Vladimir Pov
The remnants of the pier battle were being sanitized. The smoke had cleared, but the metallic tang of blood and brine still hung heavy in the air. Damon Salvatore was sedated, awaiting transfer to an ultra-secure black site. Marco, the Italian lieutenant, was conscious, strapped to a chair in a makeshift interrogation room, a necessary evil.
I stood apart, alone in the silence that followed the s*******r. Marco had already given up the location of the bunker: a decommissioned military complex near Preveza, Greece. I had the target. But I needed a moment of absolute clarity before the final strike.
Viktor found me there, leaning against a cold concrete pillar, staring at the gray line where the sea met the sky. Viktor, who had been tasked with the impossible job of securing
