. Played the obedient wife.
Then waited until this morning when Zakhar was in meetings and Maksim was at the docks to convince Vitor that I needed one quick errand. Just one. Thirty minutes maximum.
I catch Jelena's eye from across the dining room. Make a subtle gesture toward the back. She nods once, sets down the wine bottle she was holding, and follows me into the office beneath the restaurant.
The space is quiet. Warm wood and soft lighting, the faint smell of citrus cleaner. The opposite of the chaos currently spinning through my head.
"What happened?" Jelena asks the moment the door closes. "You look like you haven't slept."
"I saw one of ours last night," I say without preamble. "At Ramiz Krasniqi's house. Young. Dark hair. I think her name is Aria."
Jelena's expression shifts. "Era. Her name is Era."
"You know she's there?" The question comes out sharp.
"I sent her there." Jelena crosses her arms, defensive already. "We need eyes inside the Krasniqi operation. Era volunteered."
The words hit like a physical blow.
"You sent her back?" My voice rises despite my efforts to control it. "Era was trafficked by an Albanian network. We pulled her out eight months ago. And you sent her back into their orbit?"
"Not the same network," Jelena corrects. "Different family. Different operation."
"It's all connected! You know this. These organizations talk to each other, trade information, share victims. What if someone recognizes her? What if they remember her face from before?"
"She's careful," Jelena says, but doubt creeps into her voice now.
"She's traumatized." I step closer, anger and fear making my hands shake. "She's one of ours. One of the women we saved. And you put her back in danger without consulting anyone. Without consulting Eryan Nis."
Jelena's expression hardens. "Maybe if you were more involved in the organization instead of playing house with the Severyns, you would have known about this situation."
The accusation lands like a slap.
"We need better intelligence," she continues, voice rising to match mine. "After they lost that last cargo, the Albanians have been impossible to track. Era volunteered to get close to the Krasniqi family. To feed us information from the inside. I approved it because someone had to make decisions. Someone had to act."
Her eyes are blazing now, all the frustration she's been holding back pouring out in a rush.
