Page 55 of Oliver

“No. You’ve done enough. You’vesurvivedenough. Let us take it from here.”

She opened her mouth, then shut it. Finally, she nodded, tears brimming. “Then promise me you’ll end it, for good this time. I hate looking over my shoulder every time I want to walk on the beach or go shopping. I don’t want that feeling anymore.”

I cupped her face. “I swear, this is the last one.”

Raven cleared his throat. “We leave at first light. Me, you, and Cyclone. Quiet entry into Santorini. He’s hosting a ‘legitimate business conference’ there. But we’ve got allies waiting.”

Emery stepped forward, surprising both of us. “One condition.”

Raven blinked. “Oh?”

“If you bring him back alive—just long enough for me to look him in the eye—I get the first slap.”

Raven snorted. “Deal.”

I kissed her one last time, then grabbed my gear. Because the time for hiding was over.

Anthony Vale thought he had buried her.

But she survived.

Now we bring the storm.

38

Oliver

Santorini, Greece

The sun was setting behind the white-washed buildings and cobalt roofs as our boat eased into the private marina. Santorini was paradise to most tourists. To us, it was a hunting ground.

Cyclone adjusted his earpiece beside me, scanning the perimeter. “No visual on the target yet. But Vale’s people are everywhere. Armed, but dressed like resort staff.”

Raven checked his watch. “Thirty minutes until his security briefing. Our contact says it’s being held in a private villa above the cliffs. Isolated. One entrance. One exit.”

I tightened the strap on my gear bag. “Perfect.”

We disembarked like rich vacationers. Loose shirts, sunglasses, and forged identities. But under the charm was steel. Each of us carried hidden weapons, encrypted communication, and something more dangerous than all that combined—focus.

Because this wasn’t just a mission.

This was personal.

“Raven,” I said as we moved through the winding alleys, “when this is done, I’m going to dance with my wife under the stars with nothing to worry about but her toes stepping on mine.”

He grinned. “Hell of a reward. I want that too. Except with Beatrice—and maybe without the dancing.”

Cyclone muttered, “I just want to survive. Or Jude will kill all of us.” We all nodded, Jude had a temper, and she could kill at the blink of an eye. Plus she’s been acting strange all week.”

We reached the rendezvous point—a cliffside chapel with a narrow view of the villa’s rear gate. Inside, Vale’s men were pouring drinks and checking weapons. We were outnumbered, but not outmatched.

“You get the sense Vale’s expecting company?” Raven asked.

“Maybe,” I said, eyes narrowing. “But not us.”

My communication radio crackled.

“Steele?” It was Emery.

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