The address Morozov's people sent was a private club in the south quarter of the city… the kind of place that didn't have a sign outside and didn't need one… the kind of place that said, without saying anything: we chose this, which means you came to us.
Nico had noted that without comment when Luca handed him the location that morning. He'd simply told Mara to wear something dark and be ready by eight.
The car ride was quiet. It wasn't the tense, heavy silence of their worst nights, but that of two people thinking through the same problem from different angles. Luca drove, and two other cars followed at a distance.
"Morozov won't be there himself," Nico said, without looking up from his phone. "He'll send Petyr. His head of external relations."
"Which means?"
