Tennessee awaited, hot and unfamiliar, yet Xavier felt no unease—only calculation. Every dossier and intel feed he had reviewed over Russia’s darkened streets now replayed in his mind—the Don’s movements, vulnerabilities, known allies, and suspected moles. He leaned against the leather seat, arms crossed, suit jacket discarded. Comfortable, yet sharp, his eyes tracked encrypted files on the tablet. By the time the wheels touched the tarmac, his mind had already mapped every exit, every ally within the Don’s operation, every potential threat. The Don had underestimated him. Soon, they would understand what it meant to step into his crossfire. Back at the mansion, Krasavitsa moved like a shadow. Monitors displayed every angle—stairwells, elevators, perimeter cameras. Each intruder she had neutralized over the past weeks had sharpened her instincts. Her attention to detail had become precise, almost surgical. She traced encrypted signals, intercepted unusual data packets, and cr

The city was colder than usual, frost coating rooftops and streets like a warning. Moscow had woken, oblivious to the silent war unfolding in its alleys and penthouses. Xavier did not sleep. His uncle had been arrested, and he needed to know who orchestrated it. His instincts pointed toward Don Derek. Derek's operatives had regrouped. If this continued, they would attack his family one by one. He was also waiting for Krasavitsa to return. It was no longer safe outside. Somewhere across the city, someone was watching—not with fear, but interest. The chessboard had shifted. Every move now carried weight. Every misstep had consequences. Krasavitsa was still at the party, dancing and drinking with her friends, trying to forget the pressure surrounding her. When she noticed how late it had become, she stepped outside to hire a cab since she couldn't drive. Her phone rang in her hand. A light flickered behind her.<

The city lights of Moscow flickered through the rain-streaked windows, casting long shadows across the villa. Xavier stood near the balcony, eyes fixed on the streets below. Every movement, every whisper, every shadow was mapped in his mind. He was not at his mansion today. He needed to plan the next attack on Don Derek. This time, he had to strike first. But before anything, he needed to make a call. "Have you found the loop?" he asked. "Yes," the voice on the other end answered. "Good. We move tomorrow." He hung up. Tomorrow would be full of distraction — the kind that pleased him. He took a slow sip of his JB Scotch whiskey, a single ice cube clinking softly in the glass. After finishing his drink, he went to take a hot shower before bed. Morning came early.<