Page 112 of Inked Athena

I’ve been sitting on this intel for weeks, telling myself there was time. That I could afford to play the long game while Nova settled into the castle, while we built something real here. Something worth protecting.

But Ilya’s new patience changes everything. The brother I knew would have stormed the castle gates by now, guns blazing. This calculated ghost routine? That’s pure Katerina. She’s finally managed to leash his rage and aim it in the right direction.

And I won’t stand to have guns pointed at my family.

I just told Myles not to unleash the wolves, but…

Change of fucking plans.

I pull up the command chat and type out a message to the inner circle:Execute Option Red. No witnesses.

Twelve of my best are already in position around that Geneva hotel. They’ve been there for days, waiting for my word. Within moments of my text being sent, I watch their body cam feeds flicker to life on my monitors, checking weapons, moving into formation.

In a few short minutes, Katerina will be dead.

I take a seat at my operations center. Through a dozen live camera feeds, I watch my men creep through Katerina’s hotel like black-clad ghosts. Their night vision equipment bathes everything in an otherworldly green glow.

Empty bathtub. Abandoned bedframe, no mattress. Dust motes dancing in flashlight beams.

Too empty.

Too clean.

My fingers drum against the mahogany desk as I toggle between views. Something’s off. Katerina’s precise, methodical—a shark in stilettos—but this level of pristine organization isn’t her style. She enjoys leaving a trail of breadcrumbs, little fuck-you souvenirs designed to get under my skin.

“West corridor clear,” Anatoly murmurs through my earpiece.

“En-suite bathroom clear,” adds Igor.

I lean closer to the monitors, scanning for any hint of movement. The place should be crawling with signs of my ex-wife’s presence.

Instead, there’s nothing but shadows and silence.

“Sir.” Alexei’s voice crackles. “You need to see this.”

His body cam swings toward a wall. At first glance, it appears blank. But as he moves closer, I spot faint marks in the concrete. Letters carved with painstaking precision:

TICK TOCK

Below the message is today’s date. And beneath that, lying forlornly on the carpet…

… is the ring I gave her on the day we were married.

“Pull out,” I order, my voice deadly calm even as my heartbeat pounds like fucking thunder in my temples. “Now. FuckingNOW!”

My men don’t hesitate. They know that tone.

As their feeds show them retreating toward the exit points, my mind races. Katerina’s letting me know she’s always one step ahead. That ring—it’s not meant for me. It’s meant for Nova.

My queen.

My weakness.

I reach for my phone to call Myles, but before I can dial, all twelve camera feeds suddenly go black. The audio channel lives one moment longer—long enough to hear an earsplittingboom,laced with the sounds of my best men dying.

My phone erupts. Alerts from my teams in Chicago, Moscow, Dubai—all hitting simultaneously.

Not random. Not coincidence.

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