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“I hope you're right, Z. Because if this plan fails, if he sees through our charade, I fear the consequences will be dire.”

VESPER

The Petrov familycrest gleams on the side of the Dassault Falcon X like a warning sign.

“Holy shit,” I exclaim as we approach the sleek aircraft waiting on the tarmac. The private jet is a monument to wealth and power, its polished exterior reflecting the afternoon sun. It's the kind of luxury that's meant to intimidate, to remind anyone who approaches that they're stepping into Victor Petrov's domain.

Z walks beside me. Oz flanks my other side while Talon brings up the rear.

A flight attendant in a crisp uniform stands at the base of the jet stairs. His expression remains neutral as we approach, but I catch the flicker of recognition when he notices the twins.

“Miss Rossi,” he greets me with a slight bow, his accent thick but his English crisp and deliberate. “Mr. Petrov sends his warm regards.”

Then he spots Talon, and his expression sharpens.

“We do not have a fourth party on our manifest. He cannot be allowed to board.”

“I'm afraid that's not possible,” I say, stepping forward with a confidence I don't entirely feel. “Mr. St. James is my head of security. Where I go, he goes.”

The attendant's jaw tightens. “My instructions were quite clear, Miss Rossi. Three passengers only.”

“Then your instructions are incorrect,” I reply, my voice dropping to the cold, commanding tone I've been practicing. voice of a woman who expects to be obeyed. “Contact Victor if you must, but understand that delaying me will only irritate him further.”

Z shifts beside me, his body language subtly changing to support my stance. “My uncle doesn't appreciate waiting, Sergei,” he adds, surprising me by using the attendant's name. “Especially not for something as trivial as a passenger manifest.”

The attendant, Sergei, hesitates. I can see the mental calculation happening behind his carefully neutral expression. risk of disobeying Victor's explicit instructions versus potentially angering him by delaying our arrival.

“One moment,” he finally says, retreating a few steps to speak into his earpiece in rapid Russian.

“Nice touch. Very mafia princess. It’s a good look for you.”

I resist the urge to smile, keeping my expression impassive as Sergei returns.

“Mr. Petrov has approved the additional passenger,” he announces stiffly. “Please, follow me.”

The interior of the jet is expensive and masculine. Six plush seats face each other in the main cabin, with a private bedroom visible through a partially open door at the rear. Everything about the space screams wealth and power. the crystal decanters of amber liquor secured in a custom cabinet, to the Petrov crest embossed on the napkins.

“Please make yourselves comfortable,” Sergei says, gesturing to the seats. “We'll be departing shortly.”

Z moves through the cabin with the casual familiarity.

“Been a while since you've been on the family jet?” I ask quietly as I take the seat beside him.

"Last time I was on one of these, I was sixteen," he replies, his voice barely audible. “Our father was shipping us off to St. Judes.”

Oz settles across from us, already scanning the cabin with methodical precision. “The layout's been updated, but it's essentially the same aircraft,” he observes.

Talon remains standing, taking his head of security role seriously. “How many crew members?” he asks Sergei.

“Three flight crew, sir. Two pilots and myself. All vetted personally by Mr. Petrov,” Sergei adds with a hint of pride. “I primarily served on your uncle's personal aircraft.”

"Victor's personal staff," Oz adds, exchanging a meaningful glance with his brother. "Interesting choice for our retrieval. Kitty must be stateside.”

“Who’s Kitty?”

“His mistress. The one he hides from our aunt on the other side of the world.”

I settle into the buttery leather seat, feeling the subtle power play unfolding around me. Victor sending his personal crew isn't just courtesy. surveillance. Every word, every gesture will be reported back to him.