Page 58 of Code Name: Ghost

“Don’t you know how to take a break?” I ask.

She glances up. “If you saw what I saw on that overlay, you wouldn’t be sleeping either.”

“I saw it.” I cross the room, drop the file and printout in front of her. “I need you dressed in something sexy. Something tight. Expensive. Red. There should be something in the closet that works.”

Her brow lifts. “Where are we going?”

“To meet the woman greasing Vallois’ diplomatic wheels.”

“Juliette?”

I nod.

She doesn’t answer right away. Her expression shutters, jaw working. She opens the file and freezes when she sees the surveillance still.

“I’ve seen that coat,” she murmurs. “She wore it in Prague. Hector took me to a conference, and she showed up halfway through the night. Never touched a drink. Never flirted with anyone except him.”

I fold my arms. “They were involved?”

“Not officially. But she had a way of orbiting men with power. Never directly. She didn’t want the spotlight. She wanted the leash.”

That tracks. Juliette’s the kind who doesn’t bend unless she’s the one doing the tying. And if she’s providing cover for Vallois and Hector, she’ll expect deference—unless she thinks she’s in the presence of someone who could take it from her.

“You’re bringing me because she’ll recognize me,” Cherise says.

“No,” I reply, stepping closer. “I’m bringing you because if she’s anywhere near as smart as she thinks she is, she’ll want to challenge you. She’ll want to test what you mean to me.”

“And what do I say when she does?”

“You don’t.” I brush her jaw with my knuckles, slow and firm. “You wear the collar, you let me lead, and you make her think you’d bleed for me.”

Her pulse kicks under my touch. “And would I?”

I meet her eyes. “We’re not answering that tonight.”

She doesn’t push—just goes to get changed

By the time I reach the secure closet and pull the suit bag marked forNikolai Beaumont, the shift has already begun. The Nikolai Beaumont identity has been buried for almost six years. The French-tailored suit still fits like a glove, and the silver-capped cane rests against the wall like an exclamation point. Nikolai Beaumont. Former oil magnate turned mercenary fixer. A ghost like me—except darker. Louder. The kind of man who makes powerful people nervous for all the wrong reasons.

Cerberus built him with layers: Swiss bank accounts, burner numbers, custom passports, a profile full of violence and vice. Dominance was his reputation. Ruthlessness was his currency.

It’s not a mask I enjoy wearing anymore.

Everything from the cut of the blazer to the cufflinks screams tailored arrogance. Power without conscience. Control without remorse. This is the persona Juliette will recognize. Who she’ll respect. Who she’ll fear.

I fasten the shirt collar, clip the watch onto my wrist—the same timepiece I took off a trafficker in Marseille five years ago. Cerberus gave me the option to turn it in. I didn’t.

It belonged to a man named Albert Viers. One of Cerberus’ first big takedowns. Arms broker. Human trafficker. Monster with a lawyer's smile. The kind of man who smiled while auctioning off lives. We buried him six feet under a vineyard in Spain after pulling his network apart cell by cell. I kept the watch—not because I wanted a trophy. But because sometimes, when you need to become the monster to kill one, you wear his skin.

Cherise appears in the mirror behind me, dressed in blood-red silk, heels that could kill, and a diamond collar around her throat. Her eyes meet mine.

She watches me in the mirror as she fastens the last earring. “You want to give me more information on this alias, or are we improvising?”

“Nikolai Beaumont,” I say, adjusting the cuffs. “Eastern European money, forged in war and washed in oil. Cerberus uses him to get through doors that refused to open for anyone else. He’s a fixer. Arrogant. Ruthless. Unapologetically dominant.”

Her lips curve slightly. “So... not much of a stretch?”

I stalk toward her slowly and stop behind her. My hand glides down the side of her thigh, tracing the slit in the fabric until I reach bare skin. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t break eye contact with me in the mirror.

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