“Someone has been in there.” She stepped closer, letting her body language broadcast outrage. “That icon is worth more than this entire level of vaults combined. I want to see the access logs. Now.”
Stavros held her gaze for a long moment. He was trying to read her, but she stared defiantly back, refusing to give him anything.
“Perhaps we should continue this discussion in my office,” he suggested at last.
Perfect. His office was on the upper level, as far from the lower vaults as they could get.
“I want to see those logs,” she insisted, loud enough that a client emerging from another vault turned to stare. “And I want to speak with your head of security.”
A muscle twitched in Stavros’s jaw—the first genuine crack in his composure she’d seen. “Of course. If you’ll follow me, we can review everything.”
She followed Stavros to the elevator, maintaining her mask of indignant fury. Inside, he turned to her with a look that was far too perceptive.
“I do hope you find what you’re looking for, Ms. Cavalier,” he said quietly as the doors closed. “Some treasures, once lost, are difficult to replace.”
She couldn’t tell if it was a threat or a genuine sentiment. With Stavros, it was probably both.
sixteen
Dom pressedStavros’s lifted fingerprint against the scanner, the thin film barely visible on his index finger. The light flashed green, and the wine cellar door clicked open with a soft hiss that sounded too loud in the quiet corridor. He held his breath, counting heartbeats as he eased the door wider, just enough to slip through. Forty-three minutes. That’s all Vivi had bought them, and he’d already burned seven getting into position.
The service corridor beyond was dimly lit with recessed lights that cast long shadows along the concrete floor. He let the door close silently behind him and stood perfectly still, listening. Nothing but the low hum of ventilation and the distant, muffled sound of machinery.
He tapped the face of his watch twice, checking the time while activating the signal scrambler in Vivi’s necklace. They couldn’t risk direct communication—the frequencies were too easily monitored—but the scrambler would buy them both temporary invisibility from the electronic surveillance.
Thirty-five minutes left.
Dom moved quickly down the corridor, stepping carefully to minimize sound. The fingerprint film had worked perfectly—a trick he’d learned years ago. During the wine tasting, he’d watched Stavros handle his crystal glass, waited until he set it down, then casually picked it up when retrieving his own. The oils from Stavros’s fingertips, lifted with a special adhesive film, were now the keys to the kingdom.
Or at least the first door.
The corridor ended at another security checkpoint, this one more substantial—a heavy metal door with both fingerprint and retinal scanners. Dom reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like an ordinary contact lens case. Inside was a specialized scanner spoofer—military grade tech that Wilde Security had developed for precisely this kind of situation. He placed it against the retinal scanner, pressed the concealed button, and waited.
Three seconds. Five. Seven.
Green light.
The lock disengaged with a heavy thunk that vibrated through the floor. Dom winced at the sound but pushed through quickly into the second corridor leading to the service elevator.
According to the schematics, the elevator would take him directly to the fourth sublevel—bypassing the security of the main elevator that Vivi and Stavros would have used. It was the perfect infiltration route, assuming nothing went wrong.
Which, of course, it did.
The service elevator doors opened with a soft ping, and Dom froze. A man in a gray coverall stepped out, toolbox in hand, clipboard tucked under his arm. A technician who wasn’t supposed to be there. Not today. Not during this window.
Dom reacted instantly, turning as if he’d just come from the other direction. He pulled a small device from his pocket—a universal maintenance key that looked official enough at aglance—and nodded to the technician with the perfect mix of boredom and professional acknowledgment.
The technician nodded back, but his eyes narrowed slightly. “You new?” he asked in heavily accented English.
“Started last week,” Dom replied in fluent Greek. “Power fluctuation on sublevel two. Stavros wants it fixed before the clients notice.”
The technician grunted, seemingly satisfied with the explanation, and moved past Dom down the corridor. But he stopped after a few steps and turned back. “Didn’t get the memo about sublevel maintenance today. Who authorized the work?”
Shit.
Dom kept his expression neutral even as his mind raced through the options. He could knock the guy out, but an unconscious technician would raise even more alarms than a suspicious one. He could try to talk his way out, but the longer they conversed, the more likely the man would realize something was off.
“Stavros himself,” Dom said, adding a slight note of annoyance to his voice. “Called me personally this morning. Something about the backup generators not engaging during the test yesterday.”
