VIKTOR KUZNETSOV'S POV;
Analia Torres arrived in Montmartre from Moscow in under five hours, whisked here on one of the family’s private jets without so much as a blink of hesitation. Alaric, our uncle, had died in her arms, taking a bullet meant for her. But as I found her outside "CASA DEL PECADO"—the notorious hidden club owned by Eric Vaughn, a ruthless human trafficker—she may as well have been meeting me for a drink.
Leaning against the wall, the club loomed behind her like an abandoned complex on this dead street, the perfect disguise for Eric Vaughn’s den of horrors. I spotted her immediately, half-hidden in shadow, leaning against the wall as she took a slow drag from her spliff. Her hair, normally bright as the sun, was dyed jet black, blending her into the night. Only her ey
