For a boy from the wrong side of town whose mom’s absence always made him feel unwanted, the idea of Enzo and Pippabothwanting me…
It has my heart racing in a way I’m not prepared to dissect.
Thursday Evening, Day 17
We’ve been parked a block outside Victor Malin’s estate, staked out, for a couple of hours. Luca sits up front with Niko, while Enzo and I have been working in the back, waiting for Malin to get home. We’ve been clocking the rotation of his security team and discussing our roles of the upcoming op.
“In addition to us, Niko and Luca, I think we go with Max and Gabe,” Enzo suggests as he looks over the plans laid out on the back seat. “Both ex-military, both loyal. They know how to handle silent entries and won’t ask questions.”
“Agreed,” I nod and flip open my tablet. “I dug into Malin again last night—or should I say Viktor with a K—I ran back through some old FBI archives. There’s barely anything on him, just a handful of vague references from the ‘80s. Nothing that ties him to Russia. Nothing about the KGB.”
Enzo’s jaw ticks. “Sealed records?”
“Maybe. Or he was never officially flagged. He’s like a damn ghost, but someone buried him well and that usually means government involvement or someone with reach.”
“Someone like a President?”
Enzo and I exchange a look.
Someone, somewhere, didn’t simply cover up the fact Viktor Malin is Russian, theyreinventedhim. Scrubbed the KGB ties, polished the resume, rebranded him as Victor Malin, an all-American war hero. And that really irks me, because it fucking worked.
“His US military records seem legit,” I say as I tap a knuckle against my tablet, “but even those are limited. Frankly, they’re easy enough to fake. Eva or Luna could’ve done it in their sleep, so I have no doubt the Russians have their own top-tier hackers who could’ve laid the groundwork long before Troy ever announced his first run. The Russians have been funnelingmoney into US politics and corporations for decades. They were laying the groundwork for the right patsy to step up.”
Enzo grunts, arms crossed, jaw tight. “Makes you wonder how Jules, Luna, and Pippa figured out his background.”
“Yeah.” I say slowly. “They don’t exactly leave a digital paper trail showing their work. The shit they know? It’s not surface-level. They’ve got layers-deep context. Like they’ve had eyes in places no one’s supposed to see.”
“Insider sources?”
“Maybe. Or maybe Luna’s cracked systems we don’t even know exist.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Doesn’t mean I’m not wondering who the hell they really are and what else they know,” I finish.
Enzo looks contemplative. “They’ve got trust issues; so do we. But their intel’s been too good to dismiss.”
We move on to the framework of the plan—logistics, recon, timing. We keep eyes on Malin’s place, waiting for his arrival.
I can feel the tension between us, strung taut. I close the file.
“So,” I start.
Enzo doesn’t look up. “So.”
“I talked to Pippa the other night.”
That gets his attention. His eyes lift, sharp. He puts his hand up to pause me, then rolls up the window between the front and back of the car.
Okay, we’re on the same page.
“She texted. We flirted. She still calls me Johnny.” I try for a grin, but it falls flat under Enzo’s stare. “We ended up on the phone and…she said she wants both of us.”
Enzo stiffens. “She did, huh?”
“Yeah. And look, I know this is a damned mess. I told her nothing’s happening until you and I talk first.”
“I need to tell you something.” He leans back, arms crossed, jaw working. “I went to her house last week.”
