Page 59 of Before Broken Vows

"I think he's heading for the metro," Dimitri says.

"Let's make sure he misses his train."

I radio the team. "He's heading for the metro entrance. Dio, circle around and meet us there. Team Two, maintain distance. Team Three, get down to the platform ahead of us. Do not let him board any train."

The Hawk stops right at the top of the stairs to the metro and lights another cigarette, still unaware he's being hunted.

"If this goes sideways," I tell Dimitri as we get closer, "your priority is getting the fuck out of here. Leave the rest to me."

"Like hell," Dimitri retorts. "We do this together. I didn't fly over here to sit on the bench. Shit, my arm should still probably be in a sling after that Ares incident. If that doesn't stop me, you think something going a little sideways will?" he asks with a laugh.

I see Dio pull up to our left and park.

Dimitri and I spread out, approaching from different angles. The Hawk doesn't see us yet.

I'm three steps away when all that changes. The Hawk's head snaps around, his eyes meeting mine with instant recognition.

Fuck.

"Kastaris," he says, and that one word confirms everything.

He knows who I am.

He knows why I'm here.

His hand moves toward his pocket and time slows. I lunge forward, Dimitri closing in from the other side.

I grab his wrist before he can reach whatever he's going for, twisting until I hear a grunt of pain. "Don't," I warn him.

"You have no idea what you're getting into," The Hawk says, his voice surprisingly calm despite the pain I know he's feeling.

"That's what we're here to discuss," I tell him, maintaining my grip on his hand. "Somewhere more private."

I tug him forward toward the waiting car.

Dio hops out as we approach and the rest of our team comes into view, forming a loose perimeter around us. To any casual observer, it might look like a reunion of friends.

"You think I'm afraid to die?" The Hawk asks me, a hint of amusement in his tone.

"No," I say. "I think you're smart enough to want to live."

Dimitri pulls a small black object from The Hawk's pocket—not a gun, but a phone. Along with it comes a wallet, a set of keys, and a small plastic case that I can't identify at first glance.

"No guns," Dimitri confirms.

I relax my grip slightly but keep hold of his wrist. "We're going to give you a lift home," I tell The Hawk. "And then we're going to have a long conversation about a certain lawyer, some bank accounts, and who you've been working for."

Thanks to The Hawk's ID, we now know where he lives, and that's where we're headed.

But as we drive toward the Athens apartment, I can't take my eyes off the ID in my hands. Nicolas Zikos. Thirty-six years old.

But it's his face that keeps drawing me back.

It's not just the scars. There's something else—something buried under the last few months. I can't help but feel like it's a face I should know.

"Something bothering you?" Dimitri asks quietly from beside me. Across from us sits The Hawk, AKA Nicolas Zikos, with his wrists zip-tied, staring steadily back at me.

"I've seen him before," I say.