Dom touched the sleek watch on his wrist. “Ready whenever you are.” He hesitated, then reached out to tuck a strand of hairbehind her ear. The gesture was intimate, protective. “Be careful down there.”
“I always am.” She forced herself to step away from his touch. “Let’s go. We need to sell this.”
They left the suite and made their way through the villa’s main floor, where staff moved with practiced invisibility. Dom’s arm settled around her waist as they walked, the perfect picture of a couple on vacation. His fingers squeezed slightly at her hip when they passed the hallway that led to the wine cellar—his exit route.
“Vivianna.” Stavros’s voice came from behind them, smooth and cultured. “I hope you slept well.”
Vivi turned, a practiced smile already in place. “Stavros. Yes, thank you. The accommodations are as perfect as I remember.”
Stavros nodded, his silver hair catching the morning light. His linen suit today was a soft gray, impeccably tailored. His eyes missed nothing as they swept over her, then Dom.
“I’ve arranged for your visit to the vault level, as requested.” He smiled, all charm and no warmth. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“Actually,” Dom cut in, “I’ve decided to sit by the pool this morning. All this talk about finances gives me a headache.” He flashed the grin that had charmed information out of hardened operatives. “I’m sure you’ll take good care of her, Stavros.”
Stavros inclined his head slightly. “Of course, Mr. Wilde. The west terrace has the best sun this time of day.”
Vivi shot Dom a look of mild irritation—perfectly calibrated to fit their cover story. “Try not to empty the bar while I’m gone.”
Dom’s laugh was easy, practiced. He kissed her cheek and whispered, “Forty-three minutes,” before sauntering toward the terrace doors.
She watched him go, letting annoyance play across her features before turning back to Stavros. “Shall we?”
Stavros gestured toward the corridor leading to the lower levels. “After you.”
They walked in companionable silence for a few moments, footsteps echoing against the polished floors. The transition from resort to secure facility was subtle—the art on the walls growing more valuable but less ostentatious, the lighting shifting from warm ambiance to functional brightness, the air becoming noticeably cooler.
“It’s been some time since your last visit,” Stavros remarked as they approached the elevator. “Nearly six years, I believe.”
“Has it been that long?” Vivi kept her tone light. “Time flies when you’re building a business.”
“Indeed.” The elevator arrived silently, doors sliding open. “Your fashion line has been quite successful. I saw your fall collection featured in Vogue.” He smiled as they stepped inside. “The Byzantine influences were particularly striking.”
Her heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t a coincidence that he mentioned Byzantine. It was a probe—a gentle reminder that he knew exactly what she kept in her vault. That nothing escaped his notice.
“You’re too kind,” she replied smoothly as the elevator descended. “I’ve always been drawn to historical influences.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “History has a way of resurfacing when we least expect it.”
The elevator doors opened to reveal the vault level—a corridor of gleaming white stone and subtle lighting, more reminiscent of an art gallery than a secure storage facility. Two security personnel stood at attention near the main desk. They nodded respectfully to Stavros, but their eyes tracked Vivi with professional suspicion.
“Ms. Cavalier will be accessing her vault,” Stavros told them. “Standard protocol.”
No matter how many times she heard her real name here, it always jarred her. Everywhere else in the world, she was Vivianna Claire, a successful designer with wealthy clients. Only here was she Vivianna Cavalier, former thief with secrets worth protecting.
The security officer checked her ID, then led her to a biometric scanner. “Palm and retina, please.”
She complied, placing her hand on the cool surface and leaning forward so the scanner could read her eye pattern. The machine hummed softly, then beeped in confirmation.
“Identity confirmed,” the officer said. “You may proceed.”
Stavros walked with her to the reinforced door of Vault 237. “I’ll wait here,” he said, settling into one of the sleek chairs positioned along the corridor. “Take all the time you need.”
Vivi nodded her thanks, keenly aware that his courtesy was as much surveillance as it was service. What did he know? What did he suspect? She’d stopped trying to guess. With Stavros, the perfect hospitality was both genuine and calculated, the warmth real and the watchfulness constant.
She entered the final code—her parents’ anniversary—and heard the satisfying click of the lock disengaging. The heavy door swung open with well-oiled precision, revealing the small, climate-controlled room beyond.
She stepped inside alone, hearing the door seal shut behind her.
