Leah's POV
The sun dipped behind the jagged hills as their sleek black van pulled into Avelaine Resort — an exclusive estate sprawling over private beaches and hidden coves, rumored to be a cover for Markov's darker trades.
From the outside, it was paradise. Inside, Leah knew it was a snake's den.
Their check-in went smooth. New names, new faces.
"Alright," Leah murmured as they assembled in her suite later that evening. "This place isn't just for show. It's one of Markov's private strongholds. Stay sharp."
She tossed room keys to each pair.
"Kessa and Chris — east wing, surveillance ready."
"David and Elara — north wing, near the loading docks."
"Stefan, you're with me," she added casually. "West side, close to the private lounges."
Stefan, trying to stay professional, nodded a bit too quickly.
Leah barely noticed — her mind razor-focused.
"We hit the bar tonight. Blend in. Remember, couples only. Keep your comms open."
They disguised quickly — chic, elegant, just another flock of rich, beautiful tourists.
The bar shimmered under crystal chandeliers, jazz music curling through the smoky air. Couples danced lazily, glasses clinking, laughter soft but strained — a hollow luxury.
They split up — drifting to different corners as planned.
Leah leaned close to Stefan and whispered, "I'm heading to the restroom. Cover me."
He gave a slight nod, pretending to sip his drink.
Moving swiftly, Leah slipped past the gleaming dance floor. On the way, her sharp eyes caught something — a flash of movement, a familiar face tucked behind a potted palm.
Her blood froze.
Markov's men.
Three of them — burly, out of place, not even trying to hide their wary glances.
Leah ducked behind a column, tapping her earpiece once.
"Target sighted. Near Lounge A. All units prepare. We go loud on my signal."
The team clicked back quiet affirmatives.
Leah moved first.
In one fluid motion, she yanked a hidden blade from her heel and took out the first guard, knocking him out cold behind the curtain.
A second man lunged — David and Chris intercepted, blending out of the crowd like sharks in the water. Kessa disarmed another with a wicked twist of her wrist, Elara taking his comm device for intel.
The fight was fast, silent, brutal.
Within minutes, the bodies were hidden — unconscious, alive.
Leah pulled a waiter's jacket from a storage closet and shrugged into it quickly. A tray of wine glasses in hand, she melted into the service staff and headed toward the restricted upper rooms where the real deals happened.
The air grew thicker — the scent of cigars and expensive whiskey clawing at her senses.
Inside, the lounge was chaos wrapped in silk.
Laughter. Girls draped over laps. Drugs and guns casually placed on tables. The rotting underbelly of luxury.
Her eyes flicked over the room, landing on her target: Anton Savik — Markov's right-hand man — seated at the center like a bloated king.
As she moved carefully across the room, balancing her tray, crude whistles and catcalls followed her.
"Well, well, fresh meat," one man sneered, reaching for her.
Leah's body tensed, but she kept her facade — helpless, intimidated.
Before the man's hand could graze her, a cold voice sliced through the room:
"Enough."
Markov.
He lounged lazily in a dark armchair, swirling a glass of brandy.
"We need to get down to business," his right man said sensing his boss mood"Dismiss her."
Reluctantly, the man dropped back into his seat. Leah turned, bowing slightly as a good servant would — mask still in place.
Leah kept her head bowed, her steps steady, heading for the door.
She had almost reached the door...
Almost—
When a firm voice caught her .
Markov tilting his head said "wait"
Just as Leah turned around — instincts flaring —
The doors behind her opened and she felt a strong presence behind her before she could move and look back.
A sudden shadow fell over her.
Before she could react, a hand slipped around her waist — firm, confident — and a warm breath ghosted over the curve of her neck.
A low voice, sinful and smooth, whispered against her skin:
"Miss me, little fox?"
Leah stiffened, her heart slamming against her ribs.
Daniel.
She turned her face slightly, catching a glimpse of him — devilishly composed, a dark glint in his eyes, every inch the predator playing with his prey.
Dressed in a tailored black suit that made him look wickedly untouchable.
Before she could even form a response, he slid his hand up her spine casually — almost possessively — and looked straight across the room, his gaze locking onto Markov.
A slow, dangerous smirk curved his lips.
"Surprise," Daniel said, voice rich with hidden venom.
The room's atmosphere shifted instantly.
Markov, lounging only moments ago, sat up straighter — his fingers tightening subtly on the armrest of his chair.
Tension cracked through the smoky air like a live wire.
The real game had just begun.