Chapter 25 Hidden Hand #3
Viktor was quiet for a moment. Then: “I understand.”
“Do you?”
“Da. When Anya died, I killed everyone responsible. Every single one. And it didn't help. Didn't make the pain less. Didn't bring her back.” His hand found my face. “But I would do it again. Because some debts can only be paid in blood.”
I leaned into his touch. “How do you live with it? Knowing revenge doesn't fix anything?”
“I do not live with it. I survive it.”
“And that's enough?”
“Some days.” His thumb traced my cheekbone. “Other days I have you. And that is more than enough.”
I kissed him. Slow. Deep. Tasting like hope and violence and everything we'd fought for.
When we broke apart, Dom was watching us from across the room. Stitched and bandaged and smiling despite the pain.
“You two are disgustingly sweet,” he said.
“Shut up,” Viktor replied. No heat. Just affection.
“Make me.”
Adrian appeared in the doorway. “It's done. The King knows. He's issuing arrest warrants. Palace guard is mobilizing.”
My heart kicked. “For Marcel?”
“For Marcel. His assets are frozen. His accounts seized. He's officially a fugitive.”
I looked at Viktor. Saw the frustration carved into his face before he even spoke.
“Nothing,” he said. Voice flat. Dead. “We intercepted the shipment. Four trucks. Armed escort. Everything went according to plan.”
“And?” Adrian prompted.
“Medical supplies. Actual fucking medical supplies.” Viktor's hand slammed against the table. “Bandages. Antibiotics. Exactly what the manifest said. Marcel played us.”
The words hit like a fist to the gut.
“He knew,” I said. Voice hollow. “He knew we were coming.”
“Da. Probably knew the moment we started planning.” Viktor's jaw worked. “Whole operation was clean. Professional. We disabled the escort. Secured the cargo. Documented everything. And found nothing we can use.”
Dom shifted on the table where Noah was still stitching his shoulder. “So the bastard's smart. Doesn't mean he's untouchable.”
“Doesn't mean he isn't,” Viktor countered. “Without physical evidence from the shipment, all we have are the files.”
“Which are enough,” I said, pulling the satchel closer. “Financial records. Communication logs. The Queen's file with his handwriting on route changes three days before she died. This is ironclad.”
Adrian moved to the table, studying the documents I'd spread out. “It's good. Very good. But Marcel will claim forgery. Will say someone used his office. Will bury us in legal challenges while he disappears.”
“Then we don't give him time to disappear.” My voice came out harder than I meant. “The King's issuing arrest warrants. Palace guard is mobilizing. We move now, before he can run.”
Viktor's hand found my shoulder. “We will. But smart. Not reckless.”
“There's a difference?”
“For you? Sometimes no. But tonight, yes.” He looked exhausted. Blood on his jacket from the operation. Dirt under his fingernails. Eyes hollowed out from two days without sleep. “We intercept failed. But we got you out alive. Got the files. Exposed him. That's enough for now.”
“It's not enough until he's dead.”
The words hung there. Raw. Honest. Violent.
Noah looked up from Dom's shoulder. “You're all insane. You know that, right?”
“Probably,” Adrian agreed. “But we're insane together.”
“That's supposed to be comforting?”
“It's the best I can offer.”
Noah laughed. Tired. Real. “Then I'll take it.”
Adrian's phone buzzed. He answered. Listened. His expression shifted.
“Understood. We're moving now.” He hung up. Looked at me. “That was your father. Marcel's gone. Left the palace an hour ago. Private airfield outside London. We've got people en route but he's got a head start.”
My fists clenched. “So he runs.”
“For now,” Viktor said. “But we will find him.”
“When?”
“When he makes a mistake. When he gets comfortable. When he thinks he's won.” Viktor's eyes locked on mine. “And then we finish it.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to demand we hunt him now, tonight, before he could disappear into whatever hole he'd prepared.
But Viktor was right. We were exhausted. Bleeding. Running on adrenaline and rage.
And Marcel was smart. Patient. He'd planned this.
“Fine,” I said. “We regroup. We heal. And then we hunt.”
Adrian nodded. “Agreed. You two head back to the palace. The King needs to see you're alive. Needs the files. We'll keep digging. Find where Marcel's running.”
Viktor was already moving, gathering gear. “Come on. Before someone realizes we're all in one place.”
We left in shifts. Different routes. Standard procedure even when everything had gone to hell.
Viktor drove me back to the palace. Through rain that had finally started to ease. Through a city that looked cleaner in the dark.
His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. Jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping.
“We should've seen it,” he said finally. “Should've known he'd anticipate the intercept.”
“He's been playing this game for thirty years. We've been playing for three days.” I touched his arm. Felt muscle like steel under fabric. “We'll get him.”
“I wanted to give you his head tonight.”
The brutality of the admission should've shocked me. Didn't.
“I know. But tomorrow works too.”
“Does it?”
“Has to.” I looked at him. At this man who'd tear the world apart for me. “Because if we keep running on rage alone, we'll make mistakes. And mistakes get us killed.”
“When did you become the voice of reason?”
“When you became the one ready to burn everything down.” I squeezed his arm. “We balance each other. Remember?”
His hand left the wheel. Found mine. Held on like I was the only thing keeping him anchored.