I slide my hand into my jacket pocket, fingers brushing the syringe. Plan B. Quick, merciful for her, but unthinkable.
I want Anton to live with what I take from him, just as I've lived with my loss. Death is too kind for him. I'll leave him broken, hollowed out, forced to exist knowing he couldn't save what mattered most.
Fee looks up suddenly, glancing toward her father and me.
One look. That's all it takes.
She's mine. Not Anton's collateral damage. Mine. I needed to see her one last time before everything changed.
The cameras show me partial truths. They cover the waiting room, the main corridors, and the elevator banks. But the blind spots are significant.
Lorenzo's gone with half his men. The security positions are now completely mapped, and Aleh's on standby.
Yuri angles closer, positioning himself to catch every word. He's never seen Hartley in person.
Connor and Patrick dealt with Morrison for years while Hartley stayed in the background, signing papers, filing permits, moving through bureaucratic channels like water through pipes. Invisible. Essential. Forgettable.
The night at the docks helped. Shadows erase inconsistencies when you're wearing someone else's face. What the darkness and makeup didn't cover, I fixed digitally: LinkedIn profile,social media accounts adjusted, archived photos replaced with versions matching my bone structure. Close enough.
Fee shifts across the room. Her fingers drum against her thighs, then stop. She returns to her laptop, shoulders drawn tight.
That calculus test. She mentioned it to me, to Phoenix, when we had our chat not long ago. She's trying to hold on to something normal while everything fractures around her. Still worrying about deadlines, even as fear for her sister bleeds through every word.
Responsible. Protective. Even when she's terrified.
That chat... I can't take Moira from her. I just can't. Not the way Anton took Vadim from me. Fee would never forgive it. Neither can I just come here and kill her father in front of her.
She'd look at me with nothing but hatred and the ache of permanent loss.
I've already taken too many risks seeing her up close, this woman who's changing me against my will. Every minute near her reshapes my revenge into something more dangerous: hesitation. But she's a risk worth taking.
I pull my thoughts from Fee and extend my hand to Connor Quinn. His palm is rough against mine, calluses built from decades of handling both ledgers and weapons.
"I'll let you get back to your family. Your daughter needs you now."
Connor's gaze, sharing that identical piercing green his daughters possess. The old Irish bastard evaluates me with the keen assessment of someone harboring absolute distrust. His instinct hums beneath his skin.
"I'll be in contact later today, Hartley. We've already sent men to check on the shipment. What I want to know is who fucked up the paperwork, and when I find out, they will never do it again."
The threat slides between us, precise as a blade. He's testing Hartley.
I straighten my jacket instead. "I intend to find out personally who mishandled the documentation, Mr. Quinn." My voice carries just the right amount of deference and bureaucratic competence. "In the meantime, please call me anytime. Day or night."
I pull a business card from my wallet, with Hartley's information and a burner number. His fingers close around it.
"I want to build trust with you," I tell him.
Connor tucks the card into his pocket without looking at it. "Trust is earned."
Over his shoulder, Fee's typing away. She has no idea she's been talking to me all along. No idea that I've been watching every keystroke, every search query, every brilliant hack she's executed.
I force myself to look away before Connor catches me staring.
"I should check on Moira," Connor says, ending our conversation.
I nod, stepping back. "Family first. Always."
As Connor walks away, I glance once more at Fee. Just one last look before everything changes. Before I become her enemy forever. Before I take her from Anton.
