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“Everything alright?” he asks, his voice pitched low enough that only I can hear.

“Yes, I hate flying. I’ll be okay once my stomach settles,” I lie, accepting a fresh glass of vodka from Sergei. “This should help. Thank you, Sergei.”

The flight attendant hovers nearby, his attentiveness bordering on surveillance. “Dinner will be served in three hours.”

“Thank you, Sergei,” I say, setting my vodka down untouched, “I think I'll rest before dinner. The past few days have been...taxing.” I rise from my seat, smoothing my skirt with deliberate calm. “Is the private suite available for use?”

Sergei hesitates. “The suite is typically reserved for Mr. Petrov himself, but as he is not aboard...” He gives a small nod. “Yes, of course, Miss Rossi. Shall I prepare it for you?”

“That won't be necessary.” I glance at Talon, who immediately understands his role. “Mr. St. James will take care of my needs.” The irony of my words is not lost on me, nor on Talon, who fights back a smile.

“Yes, Miss Rossi," Talon adds, already on his feet. His expression is all business as he follows me toward the rear of the aircraft.

Sergei's lips thin slightly, but he steps aside. “As you wish.”

I feel Z and Oz watching us as we move toward the private suite at the back of the plane. The door closes behind us with a soft click, and Talon immediately begins a methodical sweep of the space, checking under furniture, running his fingers along moldings, and examining light fixtures.

The suite is opulent even by Petrov standards. queen-sized bed dominates the space, with burgundy silk sheets and pillows embroidered with gold thread. A small sitting area occupies one corner, complete with a private bar and entertainment system.

“Clear?” I ask quietly as Talon finishes his sweep.

He nods, holding up a finger to his lips before pulling a small device from his pocket. He activates it, waiting for the green light to blink before relaxing slightly.

“Signal jammer, courtesy of Alex,” he explains in a hushed tone. “It'll buy us maybe ten minutes before it raises flags with the flight systems. They'll think it's interference, but we shouldn't push our luck.”

I sink onto the edge of the bed, the silk sheets cool beneath my fingertips. “Did you see Sergei's face when I asked for the suite? Victor must use this room for more than just sleeping.”

“I don't want to think about what's happened on these sheets,” Talon grimaces, remaining standing with his back to the door. “Did your message get through to your grandfather?”

“Yes. He thinks I'm headed straight into Victor's lair to assassinate him.” I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache forming. “I invited him to join me there.”

A soft knock interrupts my spiral of worry. Talon immediately pockets the jammer

“Enter,” I call, slipping into the poised demeanor I’ve been rehearsing.

Z slips into the suite, his movements fluid as he closes the door behind him. “Sergei's watching,” he offers, crossing to sit beside me on the bed. “Figured I'd give him something to report back to my uncle.”

“How thoughtful,” I reply, loud enough to be heard through any listening devices. “Joining me for a private conversation about our future alliance?”

Z's lips quirk as he leans closer, his breath warm against my ear. “Something like that.”

The door opens again, and Oz slips in with the same fluid grace as his twin. He locks it behind him.

“Sergei is practically vibrating with curiosity,” he chuckles, moving to join us.

“Let him wonder,” Z remarks, shifting to make room for his brother on the bed. “It gives Victor something to think about besides our motives.”

Oz settles beside me, his thigh pressing against mine in the limited space. The three of us huddle together on Victor's bed.

“I swept for bugs,” Talon says, nodding toward his pocket where the jammer rests. “We've got a few minutes of privacy before the interference becomes too obvious.”

“We need to talk about what happens when we land,” I say, keeping my voice low despite Talon's assurance of temporary privacy. “Victor's not going to let us stick together once we're on his territory.”

Z's jaw tightens. “He'll separate us immediately. Standard protocol for anyone entering his compound, even family.”

“Especially family,” Oz corrects, his analytical mind already mapping scenarios. “He'll want you alone, Vesper. As soon as you hand over the evidence about your son and Bianca's deception.”

My stomach twists with anxiety. “How long do you think we'll have before he isolates me?”