The library doors slam shut, cutting off the noise of the frantic security preparations outside. But the silence in the room isn't peaceful. It’s vibrating with Stavros’s rage.
He paces the length of the Persian rug, his hands balling into fists at his sides. He looks like a caged tiger—lethal, restless, and ready to tear something apart.
"Yiannis is dead," he snarls, not looking at me. "I don't care about the debt. I don't care about the Russians. I'm taking a team to the Vasilakis compound tonight."
"That's exactly what he wants," I say from the doorway. "He wants you angry. He wants you reckless."
Stavros spins around. "He threatened to cut you into pieces, Alina! Do you expect me to sit here and look at maps?"
"I expect you to be smart," I counter, walking toward him. "I just prov
