Adrian had exactly forty-eight hours to prepare for a trip that everyone except him seemed convinced was suicide.Elena paced his office like a caged predator, listing all the ways this could go wrong. "They get you on Russian soil, you're done. No American legal protections. No functioning extradition treaties. They can kill you, blame it on street crime, and your body will be found floating in the Moscow River within a week.""You're being dramatic.""I'm being realistic! I know how the Bratva operates. Vincent dealt with them occasionally. They don't invite wealthy Americans to Moscow to collect debts. They invite them to either recruit them or eliminate them. There's no middle option."Sister Mary was worse. She'd been crying for six hours straight, alternating between begging Adrian not to go and offering to sacrifice herself in his place somehow. "They'll kill you. The Bratva doesn't negotiate in good faith. They see you as threat because you're rich and American and connected t

The guards moved fast—six of them converging on Adrian from different angles, hands reaching for weapons or restraints, movements coordinated like they'd practiced this exact scenario.They'd made it three steps when the dining room window exploded inward.Elena came through in shower of glass, already firing. Not at people—at the chandelier above the table. It crashed down between Adrian and the nearest guards, crystal and metal creating temporary barrier."Nobody touches my brother," Elena said, her voice carrying the kind of calm that came from complete certainty in your ability to kill everyone in the room. "Nobody."She had two weapons—pistol in one hand, tactical knife in the other. The guards were armed too, but they'd been expecting easy arrest of unarmed businessman, not trained combatant who'd just crashed through window like action movie.Adrian dove behind overturned chair as gunfire erupted.The sound was deafening in the enclosed dining room. Elena moved like water—fluid

Elena's face went through five different emotions in two seconds—fury, disbelief, resignation, determination."You're insane!" she shouted, but she was already moving back toward the priest, providing covering fire while Adrian ran to the fallen man."If I leave him, I'm no better than them," Adrian said, dropping to his knees beside the priest. The old man's eyes were open, conscious but in obvious pain. "We save him or we die trying."The priest tried to speak, probably to tell Adrian to leave him, to save himself. Adrian ignored him, getting his arms under the man's shoulders, trying to lift dead weight while bullets hit the ground around them.Elena was magnificent. She moved like she'd been choreographed, every shot deliberate, every movement calculated. Three Bratva operatives went down—not killed, but injured enough to stop advancing. She was buying them seconds, maybe enough to make the difference.The embassy team leader—a man named Jack Reynolds who looked like he'd been in

Sophia arrived at Adrian's penthouse within twenty minutes, looking like she'd thrown on whatever clothes were closest and ran out the door.She found him still sitting on the couch, still staring at the frozen frame of his mother bound to a chair with a knife at her throat."Have you slept?" she asked."No.""Have you moved since I called?""No."Sophia sat beside him, closing the laptop so he'd stop looking at that image. "We need to make decisions. Twenty-four hours isn't much time.""I know.""Pay them. Please. Just pay them. Your mother's life is worth fifty million dollars. It's worth everything. Make it stop."Adrian finally moved, leaning forward with his head in his hands. "If I pay, it never stops. You understand that, right? They'll keep demanding more. Keep threatening family members. Next week it'll be another fifty million for Daniel. Then another for Lily. It's extortion with no endpoint.""So what? You let your mother die to prove a point about not negotiating with terr

Adrian couldn't remember the last time he'd trusted anyone completely.Maybe when he was five years old, before Vincent's cruelty became obvious. Before he'd learned that people lied, betrayed, manipulated. Before he'd discovered that family could hurt you worse than strangers because they knew exactly where to aim.Now he sat in his office at Apex Tower, looking at the five people he'd thought were beyond suspicion. And knowing one of them had sold his mother out to the Bratva.Sophia stood by the window, arms crossed, looking hurt that she was even part of this conversation.Elena leaned against the wall, face neutral but eyes calculating, already trying to figure out who the traitor was.Ryker sat with his laptop open, pulling up security logs and access records.Richard Morrison—his building security chief—stood near the door, looking uncomfortable but defiant.And somewhere in that group was a person who'd given the Bratva Sister Mary's schedule. Who'd told them exactly when and