Nikolai POV
There are two ways to arrive somewhere: the Sokolov way and the Moretti way.
The Sokolov convoy pulled up at exactly nine o’clock, three black SUVs gliding through the gates in perfect formation, stopping beneath the grand entrance of the Moretti estate. The engines shut off in unison, every detail rehearsed and precise.
Security emerged first, scanning the area with practiced eyes. Then Viktor stepped out, adjusting the cuffs of his navy overcoat with trademark discipline. I followed, taking in the house and the scene before us.
Everything about our arrival was predictable, controlled, almost military in its efficiency.
But the Moretti house was already alive. The large windows were open despite the crisp autumn air. Even from outside, I could hear laughter drifting thro
