27. Twenty-Six
Viktor's blood was still fresh when we reached the Ritz. The copper scent clung to my clothes, mixing with lingering traces of champagne and gunpowder. Every breath reminded me of our failure. Of how spectacularly wrong everything had gone.
The moment our key card clicked in the suite's lock, I knew something was wrong. The scent hit me first. Expensive cologne layered over Turkish cigarettes. The subtle displacement of air from recently opened balcony doors. Two decades of tactical experience screamed danger before I fully processed why.
My hand found Xander's lower back, a gesture that looked possessive but was really about positioning them behind my body. We'd trained for this. Countless hours spent choreographing how to handle threats while maintaining our cover. But all our careful preparation hadn't accounted for the scene that greeted us.
"Cousin." Nikolai's voice carried across the suite with lethal precision. "I believe we have some things to discuss."
He sat in one of the plush armchairs like it was a throne, elegant in his tailored suit. The scene on the sofa made my blood run cold. Xavier sat with perfect stillness, expression blank as one of Nikolai's men pressed a gun to his temple. The careful way he held himself spoke of someone who understood exactly how much pressure it would take to pull that trigger.
My mind cataloged details automatically. Three visible hostiles, probably more in the adjoining rooms. The guard with the gun knew exactly what he was doing, judging by his stance. Two easily accessible exit routes, both likely covered. A half-empty bottle of cognac sat beside Nikolai, suggesting he'd been waiting at least an hour. Long enough to thoroughly examine the mission files scattered across the coffee table.
"Close the door," Nikolai said pleasantly, lighting another cigarette with practiced grace. Not a request. A command backed by decades of making people disappear.
I complied, mind already mapping angles of attack, escape routes, probable response times if this went sideways. My fingers brushed Xander's back as I moved. A promise that whatever happened, he wasn't facing it alone.
"You know," Nikolai mused, smoke curling around him like a serpent, "I had such high hopes for tonight. Such expectations. Imagine my disappointment when I turn on the news to see Viktor Vasiliev bleeding out on marble floors while photographers capture every detail."
He gestured to the TV mounted on the wall where breaking news footage played on mute. The cameras had caught everything. Viktor's desperate lunge toward his son. The spray of arterial blood painting Roche's pristine walls. The way Misha had crumpled, father's blood soaking into designer silk.
"The mission parameters were clear," Nikolai continued, voice precise as a scalpel. "Clean. Professional. No publicity." His smile never reached his eyes. "Instead, I have Paris's elite fleeing a sex party in various states of undress while my cousin plays target practice in the foyer."
"The situation evolved rapidly," I said, keeping my voice steady. Professional. "Multiple unknown players altered the timeline."
"Unknown players?" Nikolai's laugh held no humor. "Like my other little cousin here? The one who was supposed to be safely in Ohio instead of running surveillance on the perimeter?"
Xavier hadn't moved a muscle, hadn't even seemed to register the gun pressed to his temple. His eyes stayed fixed on his laptop screen, where lines of code scrolled past. As if the weapon was merely an inconvenience interrupting his work.
"I was running backup," Xavier said. "Since your team clearly couldn't handle basic network security."
The guard pressed his gun harder against Xavier's temple. A warning. But Xavier seemed utterly unfazed. The similarity to my own interrogation techniques was unnerving. The way he projected calm while analyzing every micro-expression, every tell.
"Backup." Nikolai savored the word like fine wine. "Is that what we're calling it when you hijack our communication channels? Redirect our surveillance feeds? Access systems that took months to infiltrate?"
Xavier narrowed his eyes. "Your teams were monitoring the wrong access points. Focusing on physical security while leaving digital vulnerabilities exposed. If I hadn't rerouted those feeds when Viktor showed up..."
"We'd have had warning," Nikolai cut in. "Could have contained the situation before it became an international incident."
"No." Xavier's voice was flat. "You would’ve had to wait for the news to play their footage to watch him die instead of when it happened. The outcome was inevitable the moment he entered that building."
I felt Xander tense beside me, grief and guilt warring in his expression. His hand found mine, fingers interlacing with desperate strength. The gesture wasn't part of our cover anymore. This was a pure need for connection.
"Inevitable." Nikolai rolled the word around his mouth like cognac. "Interesting choice of words. Almost like you knew exactly what would happen."
"I ran the scenarios." Xavier said, almost dismissively. "The probability of him attempting direct intervention was over eighty percent."
The pieces clicked into place. The way Xavier had insisted on additional surveillance points. The careful positioning of his digital tripwires. He hadn't just been running backup. He'd been preparing for exactly this outcome.
"You knew." The words escaped before I could stop them. "You knew he would show up."
"I calculated the probability." Xavier's expression remained carefully blank. "Just like I calculated the likelihood of Roche using his appearance to manufacture a sympathetic narrative. Public violence plus media presence equals police protection and social immunity. Basic crisis management."
"You could have warned us," Xander said softly. The hurt in his voice made my chest tight.
"Would it have changed anything?" Xavier finally looked straight at Xander. "Would you have aborted the mission? Left Misha there to be preserved in Roche's private collection? Or would you have tried to stop Viktor and gotten yourself killed in the process?"
The clinical brutality of his analysis hit like a physical blow. But I recognized the logic behind it. The same cold equations I'd run countless times during operations. Sometimes knowing the probabilities just meant choosing which tragedy to allow.
"Enough games." Nikolai's voice cracked through the tension like a whip. "The situation is what it is. The question now is how you plan to recover from this spectacular failure."
I shifted slightly, positioning myself between Xander and the nearest guard. The movement wasn't entirely conscious. More instinct than strategy. My instinct to protect Xander warred with the darker urge to possess, to control, to keep what was mine safe at any cost.
"The mission isn't over," I said carefully. "We can still salvage this."
"Can we?" Nikolai huffed. "Roche has police protection now. Media sympathy. Their security will be impossible to penetrate."
"No." Xavier's voice cut through the room. "Their security will be predictable."
All eyes turned to him. He sat perfectly still beneath the gun, expression unchanging as he laid out what he'd discovered.
"I found their secret workshop," he said and reached for his laptop.
The guard pressing the gun to his temple shifted his grip, and Xavier froze.
"You can either let me help, or shoot me, but do whatever it is you're going to do and get it over with," Xavier snapped.
Nicholai nodded to the guard, who withdrew his gun.
"As I was saying, I found where Roche is killing their victims." Xavier turned his laptop so we could see the screen. "A hidden workshop beneath his mansion. The building permits show major renovations to the basement level last year, but the actual space is much larger than what's on file. They've been quietly moving supplies there for weeks. Based on the power consumption data and shipping manifests, they're running some kind of preservation facility down there."
His fingers flew across the keys, pulling up building schematics. The basement layout filled his screen. "The official plans only show wine cellars and storage, but look at these power readings. They're running industrial grade climate control systems. The kind used for preserving organic materials."
Nausea rolled through my gut as the implications sank in. Years of hunting killers had taught me to recognize storage facilities. Places where monsters kept their trophies.
"That's not all," Xavier said, switching to another window. "Look at these supply manifests. Chemical preservatives. Specialized polymers. The same materials used in high-end taxidermy, but medical grade. They're not just planning to add Misha to their collection. They're upgrading their preservation process."
Nikolai leaned forward, real interest flickering across his features. "Explain."
"Their previous work was amateur. Beautiful, but unstable. The bodies would eventually decay despite the preservatives." Xavier's clinical tone made the words even more chilling. "But these new supplies? This is state-of-the-art preservation technology. The kind used in medical research. Once they perfect the process..."
"Their collection becomes permanent," I finished, bile rising in my throat.
"More than that." Xavier pulled up another document. "They've already scheduled a private showing for next week. Very exclusive guest list. The kind of people who can afford to commission custom pieces."
"Commission..." Xander's voice broke on the word. "You mean they're planning to take orders? To preserve people on demand?"
"Why settle for just displaying beauty when you can sell it?" Xavier turned to Nikolai. "They’ll spin Viktor’s death to create a sympathetic narrative before launching their new enterprise."
"Enough." Nikolai's voice cut through the tension. "You've made your point about Roche's plans. The question is what we do about it."
"We have forty-eight hours," Xavier said. "During that time, they'll be focused on media appearances, building their cover story. Their security will be split between public protection and guarding their private spaces."
"Which creates vulnerabilities," I added, tactical mind already mapping possibilities. "Points of access we can exploit."
"Exactly." Xavier's fingers resumed their dance across keys. "But we need to be smart about this. Strategic. They're expecting an attack from outside. What they won't expect is for their prey to walk right through their front door."
I caught the implication instantly. "No. Absolutely not. We're not sending Xander back in there."
"They'll be looking for me," Xander countered. "Wanting me more than ever after tonight. The forbidden prize that got away."
"Which makes you an obvious target," I growled, possessive instincts flaring. "The first person they'll suspect."
"Not if we play it right." Xavier's voice was pure ice. "Not if we give them exactly what they want while hiding what they're really getting."
Understanding dawned like lead in my stomach. "You want us to walk right into their lair?"
"The thing they want most," Xavier said, "is someone who truly appreciates their art. A wealthy collector who understands their vision. And what better bait than the one that got away?"
My stomach turned. I didn’t know if I could play that part.
Xavier nodded to Xander. "Ash will go in as the wealthy crime novelist with exotic tastes, commissioning his own private collection. After all, what's more attractive to a killer than someone who shares their particular interests? And Xander will be the perfect lure, the one who escaped, coming back willingly. While I work from the outside, breaking into their systems."
I looked at Xander, saw the mix of fear and determination in his eyes. Remembered how perfectly he'd played his role at the party, right up until everything went sideways. But this would be different. This would mean surrendering completely to Roche's twisted games, trusting that we could spring the trap before it snapped shut.
Silence fell as his words sank in. The plan was elegant in its brutality. Use Roche's own obsessions against them. Make them believe they'd found a kindred spirit rather than a threat.
"It's too risky," I said finally. "Too many variables. Too many ways it could go wrong."
"Less risky than a direct assault," Nikolai mused, studying Xavier with new respect. "And more likely to get us what we really need."
"What you really need?" Xander's voice cracked slightly.
"Evidence," Xavier said simply. "Not just of their murders, but of their clients. Their connections. The entire network that lets them operate. The kind of leverage that would make certain powerful people very, very nervous."
The pieces clicked into place. This wasn't just about saving Misha or stopping Roche. “That’s why you hired Lucky Losers? You want Roche’s client list so you can blackmail some politicians?”
Nikolai adjusted his suit jacket, but didn’t meet my eyes. “Spoken like someone who doesn’t understand the value of having dirt on politicians and princes.”
My hands clenched into fists as I turned to Nikolai. "So that's what this was really about. Not saving Misha. Not justice for those victims. Just another power play to get dirt on the elite."
"You're na?ve if you think saving one person changes anything," Nikolai said, lighting another cigarette. "The system that allowed Roche to operate will just create another monster to take their place. Unless..." He let the word hang in the air.
"Unless you have enough leverage to make the right people very uncomfortable," I finished, bile rising in my throat. "Viktor died never knowing this was just about expanding your influence."
Nikolai shrugged, his expression ice cold. "He made his choices. His death serves a greater purpose now. And this gives us the perfect opening," Nikolai added. "The grieving artist, seeking to memorialize their lost love in a unique way. While their security is distracted by more obvious threats..."
"We slip right through their front door," Xavier finished. "All we need is for everyone to play their parts perfectly."
"How can you be so calm about this?" I asked Xavier. "About sending your sibling into that monster's lair?"
He shrugged. "Because I understand probability. Statistics. The mathematical certainty that even monsters can be predictable." He turned back to his laptop. "And because I'll be in their systems, watching every move. One wrong keystroke from them and I can bring their whole operation down. We have more than enough time to lay the groundwork. Plant the right rumors. Make the right connections."
"And if something goes wrong?" The words felt like ash in my mouth. "If we miscalculate?"
"Then you'll have a front-row seat to watch us become art." Xavier's voice held no emotion at all. "Assuming you survive to appreciate it."
The casual brutality of his analysis made my blood run cold. But I recognized the strategy behind it. Sometimes the only way to catch a monster was to become one yourself.
The question was whether I could live with the cost if we failed.
Nikolai studied Xavier with new interest. “You understand what you're suggesting? The risks you're taking?"
"I understand probability." Xavier said. "And I understand that some risks are worth taking. I can build Ash's cover as a wealthy novelist with specific tastes, create a trail that suggests his interest in commissioning a special piece. Something unique. Something worthy of Roche's particular talents. Meanwhile, I'll be breaking into their security systems, creating backdoors, making sure we can see everything happening inside."
"And you think they'll believe that?" I kept my voice neutral, professional. "That I'm the kind of person who shares their interests?"
"They'll believe it because we'll give them proof." Xavier switched to another window. "Financial records showing commissions from other artists. Email correspondence. Carefully crafted digital footprints suggesting a long-standing fascination with preserving beauty. All the right keywords to trigger their algorithms, catch their attention. While you play the interested collector, I'll be dismantling their security from the inside out."
"While I do what?" Xander demanded. "Pretend to be a willing sacrifice?"
"You don't have to pretend much." Xavier's voice stayed perfectly calm. "Just play on their ego. Their need to be appreciated as an artist rather than a murderer. Make them believe they've found a kindred spirit who understands their vision. Let them think they've finally found someone who truly appreciates their work."
The clinical brutality of his analysis made my skin crawl. But I recognized the tactical soundness of the plan. Make Roche believe they were in control. Let them think they were the predator rather than the prey.
"And once we're inside?" I asked.
"Their security focuses on keeping people out." Xavier pulled up building schematics again. "But the mansion's old systems are still in place, including network access points they haven't properly secured. Once we're inside..."
"You can access everything," I finished. "All their records. All their evidence."
"While they're distracted playing cat and mouse with their pretty new toy." Xavier's smile was pure ice. "They'll be overconfident on their home ground. People tend to get careless when they think they've already won."
"This is insane," Xander whispered. "You're talking about walking straight into their home and hoping we can spring our trap before they spring theirs."
"Sometimes the best way to catch a predator is to hunt them in their own den." Xavier finally looked up from his screen. "But it only works if everyone plays their parts perfectly. No hesitation. No last-minute changes of heart." His eyes met mine, cold and calculating. "Can you do that?"
Could I maintain control while watching them touch what was mine? While knowing exactly what they planned to do?
"You're asking a lot," Nikolai said into the silence. "Betting everything on your man’s ability to maintain cover, no matter what happens."
"I'm betting on probability." Xavier turned back to his laptop. "On statistical likelihood and human nature. On the fact that monsters like Roche always believe they're the smartest person in the room."
Nikolai studied us all for a long moment, weighing options with the precision of someone used to calculating acceptable losses. Finally, he nodded to his man, who put the gun away.
"Very well," he said, rising smoothly. "You have two days to get everything in place. After that..." He straightened his perfectly tailored jacket. "Well. Let's hope probability favors the bold, cousin."
He left us there, three predators circling each other in a too-small space. The weight of what we'd agreed to settled like lead in my gut.
"I need to make some calls," Xavier said, already typing again.
I pulled Xander against my chest, feeling them shake. Everything in me screamed to protect them, to get them far away from this nightmare. Their strength had always drawn me in, even as my instincts urged me to shelter them. But I recognized the tactical necessity of Xavier's plan. The brutal elegance of using Roche's own obsessions against them.
The suite felt too small after Nikolai left, the air heavy with cigarette smoke and possibilities. Xavier's fingers never stopped moving across his keyboard. The quiet click of keys was a counterpoint to Xander's ragged breathing against my chest.
"You should try to rest," I told Xander, running a hand down his spine. "Tomorrow will be intense."
"Rest?" His laugh held an edge of hysteria. "While my brother helps me walk into a psychopath's lair?"
"It's not suicide if we maintain control of their systems," Xavier said, without looking up. "The statistical models suggest..."
"Fuck your statistical models." Xander pulled away from me, stalking toward his brother. "This isn't some computer game you can restart if something goes wrong."
"No." Xavier finally met his eyes. "This is real people dying while we waste time arguing about acceptable risks. This is Misha being prepped for preservation while we debate probability."
Xander flinched. My hands itched to pull him back, to shelter him from this brutal reality. But Xavier wasn't finished.
"You think I want this?" His voice stayed perfectly controlled. "Think I enjoy calculating the odds of your survival? But someone has to think tactically. Someone has to see the bigger picture."
"And that someone has to be you?" Xander's voice cracked. "Has to be my overprotective brother orchestrating this whole thing from behind a screen?"
"Better me watching your back through their security feeds than watching you try to handle this alone." Xavier's fingers stilled on his keyboard. "We both know you'd find a way to get yourself killed trying to save everyone by yourself."
The truth in those words hung heavy between them. I'd seen it myself in training, the way Xander would push himself past safe limits. The need to prove himself, to protect others at any cost.
"I need air," Xander announced suddenly, heading for the balcony. The door closed behind him with careful precision that spoke of barely contained emotion.
I started to follow, but Xavier's voice stopped me. "Let him process. He needs a minute to accept that he can't protect everyone by himself anymore."
"You're remarkably calm about all this," I observed, studying him.
"One of us has to be." He shrugged. "Besides, focusing on probability helps manage the terror."
The admission caught me off guard. It was the first crack I'd seen in his carefully maintained facade.
"You're scared," I realized.
"Obviously." He turned back to his laptop. "I just watched a father die trying to save his child. Watched everything go spectacularly wrong despite careful planning. Now I'm betting Xander’s life on statistical models and human nature."
I moved closer, caught the slight tremor in his hands that his typing almost hid. "Then why do it? Why put him at risk?"
"Because it’s what we do." The words came out raw, honest. "This is what Xander and me and all of us Laskins were raised to do. We stand against monsters like Roche. We step in where the law fails, and we get shit done. It’s ugly, and it’s brutal, and sometimes it makes monsters of everyone involved, but it’s fucking necessary. Xander understands that. I need you to get on board for his sake, Ash. If their head isn’t in the game, if they’ve got a single doubt…”
"I'll get him on board," I promised. "And I’ll keep him safe. Both of you."
"No." Xavier looked up, eyes sharp as surgical steel. "You'll maintain cover no matter what happens. That's the only way this works."
"You're asking a lot," I said quietly. "Asking me to watch them hurt the person I…" The person I love . I wanted to say it, but I couldn’t get that last word out. Dammit, what the fuck was wrong with me?
On the balcony, Xander's silhouette was motionless against the Paris lights. Everything about their posture spoke of contained grief, of fear they couldn't afford to show. Even now, they held themselves with the same careful precision I'd first noticed during our training, neither completely still nor fully in motion. He turned back toward us. The Paris lights caught his face, highlighting tear tracks he couldn't quite hide. My heart twisted at the sight, but I forced myself to stay still. To let him find his own way back to us.
We had seventy-two hours to prepare. Seventy-two hours to transform ourselves into exactly what Roche wanted. To become willing sacrifices while hiding the predators beneath our skin.
The game was in motion. All we could do now was play our parts and pray we were strong enough to maintain the illusion until the very end.
Even if that end meant watching beauty become death.