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Beside me, Luca moves with that same stiff precision. Blood crusts along his temple.

“Mikhail's taking no chances,” I mutter, just loud enough for him to hear. “This is a one-way trip to Russian soil.”

He glances at me. “Why?”

“Because if Vesper pulls it off, we’re leverage.”

I pause as we reach the foot of the stairs, the metal steps slick with rain. The wind cuts through my shirt like knives.

“And if she doesn’t…”

I don't finish. I don’t have to. Because the answer hangs between us like a noose.

If she fails, we’re already dead.

VESPER

My thighs burnwith each step down the airplane stairs—a delicious reminder of what I’ve been doing for the past nine hours. Sergei waits at the bottom, his expression tightly controlled, professional disdain written in every line of his posture as he extends a hand to assist me.

“Miss Rossi,” he says stiffly, his accent thicker now that we're on Russian soil. “Welcome to Saint Petersburg.”

I accept his hand with a gracious smile, feeling the way he barely touches my fingers, as if I'm contaminated. The biting Russian air stings my cheeks as I descend.

Talon follows close behind, his warmth at my back a comforting presence as we reach the bottom of the stairs. He leans in, his lips brushing my ear under the pretense of steadying me. “I think our flight attendant friend heard every minute of our little party. He hasn't been able to look at me since I left the bedroom.”

I press my lips together to suppress a laugh at Sergei's rigid posture as he leads us toward the waiting vehicles. “I think you might be right. He practically sprinted down the aisle when Z asked for fresh towels.”

Three black SUVs wait on the tarmac, engines idling, exhaust creating ghostly plumes in the cold air. Z and Oz descend the stairs behind us, their expressions hardening as they step onto Russian soil. I catch the subtle shift in their posture as they shed the playful lovers from the plane and don the armor of Petrov heirs returning to hostile territory.

“Miss Rossi,” Sergei gestures to the first vehicle, “you and Mr. St. James will ride in the lead car. Mr. Petrov has arranged separate transportation for his nephews.”

And so it begins. The separation Victor planned, designed to isolate and interrogate us individually. I glance at Z, meeting in a moment of silent communication.

“Of course,” I reply smoothly, turning back to Sergei. “I expected nothing less from a man of Victor's...thoroughness.”

Sergei's lips thin at my familiar use of his employer's name, but he says nothing as he opens the rear door of the first SUV. I slide into the plush leather interior, Talon following close behind. The door closes with a solid thud that feels unnervingly final.

The driver sits rigidly behind the wheel. In the passenger seat sits a man I immediately recognize as security. His eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, assessing and cold.

“Miss Rossi,” he says in heavily accented English, “I am Alexei. Mr. Petrov has assigned me as your security detail during your stay.”

My handler, then. The unspoken meaning is clear. I won't be going anywhere without Alexei tracking my every move.

“How thoughtful,” I reply. “Please convey my appreciation to Victor for his...concern. It comforts me to know that he cares that much about my well-being.”

Alexei's expression doesn't change as he turns to face forward again. The convoy begins to move, pulling away from the private airfield in formation. Through the tinted windows, I watch as Saint Petersburg materializes—ancient spires and onion domes silhouetted against the gradually darkening sky.

“Pretty city,” Talon remarks beside me, his casual tone belying the tension I feel radiating from him.

“It was once called the Venice of the North,” Alexei offers unexpectedly. “Built on islands and canals by Peter the Great. He wanted Russia to have a window to Europe.”

I lean closer to the window, watching golden lights shimmer on the waterways as we cross one of the city’s many bridges. The city has an ethereal beauty—a haunting elegance that seems fitting for the Petrov family’s seat of power.

“Will we be going directly to Victor's estate?” I ask, careful to keep my tone conversational.

“Mr. Petrov is eager to meet with you, Miss Rossi. We will be traveling to the Winter Palace immediately.”

I struggle to keep my expression neutral. The Winter Palace, not one of the properties Z and Oz had briefed me on. They'd expected Victor to bring us to the family compound outsidethe city, or perhaps the business headquarters in the financial district. This is an unexpected deviation.