"Viktor's brother?" That surprised me. "He's been with us for fifteen years."
"Which makes him either above suspicion or perfectly positioned to betray us." Semyon's expression was grim. "Grief makes men do strange things. If he blamed us for putting Viktor in danger—"
"Or someone else blamed us and got to him." I drained the vodka. "What about motive? Money? Ideology? Personal grudge?"
"Still investigating. But Pankratov has deep pockets. Anyone on that list could have been bought."
I thought of Gabrielle, alone on the island, protected only by guards whose loyalty I suddenly had reason to question. If the mole had access to our security protocols, they might know about the Greek property. Might know exactly where I'd hidden my wife.
"Increase security on the island," I said sharply. "Double the perimeter guards. No one lands without direct authorization from me—no helicopters, no boats, nothing."
Semyon's eyebrows rose. "You think they'd target her?"
"I think Pankratov knows she's my weakness. I think he'd do anything to exploit that." I stood, suddenly unable to sit still. "Find the mole, Semyon. Whatever it takes, however long it takes. Find them before they give him the one piece of information that could destroy everything."
***
I called her that night, as promised.
It was nearly midnight in New York, which made it early morning on the island. I sat alone in my penthouse, the city glittering through floor-to-ceiling windows, and listened to her voice like it was oxygen.
"You sound tired," she said.
"I am tired." There was no point lying. She'd see through it anyway. "It's been a long day."
"Tell me about it."
So I did. Not everything—not the bodies, not the blood, not the cold calculations of war. But enough. The meeting withmy men. The hunt for the mole. The tension that vibrated through the organization like a plucked string.
She listened without interrupting, asking occasional questions that proved she'd been paying attention to everything I'd told her about my world. When I finished, she was quiet for a moment.
"You miss it," she said finally. "Being there. Being in control."
"I miss aspects of it." I stared out at the skyline. "But I find myself distracted. Thinking about other things."
"What other things?"
"You." The word came out rougher than I intended. "I keep thinking about you. Wondering what you're doing, whether you're all right, whether you're—"
I stopped myself. The admission felt too raw, too vulnerable.
"I'm fine," she said softly. "I've been working on the Athens acquisition. Yelena's been hovering. The cook made moussaka tonight, and I actually ate the whole serving."
"Good. You need to eat."
"I need a lot of things." A pause. "I didn't expect to miss you."
The words hit me like a physical blow. She missed me. This woman who'd hated me, fought me, called me a monster—she missed me.
"Gabrielle—"
"Don't read too much into it." Her voice turned brisk, defensive. "I've just gotten used to having you around. The bed feels empty, that's all."
"The bed feels empty here too."
Silence stretched between us, full of everything we weren't saying. I wanted to tell her—what? That I couldn't stop thinking about her? That the memory of her body against mine was the only thing getting me through these endless days? That I was counting the hours until I could return to her?
All true. All too much.
