“About time!”
“Married man finally shows up!”
Roman is already on his feet, grinning as he presses a vodka tumbler into my hand. I knock it back in one go and shove the glass toward him.
“Pour another.”
He laughs and does exactly that.
“Sebastian,” Lev calls.
I turn toward him. He doesn’t smile. Instead, he nods toward the far end of the table.
I follow his gaze.
And freeze.
The man sitting there rises slowly, calm and potent. Tall. Ash-blond hair. Eyes sharp enough to cut through bone. I’ve not seen him in person in a long time, almost three decades, but recognition hits me instantly, visceral and unmistakable.
Konstantin Rusnak.
My brother.
The ghost. He’s even more secretive and elusive than I am.
He left the States when he was ten and never came back. Zurich became his base. Europe his playground. Over the years, he faded from family dinners, then from calls, then from everything—until he became more rumor than relative.
No one really knows Konstantin. Not fully.
Officially, he’s an intelligence architect.
Unofficially, he operates in the gray spaces—between law enforcement and espionage, cyber-warfare and Bratva politics. A man who trades in information the way others trade currency.
Back when I was still deep in the illegal art world—when forgery and shadow deals were my daily language—Konstantin was the one who fed me information no one else could touch.
Infallible. Precise. Dangerous.
And now he’s here.
At my wedding dinner.
Watching me with a knowing half-smile. He raises his glass in my direction and knocks it back.
“Happy married life, brother.”
I raise mine. “I don’t believe you flew in for my wedding. So what brings you to town?”
“Business.”
Of course.
I don’t push. With Konstantin, pushing only tells him what you’re afraid of.
“It’s good to see you,” I say instead.
He gives a short nod. Nothing more.
I glance around the room. “Where are Lukin and Adrian?”
