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Boom.
Boom.
Heavy impacts against the reinforced double doors.
The sound reverberated through the foyer like artillery strikes.
They weren’t knocking.
They were announcing dominance.
I grabbed my phone from the coffee table — my fingers trembling so violently I almost dropped it.
Petros.
I called.
Four rings.
Straight to voicemail.
My stomach sank.
I tried again.
Nothing.
Again.
Dead silence.
“Petros,” I breathed. “Answer me...”
No response.
My throat went dry.
If they had neutralized him, that meant they had internal access.
Or worse — betrayal.
I immediately called Ruslan.
His flight had left hours ago.
He should still be airborne.
Phone likely off.
But I dialed anyway.
It rang.
Once.
Twice.
Voicemail.
