The Falco cut through the Ionian with the speed of a guided missile, the salt spray obscuring the windows of the tactical room. The entire operation was in motion—Domenico’s air assets were positioned high, Viktor’s assault team was ready on the neighboring interceptor, and I was counting the final minutes until the collision.
I sat at the main table, my hands resting on the cold steel, analyzing the three-dimensional map that tracked the San Vittore. My focus should have been on the breach pattern, but the internal security failure, the betrayal, was a sickness I could not enter the final battle carrying. I needed to cut out the rot.
Alexander appeared at my shoulder, holding a data pad with a quiet intensity that always signaled a successful, albeit disturbing, discovery. He hadn't sle
