Page 138 of Ruthless

I'd heard whispers about the Judas Coins—thirty pieces of silver with impossible power over ferrymen. The actual coins paid for history's most famous betrayal, now scattered throughout the world. They were legends told in hushed tones between missions, stories most dismissed as folklore. Even I had thought them merely cautionary tales designed to keep assets in line.

"I don't want it," I said, closing the box.

"It's not optional." Something flickered in Rhadamanthys's eyes—warning, perhaps. "The coin remains with the director. How you keep it is your choice, but keep it you must."

"Has it ever been used?" I asked carefully.

Rhadamanthys adjusted his bolo tie. "Not in living memory." He paused, studying me. "But that doesn't mean it couldn't be."

The warning was clear, though its meaning remained opaque. I took the coin from its velvet nest, the silver shockingly heavy, radiating warmth that defied the office's chill.

"Keep it close," Rhadamanthys advised, already turning to leave. "And Director Aleksandar? I wouldn't mention it to anyone, not even those you trust most."

After he left, I examined the coin more carefully. The silver gleamed dully under the office lights, the worn face seeming to watch me with ancient, knowing eyes. I slipped it into my pocket, its weight strangely comforting against my thigh.

I returned to supervising the final touches on my office. The contractors finished installing the desk, mounted the last monitor, and organized the cables into invisible paths behind specially designed panels. Sleek lines and cold efficiency replaced Prometheus's mausoleum aesthetic. No more mahogany shadows to hide predatory intentions, no more leather that creaked like old bones when you sat. Just glass, metal, and light that exposed every secret, every movement.

"Will there be anything else, director?" the lead contractor asked, wiping his hands on his coveralls.

"That's everything for now." I surveyed the space, satisfied with the transformation. "Thank you."

They packed their tools and left, leaving me alone in my new domain. I moved behind the desk, testing the chair. The multiplescreens flickered to life at my touch, displaying various sectors of the Acropolis, security feeds, and incoming intelligence reports.

From this desk, I'd paint a target on my back that every ferryman from Miami to Montreal could see. The old guard wouldn't surrender their precious traditions without bloodshed.

The door opened without a knock, and I looked up, ready to reprimand whoever had entered until I spotted Vincent standing in the doorway.

My irritation evaporated instantly, replaced by a surge of heat. He looked devastating in a charcoal suit that hugged his frame perfectly.

"Director Aleksandar," he said, my new title playful on his lips as he closed the door behind him. His eyes traveled over my formal attire, lingering on the tie. "I don't think I've ever seen you in a tie before."

"Hate the fucking thing," I admitted, tugging at it irritably. "Apparently it's part of the uniform."

Vincent crossed the room slowly, taking in the transformed space. "This is... not what I expected."

"Too modern?"

"Too perfect." His smile widened as he approached the desk. "This is exactly you—efficient, precise, nothing wasted." His fingers trailed along the edge of my desk. "I like it."

"First day and already swamped," I said, nodding toward the screens. "Handler interviews start tomorrow. Need to figure out who's loyal to the organization versus who was loyal to Prometheus. Unpleasant but necessary."

"The foundation of meaningful change," Vincent noted. "Speaking of which, I toured the space they're setting up for my new practice. Seems the Pantheon is taking the mental health initiative seriously."

"They'd better," I replied. "Conditioning review for all active assets was my first official order as director. You'll have a waiting list a mile long by next week."

Vincent smiled. "From trauma therapist to therapist for traumatized assassins. Not exactly the career path I imagined."

"Having second thoughts?"

"Not a single one," he assured me, leaning against my desk. "I finished referring my former patients to colleagues yesterday. Clean break. My focus is here now."

"Any of them give you trouble about terminating?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle," he said, a flicker of sadness crossing his features before he straightened his shoulders. "Professional transitions happen. They'll be fine."

"Speaking of transitions," I said, gesturing to the screens monitoring various sectors of the Acropolis, "word travels fast around here. Caught three different operatives talking about me in the corridors earlier."

"Saying what?"

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