The road into Geneva glowed under the pale wash of streetlights. Snow fell in soft, restless flurries that clung to the windshield as we drove through the quiet outskirts. The city looked untouched by the chaos we had left behind, its calmness almost mocking. Beneath it, I knew the same network of greed and betrayal still pulsed.
Adrian’s hands were steady on the wheel, his eyes sharp and alert. The tension in the air was thick enough to taste. Every time a car appeared behind us, his gaze flicked to the mirror, muscles tightening as if expecting another ambush.
Charlotte Graves. The name hung between us like a fragile thread. If she was alive and truly ready to talk, she could expose everything. But if she was bait, we were driving straight into the jaws of the trap.
I broke the silenc
