The meeting was set in a secure villa overlooking the Adriatic in Dubrovnik—a place of sun, light, and history that felt profoundly corrupted by the darkness we brought to it. I chose the location for its stark contrast to the Russian winter, and for its easy proximity to the Italian coast where the hunt would begin.
I stood by the window, not admiring the view, but watching the three black armored cars wind their way up the hillside road. Behind me, the silence of the room was surgical, enforced by the armed men stationed at every doorway.
Ivan approached cautiously, his movements stiff. “Vova, the Romano brothers are ten minutes out. Domenico, Rocco, and Enzo. No bodyguards are allowed past the outer gate, they understood the instruction.”
“They understood the instruction because they
