The stench of blood and burning ozone still clung to the air of the dining hall, mixing with the sharp, cold scent of the Russian night. Grigori’s body lay where I dropped it—a necessary piece of trash I couldn't afford to clean yet.

I was mid-sentence, dictating the first wave of global asset seizures to Ivan, when Alexander’s secure line exploded with frantic static.

“Report,” I snapped, my focus a diamond-hard point of command, dedicated to finding Isabella and my sons. Anything ...