Chapter 31
The freezing winds of the Swiss Alps howled against the reinforced, bulletproof glass of the cliffside chalet, but inside, the atmosphere was a suffocating inferno of high-stakes tension. Three years had passed since the night Graham Hart had pushed his daughter into the ornamental fountain, three years since Silas Vance had claimed her in front of Chicago’s elite. The girl in the soaked pale green dress was dead. In her place stood Clara Vance, a queen forged in the crucible of a relentless, bloody syndicate war.
Clara stood by the massive window, overlooking the jagged, snow-capped peaks of Geneva. She wore a tailored crimson pantsuit that flared perfectly over her black stiletto heels. The emerald-cut diamond on her left hand caught the dim light of the roaring fireplace. She was no longer a civilian; she was the co-architect of the Vance empire.
Silas stood behind her, his large hands resting possessively on her waist. He wore a dark, fitted turtleneck and black tactical trousers, a stark departure from his usual bespoke suits. The last three years had hardened him, sharpening his already lethal edges. The shadow war initiated by the mysterious caller on their wedding night had taken a heavy toll, but it had only made their bond entirely unbreakable.
"Thorne is inside the bank," Silas murmured, his voice a low, vibrating hum against her neck. "My scouts just confirmed his convoy breached the underground garage of the Zurich Federal Depository."
"Alexander Thorne," Clara whispered the name like a curse. The man who had orchestrated the hit on the Rossi family, who had baited Silas into exposing their marriage, and who had spent the last thirty-six months systematically attempting to dismantle their global shipping routes. "He thinks he's securing the master ledgers from the European coalition. He thinks he’s checkmated us."
"Let him think that," Silas said, pressing a kiss to the curve of her shoulder. "Pride is the loudest sound before the fall. Are your cyber-teams in position?"
"They have been embedded in the bank's mainframe for six hours," Clara turned in his arms, looking up into his storm-gray eyes. "When Thorne opens that vault, he isn't going to find the bearer bonds or the routing numbers. He's going to find a digital void."
Silas smiled, a dark, predatory expression that still sent a thrill of electricity down Clara's spine. "And when he realizes the vault is empty, he will panic. He will try to flee through the service tunnels."
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"Which is exactly where we will be waiting," Clara finished, her brown eyes burning with a cold, absolute resolve. "It's time to cut off the head of the snake, Silas. I am tired of looking over my shoulder."
"Tonight, we end it," Silas promised, drawing his suppressed pistol and checking the chamber. "Let's go hunting."
