Her work through Morrison's files demonstrated that beautifully, no handwringing, no theatrical displays of stress, just methodical brilliance cutting through layers of obfuscation like a scalpel through flesh.
That tenacity. That dedication. That fucking gorgeous brain.
She's a combination of intelligence, persistence, and ethical flexibility that creates true brilliance.
I've been close enough to smell her perfume lingering in the air she's just moved through. It's sweet and subtle like blackberry, citrus, and chocolate, an exquisite merlot scent that's burned into my brain.
Getting that close required months of meticulous groundwork. Building identities from scratch, establishing credible backstories, and creating intersecting social circles that give me legitimate reasons to exist in her sphere.
The years in Europe, perfecting my language acquisition and cultural absorption, opened doors here that force would have destroyed.
I've moved through her digital spaces, her physical world, and her family's professional networks—buying time to get to the next step and building proximity without detection.
The ultimate test of showcasing all my multicultural and multidisciplinary skills.
Worth every second.
The knock on my office door interrupts my review of Moira Carlucci's medical records.
Seven months pregnant with a large baby. Her blood pressure has been rising steadily over the last few weeks.
And there's Lorenzo's fortress in Providence that has forty armed guards rotating shifts every eight hours. All security has been upgraded recently. Anton's work, obviously. Anton's paranoia extends to everyone Fee cares about.
I study the thermal imaging overlay showing guard positions throughout Lorenzo's mansion. The new motion sensors cover blind spots the previous system missed. Pressure plates under carpets near vulnerable access points. Reinforced door frames with biometric scanners.
Professional, thorough, expensive.
Completely irrelevant.
Every security system has vulnerabilities. The more complex the system, the more entry points exist for someone who understands the architecture.
Lorenzo's fortress relies on technology I'm very familiar with. My organization hacked this system while working on a Milanese hit.
The knock sounds again. More insistent.
"Come in."
The door opens. Aleh files in, wearing the tailored suit I insist upon. Corporate armor.
Nothing about him screams former Bratva muscle left to rot in a prison by his boss after a botched extraction. He eliminated the target, but was left to face interrogation.
His left hand curls at an unnatural angle, the legacy of methodical bone breaking. His teeth were painfully extracted in exchange for the information he refused to give.
He never gave up a single name, affiliation, or operational detail that could compromise the network.
Just endured. Bled. Broke. Healed wrong. And stayed silent.
Until I purchased his release through carefully constructed diplomatic channels, falsified documents, and strategic bribes placed with surgical precision.
Loyalty under torture is rare. Worth more than gold in my line of work.
"Sir, how can I be of service?"
Aleh's voice carries the gravel of damaged vocal cords, a permanent rasp from screaming through interrogations he refused to break under. The sound satisfies me every time I hear it. Proof that loyalty exists, that men can endure beyond what most consider possible.
"The Armenians." I close the thermal imaging file on Lorenzo's mansion and switch to a new window. "They need final confirmation on the extraction."
"Timeline?"
