The room shifts instantly. Raffael blinks. Once. Genuinely surprised.
"I didn't know you had a son," he swirls the Blue Label in his glass.
"Yeah," I reply, running a hand through my hair before I can stop myself, "well. Neither did fucking I."
The admission costs me more than I let show. It cracks the edge of my control just enough to be noticed. By her. She props her boots on the edge of the sofa, posture casual, expression anything but.
"So," she says with bright cheerfulness that is one hundred percent fake, "we're all on the same page, then. We go in, get Massimo's son, get our answers from Silvestre and Aurelio, kill them, and go home. The end."
I stare at her again. Longer this time. I'm curious. "Seriously, who the hell are you?"
Conti answers for her, amusement flickering behind his eyes.
"My wife," he says, savoring it. "Is far too modest to say it out loud." He tips his head toward her. "She's Metelitsa."
The name hits like a blade between the ribs. I nearly choke on my drink. Of course I've heard of the famous Russian assassin. They call her the Blizzard; she comes in like the cold, hits like a blizzard, and leaves only corpses in her wake.
"Metelitsa?" I echo, sitting up straighter. "La Tempesta di Sangue? Oksana Arsenyev?"
"Oksana Conti," she corrects mildly. "I prefer Oksana, but yes."
I go still. Not shocked. Recalculating. That explains the posture. The timing. The way she bent the room without ever touching it. It also changes the map. Both Conti and DeSantis have a reputation for ruthlessness, but with her on board… it might change how I approach the outcome of this operation. I nod once.
"Alright," my mind is already working through possibilities. "Now we're speaking honestly."
Raffael lifts his glass. "Cheers."
I look between them—Conti, Oksana, DeSantis—and see it clearly now. A nightmare alliance. Not one I asked for. Not one I trust. But one that exists whether I like it or not. I exhale.
"Alright," I drink the rest of the bourbon. "Fuck it. We talk."
I set the empty glass down.
"This is how it's going to work. Aurelio has my son." My gaze flicks away, already done with the admission. "And someone who came with the package."
I look back at them. "I'm not staying in Caracas. Whatever we do, we do tonight."
Oksana's eyes narrow, curiosity sharpening into something lethal.
"Silvestre isn't sleeping at his usual residence," I continue. "He moved two weeks ago. Quietly. No announcements." I do what I've never done before; I lay my cards on the table. "But he'll be at Aurelio's compound tonight. They're consolidating. Too much pressure. Too many loose ends."
Just like here, too many people in this room who want answers. I don't trust them. But it wouldn't hurt to know why they're here.
My words get DeSantis's attention. "Both of them?"
I nod once. "Same roof. Different wings." I let the implications hang for a beat before adding, "They've doubled external security and rotated guards every four hours." I watch their reactions closely. "Which means," I finish, "they're worried about the perimeter."
Which they should be.
Conti folds his arms. "Good. Because we're not coming through it."
My gaze snaps to him. Sharp. Interested. "You have an entry vector?"
Raffael's mouth curls back into that familiar smugness. "We do. Underground. Old infrastructure that they still rely on."
Something inside me clicks. Of course, the Valverdes would have tunnels. It also explains, "That explains the power cycling.We clocked a ninety-second fluctuation every hour. Thought it was a fault."
Oksana speaks before anyone else can. Calm. Certain. "It's not." She meets my eyes. "It's a door."
