Chapter 7 Adrian
ADRIAN
Our private jet shakes a little as we pass over the jagged terrain. Below, the mountains stretch endlessly, pristine and untouched, blanketed in snow that probably won't see a single footprint.
The Alps are beautiful, but now I know, also a lie.
Because underneath all that purity, somewhere in those valleys, there's an old mansion where men in tuxedos sip champagne and trade human lives like stocks. Where women are displayed like art. Where Elena was taken and locked away, and God knows what else.
I flex my fingers. My knuckles are raw from the last few days.
While Victor did what he needed to do, me and Lucian tracked down a few more smugglers and I beat the shit out of all of them.
He let me kill one. The others were left alive to send a message about what happens when you take Romanian women.
Now, I'm just sitting uncomfortably in this plane, holding myself back when all I want to do is burn the entire world down until I find her. I want to hurt anyone remotely connected to this the way I've been hurting. The way she's been hurting.
I sigh as I rub my forehead.
I look down at the folder on my lap. It's been open to the same page for the last hour.
To a man named Maxim Volkov.
He's standing in front of the Kremlin, shaking hands with another Russian politician, both of them smiling for the cameras.
He may look the part, but if he's a Volkov, he's fucking evil.
I stare at his face, committing every detail, every angle, to memory. When I see him in person, I'm going to have to try really hard not to instantly put a bullet through his skull because, as Victor reminds me, we need information.
"Are you sure he's going to be there?" I ask.
Victor doesn't look up from his tablet. He's seated across from me, impeccably dressed as always, scrolling through something I can't see.
"Yes," he says, his voice calm and even. "He’ll be there. He's acting ambassador from Moscow. The real one can't make it, apparently. He's attending the summit under the guise of diplomatic relations. It's the perfect cover for whatever he's really up to."
I nod, looking back to the photograph.
"And we don't know if he's the one who has her, right?"
Victor finally looks up. His gaze is steady, calculating. "No."
I close the folder and toss it onto the seat beside me.
"But," he continues and leans toward me, "his family bought her, so he's the thread. I wish I could have confirmed more."
So do I, but I know he's been doing his best.
"I know, brother," I say and lean back, letting my head rest against the seat and sigh.
There's a moment of silence, and then I look back at him.
"Victor."
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
He raises an eyebrow, a subtle expression of surprise. "For what?"
"For what you've done. Getting us inside."
He sets his tablet down, rubs his chin. "Adrian, you're my brother. You think I wouldn't?"
"I know you would. But this…" I gesture vaguely toward the window, toward the mountains, toward the chateau hidden somewhere below. "This is different. This involves politics. Diplomacy. Your world."
He smiles and nods. "And you're about to walk into it."
"I know," I say and shake my head.
Victor studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he leans back, adjusting his cufflinks.
"With that in mind, let me explain again how this works."
I nod, waiting for him to speak.
"We're not going in as criminals," he begins. "We're not going in as the Ionescu Syndicate. We're going in as legitimate representatives of the Romanian government."
I laugh, and he continues.
"I'm the liaison to the Romanian ambassador. Officially, we're seeking a backdoor meeting with Germany," he says and waves his hand, "trade negotiations. Boring political shit."
"So what, you're like the Romanian ambassador then?"
"For the purpose of this event, sure, but we're down a day. Since we were a last minute addition to the guest list, we missed the first day of the three-day summit."
I process this, turning it over in my mind. "So we're walking into the middle of it."
"Exactly."
"How many people?"
"Ambassadors, politicians, oligarchs, and their entourages. Maybe seventy, eighty total. Plus security. The chateau is heavily guarded, as is the airport, I'm told."
I nod, my jaw tightening. "And my cover?"
"Simple. You're my bodyguard. Protecting a Romanian official."
I almost laugh.
"Your bodyguard."
"Yes."
"Victor, I'm not good at playing pretend."
"I'm aware." His tone is dry, clipped. "Which is why I've waited to tell you all this, and why I'm going to say this once, and you're going to listen."
I meet his gaze, and the calm intensity in his eyes sharpens.
"This is politics," he says. "My arena. Not yours. You're there as my bodyguard. You stay with me. You gather intel. You observe. You do not go fucking crazy."
"Define crazy."
"Adrian."
"I'm serious."
"So am I." He leans forward again, his voice dropping. "There will be guards. Diplomatic immunity protecting half the men in that building. If you kill the wrong person, if you blow our cover, we're not just dead. We lose Elena."
The words hit like a punch to the chest.
I close my eyes, forcing myself to breathe. My pulse is roaring in my ears, loud and relentless.
"I understand," I say finally.
"Do you? Because this is serious."
"Don't you fucking think I know that?"
Victor sits back and nods. "Okay."
The jet banks slightly, and I turn back to the window. Our destination is visible now, a dark shape, a fortress nestled in the valley below, surrounded by snow-covered trees, steep cliffs, and a small airport nearby.
"Hey, do you know why they call this place Chateau d'éclipse?" I ask, my voice low.
Victor glances out the window, his expression thoughtful. "No, but we’ll have two days to figure it out. Also, the airport is small and will be guarded, so getting in and out will take finesse. We need to play it cool from the moment we get off this plane."
I nod, but I'm not really listening.
Two days.
My eyes stay locked on the huge estate below, on the chateau where Elena was taken. Maybe she was held in a basement or a locked suite.
The thought twists in my chest, sharp and vicious.
Fuck, I hope she doesn't think I ever abandoned her.
"I won't need two days," I say and look at him. "I'll only need an hour."
Victor's on his tablet and doesn't respond, but I don't mistake the look he gives me after I say that
The airport is small, barely more than a private airstrip carved in between two mountains. The runway is bordered by towering pines heavy with snow, and the air outside is so cold it stings when the cabin door opens.
I step out behind Victor, my boots crunching against the icy tarmac. My focus turns to the black SUVs parked at the edge of the runway, their engines idling, exhaust shooting out into the cold air.
Two men in dark suits stand beside the vehicles, their hands folded in front of them. They're definitely armed.
Victor adjusts his coat, straightens his tie, and walks toward the men with the kind of effortless authority that comes from years of political manipulation.
I follow a few steps behind, my eyes scanning the area.
One of the men steps forward, extending a hand. "Monsieur. Welcome to Chateau d'éclipse."
Victor shakes his hand, his smile polite and practiced. "Thank you. This is my associate,” he says pointing to me.
The man glances at me, his expression neutral. "Of course."
I don't offer my hand, and neither do they. I just nod.
The man gestures toward the SUVs. "Please. The chateau is only a short drive. You'll be escorted directly to your suite."
Victor nods, and we climb into the back of the lead vehicle.
As we get close, the chateau becomes even more impressive up close. The stone walls are massive and look like they've stood for centuries. The windows are tall and arched, glowing with warm light, and the main entrance is framed by heavy wooden doors.
We pull up to the front, and the SUV stops. Men open our doors, and we step out.
Victor starts toward the entrance, and I fall into step behind him, my role as his bodyguard firmly in place.
I look around. Guards are stationed at every corner, their weapons visible but not overtly threatening. Cameras are mounted above the doors.
Inside, the floors are polished marble, and massive crystal chandeliers hang overhead. The walls are lined with oil paintings, portraits of long-dead aristocrats staring down at us with cold eyes.
A man in a suit approaches. "Monsieur. Welcome. Your suite has been prepared. If you'll follow me."
Victor nods, and we're led up some grand stairs with carpeted steps and down a velvet-lined hallway.
The air smells faintly of cigar smoke and flowers, and somewhere there is the distant sound of classical music.
We pass a few other guests. Men in tuxedos. Women in gowns. They glance at us briefly, smile, and return to their conversations.
Finally, we reach a door at the end of a long corridor. The man opens it, gesturing inside.
"Your suite, Monsieur. If you require anything, please do not hesitate to call."
Victor thanks him, and we step inside.
The suite is large, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the valley. The furniture is dark wood, and a fire crackles softly in the stone fireplace. Two bedrooms branch off from the main living room.
Victor closes the door and locks it.
"Check for anything that could be watching or listening to us," he says.
I nod, and we move through the room, running our hands along the walls, checking under the furniture, inspecting the lamps and the phone. It takes us ten minutes, but we find nothing.
"Nothing," I say.
Victor exhales, loosening his tie. "Same."
He walks to the bar cart and pours himself a drink.
I turn to face him. "Where do we start?"
Victor pulls out his phone, scrolling through something. "The summit officially resumes tomorrow morning. Breakfast at eight. Formal sessions throughout the day. Dinner at seven. We'll attend everything. Blend in. Observe."
"And Maxim?"
"We'll find him."
I nod, my jaw tightening. "And when we do?"
Victor looks at me, his eyes narrow. "We gather information. We find out where Elena is. And then we move. Calmly."
"I want him dead, Victor."
"I know."
"I want them all dead."
"I know," he repeats. "But not yet. Not until we have her."
I stare at him and nod. He's right.
Not yet. But soon.
I turn away and look out the window, and I think to myself over and over.
Hold on, Leni.
I'm coming.