Hayden stood on the rooftop of a luxury hotel in Rome, the wind biting at the collar of his coat, watching the stars vanish behind a curtain of smoke. The city glowed below him, restless and unaware. Beside him, a man screamed.
He was one of Alexander Nicholas's former advisors. Hayden had found him trying to flee the country with cash and forged papers.
"Last chance," Hayden said coldly. "Where is the backup drive?"
The man coughed blood. "I told you... I don't have it."
Hayden signaled to Luca, his lieutenant, who stepped forward with pliers.
"Wait, wait!" the man screamed. "In Paris! Montreuil. Inside a church wall."
Hayden nodded. "Good."
He turned, walking away as Luca silenced the man with a clean bullet. There was no time for mercy. Not now.
---
Back in the penthouse, Ana was waiting. She wore one of Hayden's black dress shirts, sleeves rolled up, legs curled under her on the couch. She looked out of place and powerful all at once.
"You're late," she said.
"Business."
"You mean torture and murder."
He smirked. "Is that judgment I hear?"
"No," she replied. "Just curiosity."
He poured himself a drink, then sat beside her. "You're still here."
"Should I be gone?"
"You should be terrified."
She reached for his drink, took a sip, then looked him dead in the eyes. "I am. But I want the fear to mean something."
Hayden studied her. "And what does it mean now?"
"It means I'm in," she said. "Whatever comes next, I'm not hiding. Not from you. Not from my father."
A silence stretched between them. Then Hayden leaned forward, brushing his lips against hers.
"This is war, Ana."
"Good," she whispered. "Then teach me how to fight."