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I’m not leaving her behind. She’s coming with me.

"We need to leave. Now. Together. There's a tactical team preparing to breach this building in less than four minutes."

Her reaction displays none of the panic a civilian would show. Instead, she throws off the sheet, moving with fluidity to gather some fresh clothes. "Petrov faction?"

"Yes. Six-man perimeter, two assault teams, command vehicle three blocks north." I provide the tactical assessment automatically, as if briefing a fellow operative rather than a civilian bystander. "They're using Katyusha breach protocols."

"Russian military equipment?" She pulls on the borrowed clothes with graceful speed. "Officially, that's restricted to FSB operations."

Her knowledge of Russian security protocols shouldn't surprise me, but it does. "The lines between government and Bratva have always been... permeable."

"Especially for Petrov." She secures her hair in a tight knot at the base of her neck—a practical style that minimizes handholds in combat. Not the action of someone unfamiliar with tactical situations. "He has three former FSB generals on his permanent payroll. My father calls it 'wasteful redundancy.'"

This casual intelligence drop about Bratva internal politics comes as she's checking her appearance in the mirror, as if discussing breakfast options rather than criminal power structures.

"We have an extraction team in position," I say, securing my weapon. "But they're expecting just me."

She meets my eyes in the mirror. "But now you're bringing me along?"

The question hangs between us, loaded with implications. Taking her with me violates every principle I've established. It potentially exposes my network, my true identity, and my five-year mission to Anton's extraction team.

"Unless you prefer to explain to Petrov's men why you spent the night in my bed." I check my watch. "Two minutes. Decision time."

"You were going to leave me behind five minutes ago…” Her words are thoughtful, not angry. Then, she nods once. “I'm coming with you." No hesitation. No questions about destination or implications. Just immediate, decisive action.

I find myself reaching for her, my hand cupping her cheek with gentleness that surprises me. "If circumstances were different..."

"They never will be. We both know that." She turns her face into my palm, lips brushing my skin in what might be a kiss or merely incidental contact. "I understand survival better than most."

The grace in her acceptance cuts deeper than recrimination would have. I withdraw my hand, standing to establish safe distance.

"You should leave Paris," I say, reality overriding emotional impulse. "Today, if possible. I’ll get you out of here, but then you need to return to Moscow or travel elsewhere. But don't stay here in this city."

She studies me, calculation evident behind her eyes. "Because of those men last night? Or because of you?"

"Both," I admit. "Paris has become... complicated."

"For me, or for you?"

"For everyone involved." I move toward the door. "Davaj, bystree!" I urge in Russian, slipping into my native patterns under pressure. Faster, let's go!

She responds to the command instantly, following me through the penthouse with efficient movement that speaks of practiced readiness. I lead her to a service elevator hidden behind what appears to be a storage closet—part of my emergency extraction route.

"I bet this isn't on the building plans," she observes as the elevator descends. "Private modification?"

"The Bratva owns the construction company that renovated this building five years ago." I check my weapon one final time. "All their luxury properties have... customizations."

"Like the Petrov estate in Geneva." She leans against the elevator wall, remarkably composed. "Secret passages, panic rooms, underground exit tunnels. Standard Bratva architecture."

Her casual familiarity with these types of details should disturb me more than it does. Instead, I find myself appreciating her calm competence, her ability to engage with the situation without panic or excessive questions.

The elevator opens to a maintenance tunnel that runs the length of the building underground, eventually connecting to a service exit three blocks from the main entrance. Anton's extraction team should be waiting at the rendezvous point with a vehicle prepared for rapid departure.

"Stay close," I instruct as we move through the dimly lit tunnel. "If we encounter opposition, do exactly as I say, without question."

"I know how extractions work, Viktor." Something in her tone makes me glance back at her. Her expression remains unreadable. "I'm not just a pretty ornament in my father's organization."

Before I can respond, my phone vibrates again: BREACH INITIATED. PETROV TACTICAL TEAM ENTERING PENTHOUSE. SECONDARY TEAM MOBILIZING TO COVER EXITS. EXTRACTION TEAM UNDER SURVEILLANCE.