Archie
Atlas had told me to be careful. And he’d meant it.
I’d seen it in the way his gaze held mine a second too long. In the way his voice had dropped just slightly, like he was trying extraordinarily hard to get his point across.
Be on your guard.
I hadn’t argued.
But I hadn’t agreed to his terms, either.
There was no way I was locking myself inside one of the Cavalho safe houses like a caged animal, waiting for something to come for me. That wasn’t how I worked.
I needed space. Movement. Control.
Still—I wasn’t stupid. The kind of money on my head wasn’t just incentive. It was temptation. Enough to make even loyal men reconsider their position.
Atlas had pointed that out too. Quietly. Delicately. But the meaning had been clear.
Your own men could turn on you.
So I’d cut them loose. Sent them away under the guise of an extended break—orders they didn’t like, didn’t understand, and definitely didn’t agree with.
There had been protest. Pushback. Questions.
I hadn’t answered any of them. I’d just made it clear it wasn’t a discussion. Because I knew how this ended. If they stayed, they became targets. Or worse—opportunities. And I wasn’t about to put a price on their heads just because someone had put one on mine.
I worked better alone, anyway. Always had. There was less noise. Less risk. Less blood spilled where it didn’t need to be.
And tonight was part of that.
An unexpected lead from a most unlikely source. Which meant I had to be extra cautious.
The call had come through earlier that afternoon, her voice familiar enough to pull me back a few years I hadn’t thought about in a long time.
I hadn’t trusted the phone call coming out of the blue after so long, but I went anyway.
The beauty parlor sat tucked between two higher-end storefronts, a place which catered to people who had more money than sense. Soft lighting spilled out onto the street, the scent of florals hitting me the moment I pushed the door open.
She looked up immediately, and recognition flooded her face. Followed by a warmth that never diminished, no matter what she went through.
“Archie.”
I stepped inside, letting the door fall shut behind me before crossing the space between us. I leaned in, brushing a light kiss against her cheek out of habit more than anything else.
“Andrea. It’s been a while,” I said, my eyes scanning the room.
“Too long,” she replied, her smile easy, eyes sharp.
I took a step back, taking her in properly.
She’d done well for herself. Better than I’d expected.
“I was surprised to hear from you,” I added.
Her brow lifted slightly.
“That’s not a good thing?”
“It depends,” I said evenly, cautious.
On whether you were calling to help me—or sell me out.
Her gaze held mine for a second longer than necessary.
Then she exhaled softly, shaking her head.
“You never change,” she said, her voice low, almost thoughtful. “Still looking at everything like it’s about to turn on you.”
I let out a quiet breath through my nose, not quite a laugh. “That’s because it usually does.”
Her gaze lingered, searching, like she was trying to decide if anything about me had changed. Nothing had.
Caution wasn’t something I picked up along the way. It was carved in early and left there. You didn’t grow up where I did and learn to relax. You learned to watch. To listen. To read the shift in a room before it turned ugly.
Brutal Russian winters had a way of teaching you that nothing was given. Not warmth or safety. Even time was a borrowed luxury. Everything had to be earned, and even then, it could be taken back without warning.
By the time I left, it wasn’t the cold that followed me—it was the instinct.
Italy hadn’t changed that. The streets were different, the language foreign, but it was the same rules underneath it all. Men still lied. Deals still went bad. A handshake still meant nothing if you didn’t know who was dealing it.
I glanced back at her, taking in the way she stood there like she belonged to a world that didn’t operate like that.
“Must get exhausting,” she said.
Her mouth curved slightly, but there was no real amusement in it.
“Not as exhausting as the clean up after a mistake,” I replied.
A beat passed. Then she gestured toward the back.
“Come on.”
I followed her through, my senses still on edge, cataloguing exits, angles, movement. They were old habits, but necessary ones.
The back room was quiet, private. She closed the door behind us, leaning against it for a moment before speaking.
“I wouldn’t have called you if it wasn’t important,” she said.
I said nothing and let her continue.
“You helped me out of a bad situation once,” she reminded me.
Thoughts of that time fluttered to the forefront of my mind. I’d all but forgotten that she’d had a violent, unpredictable husband who I’d alleviated her of.
“I remember,” I said.
Her lips pressed together briefly.
“You got me out,” she continued. “Set me up here. Gave me a chance to build something that has given me my life back. My freedom.”
Her gaze met mine again.
“You once saved my life,” she said, and it sounded a lot like gratitude. “And now, I think it’s time I return the favor.”
“So,” I said, “tell me why I’m here.”
She straightened slightly, pushing off the door.
“I had a client come in a few days ago,” she continued, moving further into the room. “Brought a girl with him. Young. Too young.” Her expression hardened slightly. “Wanted her ‘fixed up.’”
My jaw tightened.
“Pushy son of a bitch insisted on getting treatments too. Waxing. Nails. The works.”
I didn’t say anything. But something in my chest shifted.
“And while I was working on him,” she said, “he just… kept talking.”
“About?”
Her gaze sharpened.
“Atlas Cavalho.”
My attention locked in fully.
“He had a problem with him,” she continued. “Something about routes and access. Business opportunities that weren’t being… entertained.”
That tracked. Atlas wasn’t in the habit of letting just anyone into his orbit. It didn’t matter how much money was on the table.
“I wasn’t paying much attention,” she added, her voice lowering slightly, “until your name came up.”
I stilled.
“What did he say?”
Her lips thinned.
“He called you a traitor. A Russian traitor,” she clarified. “Literally babbled every curse under the sun.”
I let that sit.
“My understanding - and that is very limited, mind you - is that he’d been trying to get Cavalho to let him move product through one of his routes,” she explained. “Cavalho has refused him. Every single time.”
As he would.
“So he tried to remove the problem.”
My eyes narrowed slightly.
“Multiple attempts,” she confirmed. “Each one failed. Because of you.”
“Because of me?”
I tried but I’m sure I did a horrendously bad job of hiding my surprise.
She gave a small nod.
“You kept showing up,” she said. “Unintentionally. Wrong place, wrong time—foiling him.”
That made sense. I was spending way too much time with Atlas Cavalho lately.
“He got angry. Said he wouldn’t touch you directly and risk the wrath of your family,” she added. “He mumbled some more, said he knows who you are, and what would happen if he hurt you.”
My family.
The fallout wouldn’t be contained. It would spread. Wide. Violent. Indiscriminate.
“So,” I said slowly, finally understanding, “he’s improvizing.”
“Yes.”
Silence stretched for a moment.
“Name?” I asked.
She hesitated briefly, then gave me the name.
“Baron Vilevski.”
As soon as I heard the name, everything clicked into place.
Vilevski. I knew him. Not personally, but I knew enough about him to know that he was one of the largest traffickers operating out of Eastern Europe—running product through the Balkans, across borders that bent too easily when the right money was involved. He was ruthless. Calculated. Untouchable.
He was also an old associate of my father’s.
I exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down my face.
Of course. This was never about me.
I was collateral, an obstacle standing in Vilevski’s way. A variable that kept interfering with his actual objective—the Cavalho stronghold. Atlas. He was the real target.
And suddenly— everything made sense. The contract. The escalation. He didn’t need me dead. He needed me out of the way, long enough to get what he wanted. Which was to eliminate Atlas.
I straightened, already moving.
“I have to go,” I said.
She nodded, not trying to stop me.
“Be careful,” she added quietly.
I paused at the door, glancing back at her once.
“Thank you, Andrea.”
Then I left.
The night air hit hard as I stepped out onto the street, my pace already quickening, my mind working through the angles.
This changed everything. And Atlas needed to know.