Walking into a trap you know is already set requires a very specific kind of discipline.
They moved Dr. Silva at dawn. There was no grand convoy, no heavily armoured Ferrante SUVs to draw attention. The terrified physician was placed in the back of a nondescript, reinforced sedan with blacked-out windows, flanked by four of Nico's ghosts who looked like ordinary businessmen but carried enough firepower to level a city block.
Silva was to be kept entirely out of sight, circling the blocks surrounding the Council building until the exact moment he was needed.
Inside the lead Ferrante SUV, the atmosphere between Nico and Mara was coiled so tight the air in the cabin felt thin.
Mara was dressed in the absolute, unyielding armour of the Regent. A razor-sharp black blazer, a blood-red silk blouse buttoned to the collarbone, and her dark hair pulled back into a severe, flawless twist. There was no trace of the woman who had laughed on the sailboat yesterday. She was pure, cold strategy.
