Page 87 of Ruthless

"Once the ceremony ends, you'll have ten minutes for condolences," I explained, my finger tracing our path on the map. "Lo stays with you. I'll be watching from a distance. Then we move to extraction. If Prometheus is there, I'll try to plant one of the tracking devices."

"No confrontation," I emphasized, making sure Vincent understood. "The priority is getting you in and out safely."

"What happens if all the extraction points are compromised?" Vincent asked.

"Then we move to Plan D," Lo said cheerfully. "Which is where I get to stab people."

"No stabbing civilians," I ordered firmly. "The goal is to get in and out without attention."

"Don't be such a killjoy. Remember Prague? You said the same thing, and then you were the one who ended up using a cocktail umbrella to sever that guy's carotid artery." He winked at Vincent. "That's when I knew we'd be friends for life." Lo distributed tiny earpieces. "These have a range of up to two miles. If you get any further away than that, you'll be on your own."

Vincent accepted the earpiece, turning it between his fingers with a mixture of fascination and dread evident in his expression.

"Vincent will be wearing body armor," I announced.

Vincent blinked, surprised. "Is that necessary? Won't it be obvious?"

"Not with this suit," Lo explained, patting the garment bag. "Looks completely normal, but has strategic reinforcement in vital areas. Notas good as full tactical gear, but better than nothing. You'll be the best-dressed target at the funeral."

I watched Vincent's face carefully as the casual way Lo said "target" registered. A flicker of fear crossed his features before he masked it with the same composed expression he'd worn when I first saw him through my scope weeks ago. He was adapting to this world of violence and death, but it still caught him off-guard sometimes. Good. I never wanted him to become too comfortable with this reality.

"You okay, Vince?" I asked quietly.

"Just... processing," he admitted. "This feels so surreal."

I nodded, understanding. "First time's always weird. You get used to it."

Vincent's mouth quirked. "I missed the career day presentation on 'how to enjoy people trying to murder you.' Must have been right after the seminar on dating assassins."

His dry humor surprised a laugh out of me. This man continued to defy expectations.

"Vincent, with me," Lo declared, clapping his hands together. "You need to try on your funeral attire."

While Vincent was getting fitted, I checked my watch. One hour before we'd need to leave. One hour to prepare for walking into a trap designed by the man who'd trained me for over two decades. One hour before I might come face to face with Prometheus again.

My stomach twisted at the thought. How would I react to seeing him after what I'd finally admitted to Vincent? Would Prometheus see the change in me? Would he know that I'd finally recognized what he'd done to me in Milan wasn't training or affection but assault? The thought of those cold, calculating eyes on me again made my skin crawl.

And yet... part of me desperately wanted to see him. To plant one of those trackers on him or his vehicle. To finally turn the tables and make the hunter become the hunted.

The quiet of the bedroom offered relief after the tension-filled planning session. My mind ran through contingency plans, mapping sight lines, calculating response times. Prometheus had trained me for decades. He'd anticipate my standard tactics. I needed to be unpredictable while still protecting Vincent.

I pulled out my secondary weapons cache from beneath the bed. These weren't my usual tools; these were contingencies for scenarios I'd never shared with anyone. Prometheus taught me to always have a plan no one else knew about. Now I'd use that lesson against him.

I secured my modified Glock 19 with suppressor in my shoulder holster and added throwing knives in specialized sheaths at my ankle, wrist, and belt. The routine flowed like meditation, each item triggering muscle memory and confidence.

A strange lightness filled me today, as if something poisonous had drained from my system. Eighteen years of carrying that shame, of not even having the words to understand what had happened to me. Vincent gave me that. Not just the safety to fall apart, but the framework to understand it wasn't my fault. That what Prometheus did wasn't training or initiation. It was assault.

After years of thinking I was broken because I couldn't enjoy Prometheus's affection, I finally understood that my instincts were right all along. My body knew what my mind couldn't admit. And now that I'd finally said it out loud, admitted what he'd done to me, something shifted inside me. Lighter. I could finally breathe properly for the first time in decades.

Now, my weapons became armor, steel resolve replacing the confusion and shame. When I faced Prometheus again—and I would face him—it would be as an equal, not as his weapon or his creation.

I thought briefly of Jasper, the man Diego and Lo had introduced us to at the airfield. Jasper might or might not be the disgraced former director Hephaestus, but he had warned us about someone above even Prometheus. His warning had seemed far-fetched then, but now I was less certain. How deep did this conspiracy go?

When Vincent returned to the main room, I looked up from my weapons check. My breath caught at the sight of him in that perfectly tailored Armani suit. He looked composed, professional, nothing like the man who had fallen apart under my hands last night. The armor beneath the suit disappeared completely, but knowing he had that layer of protection eased the tightness in my chest.

My eyes widened, darkening as they traveled from his shoulders down the fitted suit. I swallowed hard, hands stilling on the disassembled rifle component I'd been cleaning. "Damn. That looks good on you." My voice dropped to a dangerous growl. "Almost makes me want to skip the funeral and tear it off you."

A flush spreading across his cheeks. I could practically see his pulse quickening beneath the elegant line of his throat, his body responding to my words despite his careful professional demeanor.

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