Chapter 20 #2
The room transformed around them, gear bags spilling open across the floor, weapons being checked and rechecked, phones and tablets appearing as team members settled into their pre-mission rituals.
Bridger unfolded a detailed map of the exchange site on the bed, weighted down with a water bottle, a knife, and someone’s boot.
Weston immediately sprawled across the only patch of unclaimed floor, legs stretched out like he was lounging by a pool rather than planning a rescue operation.
Fifteen minutes later, Elliot’s footsteps thumped back up the stairs. He shouldered through the door with a triumphant grin, arms laden with an improbable bounty of food.
“Behold,” he announced, “field rations, Greek style.”
He laid out his haul on the rickety table: skewers of grilled meat still glistening with oil, flatbreads wrapped in paper, a container of olives, chunks of white cheese, and a bottle of something clear that definitely wasn’t water.
The smell hit Dom like a punch—garlic, oregano, charred meat, olive oil—making his stomach growl loud enough that Weston snickered from his spot on the floor.
“How did you manage this?” Vivi asked, eyeing the spread with something between admiration and suspicion.
“The owner’s grandmother is in the kitchen,” Elliot said, already stuffing a piece of bread in his mouth.
“I told her my brother hadn’t eaten a decent meal in days and looked like he was wasting away from lovesickness.
” He winked at Dom. “Grandmothers are the same everywhere. She practically pushed me up the stairs with enough food for an army.”
“You didn’t pay?” Davey frowned, always concerned about leaving a trail.
“Of course I paid,” Elliot rolled his eyes. “Threw in an extra hundred euros too. We’re fugitives, not assholes.”
They fell on the food like the soldiers they were—efficient, focused, waste-nothing determined. Dom watched as Vivi hesitated for a split second before Weston handed her a skewer with an easy smile and an exaggerated bow.
“Eat,” he told her. “Griffin gets cranky when he has to carry unconscious civilians.”
“I don’t get cranky,” Griffin muttered, tearing off a piece of bread. “I get efficient.”
“Your efficient looks a lot like cranky from where I’m standing,” Weston shot back.
Across the room, Liam and Bridger had claimed the two most uncomfortable-looking chairs, hunched together over a tablet that showed thermal imaging of the exchange site.
Their conversation flowed in a hybrid language—spoken words interspersed with rapid sign language when privacy was needed or when the background noise swelled.
Dom had always been fascinated by the seamless way they communicated, shifting between modalities without missing a beat.
“If they set up here—” Liam tapped the screen, his expression intensely focused.
“They won’t,” Bridger signed quickly, hands moving in the abbreviated shorthand the brothers had developed. “Too exposed. They’ll use the southeast corner.”
Liam nodded once, decisive. “Six-man team then. Two drivers.”
Dom couldn’t follow the rest—their hands moved too fast, a private conversation in plain sight.
Weston dropped onto the bed beside the map, reaching for another skewer. “Hey, Griffin,” he called across the room. “Remember that time in Caracas when I took out that sniper from nine hundred yards? With a crosswind?”
Griffin’s jaw tightened. “It was seven hundred yards. No wind.”
“Pretty sure it was nine hundred,” Weston insisted, a mischievous glint in his eye. “And I’m pretty sure you bet me fifty bucks I couldn’t make that shot.”
“I never bet on sure things,” Griffin said flatly. “And I definitely wouldn’t bet on your bullshit version of events.”
“What about Zagreb?” Weston grinned wider. “When I dropped that guy from the moving boat?”
Griffin gave him a look that would have withered a lesser man. “You fell off the boat and accidentally knocked him into the water when he tried to help you up.”
“Still counts as a takedown.”
Dom caught Vivi watching the exchange, a small smile playing at her lips. She’d always appreciated the ribbing that came with team dynamics—had been that way with Sabin too, the two of them bickering and teasing their way through jobs.
“He does this on purpose,” Dom told her quietly. “Weston. Gets under Griffin’s skin before missions. Stress relief.”
She nodded. “Sabin used to do the same to me.” Something flickered across her face—pain, determination, hope. “Does.”
“Hey.” Dom touched her arm lightly. “We’re going to get him back.”
Before she could respond, Tessa materialized beside them, medical kit in hand, eyes fixed on the gash above Dom’s eyebrow.
“Sit,” she said, pointing to the chair by the window.
“It’s fine,” Dom protested. “Just a scratch from when—”
Tessa stared at him, one eyebrow raised in a perfect imitation of their aunt Libby’s “don’t test me” look. She didn’t speak, didn’t move, just stood there radiating clinical disapproval until Dom sighed and dropped into the chair.
“This is why I hate having a medic in the family,” he grumbled as she tilted his face toward the light.
“No, you hate it because she’s the only one who can make you behave,” Elliot called from across the room.
Tessa’s hands were gentle as she cleaned the wound, her movements efficient and practiced.
She didn’t lecture him about safety or taking unnecessary risks.
She never did. She just patched them up, over and over, holding them together with bandages and butterfly stitches and whatever else it took to keep her family in one piece.
“This should have had proper stitches,” she said, dabbing antiseptic that stung like hell.
“Didn’t have time,” Dom replied, wincing slightly. “Had to get out of Villa Pandora before Stavros changed his mind about letting us leave.”
“Hmm.” She pressed a butterfly stitch across the cut with more force than strictly necessary. “Lucky it’s not infected.”
“Ow! Jesus, Tess—”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said sweetly. “Does it hurt when I try to keep your head from falling apart?”
From across the room, Weston snickered. “She got you there.”
Dom shot him a glare but stayed still while Tessa finished her work. From his seat, he had a perfect view of the room—of his family spread out across the small space, of Vivi moving among them with increasing ease.
Elliot had pulled her into a discussion about the extraction route, his arm casually draped over her shoulder as he pointed out details on the map.
Bridger offered her olives from his plate with a small, reserved smile that few outside the family ever saw.
Even Liam, who rarely engaged with anyone outside their immediate circle, had nodded respectfully when she made a suggestion about the exchange site.
They’d absorbed her into their orbit without hesitation, without question.
Not just because she was with Dom, but because she was Sabin’s sister.
Because she was part of this mission. Because when Wildes committed to something, they committed all the way—and they had committed to bringing Sabin home.
Something eased in Dom’s chest, a tightness he hadn’t realized was there until it released.
For a few stolen hours, with salt air drifting through the cracked window and the countdown clock still ticking in the back of his mind, it almost felt like they might be okay.
Like they had a real shot at pulling this off.
Across the room, Davey caught his eye. His oldest brother leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, watching the controlled chaos with the steady gaze of a man accustomed to holding the world on his shoulders. But when he looked at Dom, a rare smile softened his features.
“How are you holding up?” Davey asked, sliding into the chair beside him after Tessa finished her ministrations and packed away her supplies.
Dom rubbed his thumb across the butterfly bandage on his forehead. “Better now that you’re all here.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Of course it wasn’t. Davey never let him dodge the real questions, not since they were kids.
He exhaled and lowered his voice. “I’m worried. about what happens if this all goes sideways,” Dom admitted. “Praetorian isn’t the type to just let things go. And Sabin...” He glanced across the room at Vivi. “If we can’t get him out...”
“We will,” Davey said with that unshakeable certainty that had carried them through every crisis since they were kids. “This team doesn’t fail.”
Dom nodded, not quite convinced but drawing strength from his brother’s confidence. The plan was solid. The team was the best. But Praetorian was unpredictable, and Malcolm Raines was a sadistic bastard who enjoyed inflicting pain.
“You and Vivi...” Davey began, his voice careful.
“Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything. Just making an observation. You two seem... different since the last time I saw you both in a room together. If memory serves, when Vivi came to dress Rowan for that charity ball, she was really fucking unhappy to see you there.”
“Yeah, well…” Dom rubbed a hand across his jaw, feeling the stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave. “We talked.”
“I hope you did more than just talk,” Elliot said, popping an olive in his mouth as he joined them. “You need to get laid. You’ve been wound tighter than Davey for months.”
“I’m not wound tight,” Davey grumbled.
“Yeah, you are,” Dom and Elliot said at the same time.
“Granted, less so now that you have Rowan,” Elliot added before turning back to Dom and pointing a finger at his nose.
“That’s what you need. Your own Rowan or Rue.
” He studied Dom for a moment, then grinned.
“But I’m thinking you and Vivi already worked out some of that tension.
It would explain why you’re not bouncing off the walls despite the clusterfuck we’re in. ”
“Fuck off,” Dom muttered, though there wasn’t much heat behind it.
Davey cleared his throat. “For what it’s worth, I’ve always liked her for you. And you deserve to be happy.”
Dom scoffed and jostled his older brother’s shoulder with his own. “Marriage has made you sappy, bro.”
“Yeah,” Davey said softly, “maybe.”
Across the room, Weston was still annoying Griffin.
Liam and Bridger were still bickering in sign language.
And Vivi was deep in conversation with Tessa.
Probably discussing Sabin’s injuries, judging by Tessa’s focused expression and occasional nod.
No doubt Tessa was already planning treatment options.
It’s what she did—prepared for every medical contingency so that when shit inevitably hit the fan, she’d be ready.
Dom sat back and soaked it all in. The familiar banter steadied him in a way nothing else could. This was his constant. The immovable center of his universe.
His people.
His team.
His family.
For a moment, it felt like they were untouchable. Like whatever was coming next didn’t stand a chance against them.
Dom let himself believe it.
He needed to.
Just for tonight.