The dread.
The impossibility.
The betrayal Vivian will never recover from.
Sylvester turns the screen toward me.
Henri Laurent.
For a moment, I don’t breathe.
The world narrows to a single, vicious point of clarity.
Vivian’s father.
The man who claimed all he wanted was to protect his family.
The man who let his daughter believe her mother funded the laundering.
He worked with the Kovals.
For months.
He leaked Vivian’s movements.
He leaked Laurent financials.
He leaked Dimitri’s operations.
And worst of all, his betrayal is what allowed them to take her mother. His betrayal almost got Vivian killed.
The rage hits me like a blade tearing through my ribs.
I stand.
Something inside me—something I’ve spent years burying under refinement and control—breaks free like a snapped chain.
When I speak, my voice isn’t calm. Not polite. Not civilized.
It’s a promise soaked in blood.
“I’ll find him.”
Sylvester straightens. “Dimitri—”
“Keep quiet about this,” I snap. “Not a word to Vivian. Not yet.”
“She’ll ask—”
“And you’ll say I’m handling something. That’s all.”
Sylvester swallows, nodding.
I grab my coat. My gun. My keys.
The study door slams behind me, rattling the frame.
I move fast, methodical, every step guided by rage and purpose. By midnight, I’ve tracked Henri Laurent to one of his properties on the outskirts—a secluded estate meant to hide him from prying eyes. Guards are posted, but they’re no match for the precision I’ve honed over decades. By the time I reach him, he’s alone.
