The moment was shattered by a sudden knock at the door, sharp and urgent. "Boss…" Polina's voice called from the other side, muffled but unmistakable.

Natalya didn't even flinch. "Come in," she said, her voice smooth, unconcerned.

The door swung open, and Polina stepped inside, balancing a tray of breakfast in her hands. Her eyes flicked to Natalya first—then froze as they landed on me, Claire, and Yelena. The tray wobbled slightly in her grip, her shock written all over her face. "H-how—?" she stammered, her gaze darting between us, her mind clearly racing. How the hell did they get in here?

I could see the questions burning in her eyes, the confusion, the suspicion. She'd been trained too well to let something like this slide.

Natalya noticed it too. A small, knowing smirk tugged at her lips as she stepped forward, taking the tray from Polina's hands and setting it down on the nearby table.

"Polina," she said, her voice warm but firm, "has been worried about you, Jack." She turned to face her subordinate, her expression softening.

"She kept asking me—how long you'd be undercover with Claire. Kept checking on your injuries, your progress…" Natalya's tone carried a hint of amusement, but also something deeper—gratitude. "She's been loyal."

Polina's face flushed slightly at the praise, her fingers twisting together in front of her. "Boss, I—I just wanted to make sure he was safe," she murmured, her voice tight. But her eyes were still sharp, still wary, flicking between Claire and Yelena like she was trying to piece together a puzzle.

Natalya didn't miss it. She stepped closer, her voice dropping into something reassuring. "Don't worry about them," she said, her hand resting lightly on Polina's shoulder. "We're all together now."

Polina hesitated, her gaze lingering on Claire and Yelena for a moment longer before she finally nodded, though her posture remained tense. She set the breakfast tray down fully, her fingers brushing against the edge like she needed something to ground her.

Then, her brows furrowed. "But, Boss…" she said, her voice laced with confusion. "Isn't his name Viper? Why are you calling him Jack?"

Natalya let out a low, amused chuckle, rubbing the back of her neck as she'd just been caught in a lie. "Ah. Right," she said, her smirk deepening. "I… haven't exactly told you about him yet, have I?"

Polina's eyes widened, her body tensing like she was bracing for a revelation.

Natalya's grin turned playful. "That's a secret," she teased, her voice dripping with mischief. Then, with a laugh, she shook her head. "Maybe one day you'll find out. But for now…" She glanced at me, her eyes gleaming. "His real name is Jack."

Polina's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, her mind clearly spinning. "But—Viper is—"

"A name I used," I cut in, my voice calm but carrying the weight of finality. "For the mission. For her." I nodded toward Natalya, my tone leaving no room for argument.

Polina's gaze snapped back to Natalya, her expression a mix of shock and realization. The pieces were falling into place—slowly, but undeniably. She hadn't been kept in the dark out of distrust. It had been out of necessity. A mission. A role. A name that wasn't real.

Natalya didn't give her time to dwell on it. "We're leaving for America in a while," she said, her voice leaving no room for argument. "Pack your things. Only what you need."

Polina's eyes widened, but she nodded sharply, her training kicking in. "Yes, Boss," she said, already turning toward the door, though her mind was clearly still racing.

An hour later, Natalya and I were in her armored SUV, her most trusted bodyguards flanking us as we drove toward the seedy motel on the outskirts of the city. The place where I'd left Victor—where I'd ordered him to stay, like the pathetic pawn he was.

We found him exactly where I'd left him—sitting on the edge of the bed, a half-empty bottle of vodka in his hand, his face a mask of arrogance and ignorance. He didn't even have time to react before Natalya's men grabbed him, dragging him out of the room by his collar. His protests were cut short by the cold press of a gun to his temple.

"What the fuck—!" Victor snarled, his eyes wild with panic as he was thrown into the back of the SUV, his wrists zip-tied behind his back.

I didn't say a word. I just watched, my expression unreadable, as Natalya's men secured him, his muffled curses filling the vehicle.

Then, we drove.

Nickolai's estate loomed before us like a fortress carved from stone and steel, its towering gates swinging open as our convoy rolled to a stop. The man himself stood at the top of the grand staircase, his imposing figure silhouetted against the dim light of the setting sun. His sharp, calculating eyes locked onto the SUV the moment it came to a halt, his posture rigid, his hand resting dangerously close to the pistol holstered at his side.

The doors of the vehicle swung open.

Natalya stepped out first, her chin held high, her gaze meeting her father's without an ounce of hesitation. She moved with the confidence of someone who knew she was untouchable—here, at least.

I followed, my presence alone seeming to make the air thicken, the tension coiling like a snake ready to strike. Nickolai's guards tensed, their hands twitching toward their weapons as they took in the scene: Natalya, unharmed but different—like she carried a secret. And then there was me—a man whose name didn't match the face they'd been fed.

Victor was yanked out next, his arms bound behind his back, his face already bruising from the rough handling. He stumbled, his knees hitting the gravel as Natalya's men forced him to the ground in front of Nickolai. His breath came in ragged gasps, his eyes wide with terror as he took in the man who held his life in his hands.

Nickolai descended the stairs slowly, each step deliberate, his gaze never leaving Victor's pathetic form. When he finally stopped, it was just inches from where Victor knelt, his shadow swallowing the traitor whole. "Natalya," Nickolai's voice was a low, dangerous growl, "explain."

Natalya didn't blink. "This is the man who's been playing us all," she said, her voice cold, final. "He's the one who sowed discord between you and Isabella. Between us. He's been feeding you lies, manipulating the shipments, skimming off the top. He's the reason we've been losing control."

Nickolai's expression darkened, his jaw clenching so tightly I could see the muscle twitch. He crouched down, grabbing Victor by the collar and yanking him up until their faces were mere inches apart. "Is this true?" he demanded, his voice a lethal whisper.

Victor's lips trembled. " I didn't have a choice—!"

Nickolai didn't let him finish.

His pistol appeared in his hand like magic, the muzzle pressing against Victor's forehead before the man could even take another breath. "You had a choice," Nickolai said, his voice a snarl, "when you decided to go against us."

BANG.

The gunshot echoed through the courtyard like a clap of thunder, the sound bouncing off the stone walls. Victor's body crumpled to the ground, lifeless before it even hit the gravel. Blood pooled beneath his head, dark and glistening in the fading light.

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