The black sedan sped down the Parisian streets, weaving between traffic as Liam tightened his grip on the steering wheel. The city lights blurred into streaks of gold and blue as they raced toward the Presidential residence.
In the passenger seat, Mia’s hands were clenched into fists, her mind racing through Viktor’s game. A political assassination. Viktor wouldn’t make a move this bold unless he was certain he could control the fallout.
Dain sat in the back seat, his expression hollow. His shirt was rumpled, a thin sheen of sweat lining his brow. He was still catching his breath from the gala.
“If this is a setup,” Liam growled, “you’re going to wish I handed you to Viktor.”
Dain’s voice was low. “It’s not.”
Mia’s gaze sharpened. “Start talking.”
Dain’s eyes darkened. “Viktor’s been
