CHAPTER 85

LUCAS'S POV

The return flight from Madrid to Geneva was fast, quiet, and full of pure, sharp focus.

While the jet tore through the evening sky at thirty thousand feet, Sophia and I sat side by side in the main cabin, going through the locked file that Countess Elena's team had given us.

On the digital tablet between us was a clear photograph of Viktor Vane: a broad-shouldered man in his early fifties, with short silver hair, a pale scar running across his left eyebrow, and cold, calculating blue eyes. He was a veteran of secret black-ops missions across Eastern Europe before he started Vane Tactical, a private...