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He kisses me like he knows I’m coming back to kill him later.

Back at the hotel, I check the video feed.

For a little while, he sits on his couch, reading a slim crime thriller.

Then, he goes to the bedroom, he stands in front of the camera, and he strips out of his clothes.

He looks straight into the lens as he strokes himself.

For a full minute, he teases me.

Then the feed cuts to black, one camera at a time.

Right on cue, he sends a text.

Matteo: This is sloppy work, diavolessa. It’s almost like you wanted me to find these.

Maybe he’s right.

Maybe I did.

But I have a job to do.

So the next day, I break into his apartment. I search from top to bottom.

I find nothing.

I follow him to the gym, sneak into the men’s locker room in an oversized janitor’s uniform and a short wig, and I search his bag.

A flash drive. Yes.

But when I take it home, I find one of the videos we recorded together.

I was right. He’s hiding it somewhere I can’t find it. And he’s probably got a backup on the cloud too.

Stealing isn’t going to work.

I need to negotiate.

So I play along with his plan. I pack my bags, meet him at Heathrow, and prep for our meeting with Fuches on our first class flight to Athens.

Despite the crowd of tourists sipping overpriced cocktails, the rooftop bar is gorgeous. Dark sky. Bouganvilla climbing over the ledge. The Acropolis lit up in white and beige.

And Matteo, at the front desk, in a sharp black suit.

My body lights up when I catch his gaze.

I send all the desire in my heart his way.

He sends it right back. Like he trusts me. Like he really believes we’re allies.

Tonight, I get to play the bad guy.

Well, bad girl.

The representative of Medusa, an Anonymous-like collection of hackers and other criminals scheming to make the world a better place by any means necessary.

As far as Fuches knows, we meet here, trade info for footage, and go our separate ways, never to hear from each other again.