They work swiftly, dragging the two unconscious men toward the back exit with the efficiency of a well polished routine.

I glance down at the bar where one of the men’s heads made contact. A faint smear of blood mars the polished surface. The bartender is already moving to clean it up, his expression calm and detached.

“Send the bodies back to Lombardi,” I instruct Igor. “Make sure he knows who did this.”

“Of course, sir,” he replies smoothly, heading for the same door as the staff.

“Wait,” I say and he skids to a halt, turning back to face me.

“Sir?”

“Tell Vladimir to find Veronica somewhere safer than this or I’ll have his head.”

“At once.”

I roll my shoulders, exhale, and adjust my cuffs, ensuring I’m presentable before making my way back to Elena.

She’s still seated where I left her, her posture as composed as it can be under the circumstances. But when her eyes meet mine, I see the tension in her gaze. The faint tremble in her fingers as she lifts her glass.

“Let’s go,” I say, my voice steady, the command clear. “There could be more.”

She doesn’t hesitate, sliding off the stool and stepping toward me. Her fingers brush mine as I take her hand. It’s warm, soft, and trembling slightly. I grip it firmly, a silent reassurance.

“What about Veronica?” she asks, her voice low but urgent.

I nod, steering her toward the back exit of the bar. “She’s safe. I’ve made arrangements.”

“And I’m just supposed to trust you?”

The hallway is dim, quiet, and empty, just as I prefer it. My hand on Elena’s back, I guide her toward the rear of the hotel. Vladimir appears at the end of the corridor, his posture sharp and composed as always.

“Veronica?” I ask.

“She’ll be on the move in three minutes,” he replies. “I must apologize, Dmitri, for this appalling breach of our rules.” He holds out a car key. “A gesture of apology. The Bentley in bay seventeen.”

I take the key. “Forward our things to the address I’ll send you. Keep my car here.”

Vladimir nods. “Of course.”

We shake hands, a quick exchange of respect before I turn my attention back to Elena. Her eyes dart between me andVladimir, tension written across her face. I don’t give her time to ask questions.

“This way,” I say, urging her forward.

The service exit leads to the alley behind the hotel. The night air is cold, sharp, biting against my skin as I scan the surroundings.

Four figures linger near the parking lot entrance, talking in low voices. They look dressed for a bachelor party, loud shirts, too much aftershave. It’s a front. They’re here for us.

Elena opens her mouth to speak, but I shake my head, pressing a finger to her lips. Her eyes widen slightly, but she nods.

I scan the area again, my mind calculating the quickest and safest route. The men are too close to the Bentley. A direct approach isn’t an option. I need a distraction.

Spotting a nearby sedan, I pull a penknife from my pocket, crouch low, and approach the car.

The blade is small but sharp enough to get the job done. I jam it into the door’s keyhole, twisting until the alarm erupts in a blaring, ear-splitting wail.

The men whip their heads toward the noise, their attention diverted as they move toward the source.

I don’t waste a second, gripping Elena’s hand tightly as I lead her in a low crouch around the edge of the lot.