28. Adrianos
Adrianos
Fighting an unseen and unknown enemy is fucking brutal. By midnight, I have turned the penthouse into something approaching a fortress.
Evander doesn't question the orders. He knows better than to bother when my mind is made up, and tonight I am not interested in anyone's opinion about whether I'm overreacting.
All access credentials for the building have been revalidated.
The private elevator requires biometric authorization.
Two additional men are stationed on the residential floor, every camera now feeds into a secondary system controlled by my people, and nobody enters without confirmation from someone I trust personally.
It should be enough.
I know better than most men that enough is temporary, especially when the enemy has spent years learning how the Crown operates.
Kalliopi's records changed everything. We aren't dealing with someone who recently discovered a weakness in our organization.
Someone has been studying us for decades, learning our businesses, our financial structures, our alliances, and the institutions we trust. They knew when Petros became useful to us.
They knew when Karras was compromised. They knew enough about Kalliopi's investigation to silence her before she finished it.
Now Elena has finished what Kalliopi started. That makes her dangerous to whoever is behind OB6. It also makes her a target.
"You've checked that camera four times."
Elena's voice pulls me away from the security feed on my phone. She sits cross-legged on the sofa with her laptop balanced across her thighs, wearing black trousers and one of my shirts. At some point, apparently without negotiation, my wardrobe became communal property.
"I'm checking something."
She closes the laptop halfway and studies me. "You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Trying to solve fear with additional security."
"I'm not afraid."
"Of course not. You've merely doubled the guards, changed every access code, called Evander six times, and looked at the front door twice since I started talking."
My gaze moves toward the door before I can stop myself.
Elena raises an eyebrow. "Three times."
I put my phone down and cross the room. Taking the laptop from her, I place it on the table before bending to kiss her forehead.
"Bed."
"It's barely midnight."
"You slept four hours last night."
"You slept three."
"I wasn't the one decrypting twenty-year-old financial records."
"No. You were distracting the person decrypting them."
My hand settles against the back of her neck. "Sleep."
Her expression softens. The change is subtle, but I notice everything about her now. "Come with me."
The request lands somewhere it shouldn't.
"In a minute."
She searches my face long enough to know I'm lying, but she doesn't argue. "One minute in normal human time, Adrianos. Not Mafia time, where a minute apparently lasts until somebody dies."
I watch her disappear into the bedroom. Then my phone vibrates.
Evander.
"We have a problem."
Every muscle in my body locks. "What?"
"Camera seventeen went down."
I turn toward the security monitor. Camera seventeen covers the service corridor two floors beneath the penthouse, where the building's maintenance lift and emergency stairwell meet.
"How long?"
"Twenty-six seconds. It is back now. The system shows a reset."
"Cause?"
"Authorized maintenance access."
I am already moving toward the bedroom. "At midnight?"
Silence follows. Then Evander swears.
"Seal the service lift and send both men to the stairwell," I order. "Nobody reaches this floor."
The lights go out before he answers.
Not completely. The main system dies while emergency lighting floods the penthouse in dim amber, turning familiar corridors into strips of shadow. My phone loses signal at the same moment.
I stop. This is not a power failure.
The bedroom door slams inside its frame with the heavy metallic sound of security bolts dropping into place.
"Elena!"
I reach the door and grab the handle. It does not move.
"Elena!"
"I'm here."
Relief hits hard enough to hurt. Her voice comes through the door, tight but controlled.
"Step away from the door."
"I didn't lock it."
"I know."
The indicator on the electronic panel burns red.
Someone has activated the internal security partitions.
The penthouse is designed to isolate rooms during an intrusion, trapping an attacker in one section while allowing my security team to move through another.
The main bedroom door is one of the strongest barriers in the system.
Tonight it has sealed Elena away from me.
I enter my override code. Rejected. I try the emergency sequence. Rejected again.
Someone has turned my own system against us.
"Go into the bathroom," I tell her. "Lock the manual door and stay there."
Before she can answer, a faint electronic chime sounds from somewhere beyond her. I know that sound. It belongs to the concealed service entrance inside the dressing room.
The intruder is no longer two floors below.
He used the camera outage to enter the emergency stairwell. The shutdown disabled the stairwell sensors and let him climb while Evander and I were staring at a restored camera feed. Now the same credentials that reset camera seventeen have opened the service passage behind my bedroom.
"Elena, move. Now."
"Someone just opened the service door."
My blood turns cold. "Can you see him?"
"No. I'm in the bedroom. The dressing-room partition is closed."
"Lock it manually, then get behind the bed. Do not use the bathroom. He will expect you to hide there."
I hear her moving, followed by the hard click of the partition's manual bolt.
"Locked," she whispers.
"The gun is in the bedside drawer."
A pause follows. "I know."
"Take it."
The drawer slides open. "I have it."
I smash the plastic cover over the emergency release beside the main door and pull the steel lever beneath it. Nothing happens. The manual cable should retract the upper and lower bolts even if the electronic system is dead. Whoever compromised the lockdown disabled that too.
This was planned specifically for her.
Metal scrapes against metal inside the suite.
"What is that?"
"He's testing the dressing-room door."
The intruder entered through a service door his credentials could open. The partition between the dressing room and sleeping area is different. Elena engaged its mechanical bolt from her side, and no stolen code can retract it.
Another scrape follows, heavier this time.
"He's using something on the frame," she says.
I wrench open the narrow fire cabinet opposite the bedroom and pull out the steel breaching bar secured inside.
It exists so anyone trapped during a system failure can force an interior partition.
I drive its flattened end between the bedroom door and the frame, searching for purchase beside the lower bolt.
"Stay behind the bed," I tell her. "Keep the gun aimed at the dressing-room door. Both hands. Do not fire until you can identify him."
"I remember."
The steel bar bites into the frame. I throw my weight against it. The door groans but holds.
From inside the suite comes the sharp hydraulic snap of a portable spreader. The bastard came prepared. He is attacking a narrower partition with the correct tool while I am fighting two security bolts designed to withstand a forced entry from the hall.
That is how he intends to reach her first.
I drive the bar deeper and pull again. Wood splinters around the reinforced frame, but the lower bolt remains seated.
"Tell me what you hear."
"The tool stopped."
I freeze, listening.
"Has the door opened?"
"No."
"Then he is listening for you. Do not move."
"I'm not planning a dance."
Even now, she gives me that sharp edge of herself. For one insane second, I nearly laugh.
Then the spreader snaps again.
Once.
Twice.
The dressing-room frame tears with a violent crack.
"Adrianos."
Something in her voice changes.
"I'm here."
"The frame is bending."
"Stay behind the bed. When he enters, do not let him get close enough to take the gun."
I brace one foot against the wall and haul on the breaching bar until pain tears through my shoulder. The lower bolt shifts a fraction.
Another impact sounds. Then Elena inhales sharply.
"He's through."
My entire body turns to ice. "Wait until you have a clear shot."
The next sound is a gunshot.
Everything inside me stops.
"Elena!"
No answer.
I wrench the bar sideways with enough force to tear the lower bolt out of the damaged frame. The door jumps open three inches, still held by the upper lock. I force the bar higher and drive it between the door and frame again.
Something heavy strikes the floor inside the bedroom.
"Elena!"
"I'm here!"
Two words. Enough to make my lungs work again.
The upper bolt gives. I rip the door open and enter with my weapon raised.
The dressing-room partition hangs crooked from its frame.
The intruder and Elena are on the floor beside the bed, struggling for control of her gun.
Blood darkens the sleeve of his black jacket where her bullet struck him.
One gloved hand clamps around her wrist while the other drives the weapon against the carpet.
I have no clean shot as they are both grappling on the floor, his masked head moving behind her shoulder.
"Get away from her."
He sees me and reacts instantly. He knocks the gun from Elena's hand, hooks his wounded arm across her chest, and surges to his feet, hauling her up with him.
Elena claws at his forearm as he drags her backward toward the broken dressing-room partition and the service exit beyond it, using her body to shield his.
His uninjured hand reaches beneath his jacket.
"Stop," I say. "If you draw that weapon, you die."
He pulls the gun anyway and presses it against Elena's ribs. Only half his face is visible behind hers. Not enough for the shot I want.
"Put yours down," he orders.
His voice is distorted by something beneath the mask. Elena's eyes lock on mine. Fear is there, but so is calculation.