Ethan stared at Luka in disbelief, his pulse pounding in his ears. “Why?” he demanded hoarsely. “Why would you kill so many people?”Luka’s smile faded into something darker.“Because if I can’t have you,” Luka said quietly, his voice turning cold and absolute, “if I can’t have my money, if I can’t have my empire… then everyone burns.”He leaned back in his chair, utterly calm.“That has always been my philosophy,” Luka continued with chilling simplicity. “I rule… or I destroy. There is no middle ground.”Ethan’s gun hand began to shake despite his effort to steady it. “I’ll kill you,” he said through clenched teeth, raising the weapon slightly. “Right now. Before you can detonate anything.”Luka only smiled again.“You could try,” Luka replied calmly, nodding toward the monitors, “but the timer has already been entered.”One of the screens flashed red.“Ten minutes,” Luka said quietly, almost pleasantly. “Kill me, and no one can stop it.”He tilted his head, studying Ethan’s face.“T

Morrison swiped across the tablet, and a new series of images appeared on the screen. Ethan leaned forward slightly, studying them. Valentina Greco stood beneath glittering chandeliers at a charity gala, smiling gracefully as cameras flashed around her. In the next photo, she was shaking hands with a well-known European politician, her posture elegant and confident. Another image showed her walking down the red carpet at a fashion show in Milan, surrounded by photographers. The last photograph captured her standing in front of a massive painting at an art auction, raising a paddle with calm authority. In every picture she looked exactly the same. Beautiful. Perfectly composed. Completely in control. “She’s smart,” Morrison continued, tapping the screen thoughtfully as the photos scrolled past. “Ruthless, discipline

The Salle des Etoiles at the Monte-Carlo Sporting Club glittered like a jewel box under crystal chandeliers. Two hundred of Europe's wealthiest collectors filled the auction hall, their combined net worth approaching half a trillion dollars. The air smelled of expensive perfume, aged cognac, and the particular kind of tension that only extreme wealth could produce.Ethan sat in the third row, perfectly positioned to observe the entire room while appearing casually engaged. The Alessandro Marchetti persona fit him like a second skin now. The way he crossed his legs. The slight tilt of his head when examining the auction catalog. The measured sips of champagne that suggested appreciation without need.Three weeks of training had prepared him for this moment, but no amount of preparation could fully capture the reality of walking into a room full of predators wearing designer clothes.His earpiece crackled softly. "Target just entered the building. North entrance. ETA to auction hall: tw

The drive to Cap Ferrat took thirty quiet minutes along narrow coastal roads that curved beside the Mediterranean, the sea glimmering like molten glass under the dying sun. Ethan sat in the back of the chauffeured Mercedes, his posture relaxed but his eyes alert, watching the horizon burn in shades of orange and gold as daylight slowly surrendered.He looked the part perfectly.The midnight blue Tom Ford suit fit his body like it had been stitched onto him. The crisp white Charvet shirt lay smooth against his skin, open at the collar with no tie to soften the sharpness of his appearance. His Italian leather shoes gleamed faintly in the fading light. On his wrist, the vintage Patek Philippe caught a flicker of sunlight, its quiet brilliance hinting at a price tag most people would never earn in years.Every detail of Alessandro Marchetti’s image spoke of wealth with effortless precision.But Ethan felt the familiar weight beneath it all. The Sig Sauer P365 rested snugly in a custom sho

The evening stretched on with quiet elegance, every moment carefully controlled.Conversation flowed across the salon in smooth, measured tones. Art gave way to politics. Politics shifted into business. Each topic was handled with precision, as if everyone present understood the invisible boundaries they could not cross.Ethan remained near the windows, his posture relaxed, his expression composed, but his mind never stopped moving. Every word, every glance, every pause carried meaning.These were not guests.They were players.And every one of them was hiding something.Time passed almost without notice until the energy in the room began to change. Chairs shifted. Glasses were set down. Conversations softened into conclusions.One by one, the guests began to leave.Valentina moved through them with effortless grace, offering polite farewells and measured smiles. “It was a pleasure, as always,” she told the marquis, her voice warm but distant as she accepted his hand. “Safe travels,”