Page 67 of Hero Worship

The gunshot became a signal. The main entrance erupted with chaos as paparazzi flooded in, their camera flashes strobing like artillery fire. Viktor hadn't just fought his way in, he'd orchestrated a breach on both fronts. The reporters who'd been stalking Roche's parties for months had finally gotten their chance, courtesy of anonymous tips and disabled security systems. Each photographer proved as ruthless as any mercenary, shoving past overwhelmed guards to capture Paris's elite in various states of debauchery.

"Get them out!" Roche's voice cracked with real fear as their security team's attention split between the bleeding man on their floor and the media invasion. "Secure all exits! No photos!"

It was a brilliant distraction play, I had to admit. Viktor might have failed to extract his son, but he'd succeeded in something possibly more damaging, destroying the secrecy Roche's operation depended on. Every flash of those cameras stripped away another layer of Roche's carefully maintained façade.

The salon erupted into chaos. Half-dressed socialites scrambled for cover while guards tried to contain the press.In the confusion, Roche's security whisked them toward some hidden exit. I caught a glimpse of Misha being dragged away as well, his blood-soaked couture leaving crimson trails across marble floors.

Ash materialized at my side, his hand finding mine with deadly precision. "Time to go," he growled, already guiding us toward one of Xavier's mapped escape routes.

We slipped out through the kitchen as the sounds of chaos echoed behind us. Camera flashes still strobed through windows while sirens wailed in the distance. Our mission had failed spectacularly, but at least our cover remained intact. Small comfort, knowing Roche would likely accelerate their plans now. The next time we saw Misha, he might already be part of Roche's permanent collection.

"Xavier's not going to be happy," I muttered as we emerged into the cool night air. The ceramic blade in my hair felt useless now, all our careful preparation wasted.

"We'll find another way in." Ash's voice held deadly promise as he helped me into the waiting car. "Before Roche can finish whatever they're planning."

But we both knew time was running out. The race to save Misha had just become a sprint, and we were already behind.

Viktor's blood was stillfresh when we reached the Ritz. The copper scent clung to my clothes, mixing with lingering traces of champagne and gunpowder. Every breath reminded me of our failure. Of how spectacularly wrong everything had gone.

The moment our key card clicked in the suite's lock, I knew something was wrong. I reached instinctively for the small of my back where my gun rested, my knee protesting the sudden movement with a sharp jab of pain that I forced myself to ignore. The scent hit me first. Expensive cologne layered over Turkish cigarettes. The subtle displacement of air from recently openedbalcony doors. Two decades of tactical experience screamed danger before I fully processed why.

My hand found Xander's lower back, a gesture that looked possessive but was really about positioning them behind my body. We'd trained for this. Countless hours spent choreographing how to handle threats while maintaining our cover. But all our careful preparation hadn't accounted for the scene that greeted us.

"Cousin." Nikolai's voice carried across the suite with lethal precision. "I believe we have some things to discuss."

He sat in one of the plush armchairs like it was a throne, elegant in his tailored suit. The scene on the sofa made my blood run cold. Xavier sat with perfect stillness, expression blank as one of Nikolai's men pressed a gun to his temple. The careful way he held himself spoke of someone who understood exactly how much pressure it would take to pull that trigger.

My mind cataloged details automatically. Three visible hostiles, probably more in the adjoining rooms. The guard with the gun was a professional, judging by his stance. Two easily accessible exit routes, both likely covered. A half-empty bottle of cognac sat beside Nikolai, suggesting he'd been waiting at least an hour. Long enough to thoroughly examine the mission files scattered across the coffee table.

"Close the door," Nikolai said pleasantly, lighting another cigarette with practiced grace. Not a request. A command backed by decades of making people disappear.

I complied, mind already mapping angles of attack, escape routes, probable response times if this went sideways. My fingers brushed Xander's back as I moved. A promise that whatever happened, he wasn't facing it alone.

"You know," Nikolai mused, smoke curling around him like a serpent, "I had such high hopes for tonight. Such expectations. Imagine my disappointment when I turn on thenews to see Viktor Vasiliev bleeding out on marble floors while photographers capture every detail."

He gestured to the TV mounted on the wall where breaking news footage played on mute. The cameras had caught everything. Viktor's desperate lunge toward his son. The spray of arterial blood painting Roche's pristine walls. The way Misha had crumpled, father's blood soaking into designer silk.

"The mission parameters were clear," Nikolai continued, voice precise as a scalpel. "Clean. Professional. No publicity." His smile never reached his eyes. "Instead, I have Paris's elite fleeing a sex party in various states of undress while my cousin plays target practice in the foyer."

"The situation evolved rapidly," I said, keeping my voice steady. Professional. "Multiple unknown players altered the timeline."

"Unknown players?" Nikolai's laugh held no humor. "Like my other little cousin here? The one who was supposed to be safely in Ohio instead of running surveillance on the perimeter?"

Xavier hadn't moved a muscle, hadn't even seemed to register the gun pressed to his temple. His eyes stayed fixed on his laptop screen, where lines of code scrolled past. As if the weapon was merely an inconvenience interrupting his work.

"I was running backup," Xavier said. "Since your team clearly couldn't handle basic network security."

The guard pressed his gun harder against Xavier's temple. A warning. But Xavier seemed utterly unfazed. The similarity to my own interrogation techniques was unnerving. The way he projected calm while analyzing every tell.

"Backup." Nikolai savored the word like fine wine. "Is that what we're calling it when you hijack our communication channels? Redirect our surveillance feeds? Access systems that took months to infiltrate?"

Xavier narrowed his eyes. "Your teams were monitoring the wrong access points. Focusing on physical security while leaving digital vulnerabilities exposed. If I hadn't rerouted those feeds when Viktor showed up..."

"We'd have had warning," Nikolai cut in. "Could have contained the situation before it became an international incident."

"No." Xavier's voice was flat. "You would’ve had to wait for the news to play their footage to watch him die instead of when it happened. The outcome was inevitable the moment he entered that building."

I felt Xander tense beside me, grief and guilt warring in his expression. His hand found mine, fingers interlacing with desperate strength. The gesture wasn't part of our cover anymore. This was a pure need for connection.

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