Adrian realized they had a leak the moment Roman stopped answering secure channels.

Not delayed responses.

Not operational silence.

Dead silence.

Which was worse.

The rain finally stopped sometime after midnight, leaving Manhattan slick and reflective beneath cold streetlights. From the rooftop parking structure across from Pier 17, Adrian watched black SUVs move slowly around the docks below while harbor fog drifted through the East River like smoke.

Too many vehicles.

Too much movement.

Luca was relocating something.

Fast.

His encrypted phone vibrated once inside his coat.

Unknown number.

Adrian answered immediately but kept his voice low.

“Talk.”

Static crackled softly before Roman’s voice finally emerged.

“We have a problem.”

Adrian’s jaw tightened instantly. “Define problem.”

“The FBI financial unit got compromised.”

Cold settled sharply through his chest.

“How bad?”

“Somebody accessed the internal ledger archive two hours ago.”

Adrian looked down toward the docks below.

Containers were already moving.

Jesus Christ.

“Who knows?” he asked quietly.

“We don’t yet.”

“That means Luca knows.”

“Maybe.”

“No,” Adrian corrected sharply. “Not maybe.”

Because Luca didn’t move shipments personally unless he smelled betrayal nearby.

And tonight the docks looked like a city preparing for war.

Roman exhaled heavily through the line. “You need to retrieve the secondary ledger before they do.”

Adrian’s expression hardened immediately.

“No.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Adrian—”

“If Luca already suspects internal leaks, the archive will be guarded.”

“It contains everything.”

Roman’s voice sharpened now.

“Trafficking routes. Offshore accounts. Politicians. Missing women. Every financial transfer tied to the organization over eight years.”

Adrian closed his eyes briefly.

He knew exactly what sat inside that ledger.

Because he helped build parts of the operation tracking it.

One ledger.

Enough evidence to bury half the East Coast.

And if Luca found it first—

everyone connected to the investigation died.

Including Valentina.

“When?” Adrian asked quietly.

“Tonight.”

Of course.

Everything always became tonight eventually.

The line disconnected moments later.

Adrian stared down at the moving convoy below while exhaustion dragged heavily through his bones.

He needed to disappear for several hours.

Needed to retrieve the ledger.

Needed to lie to Valentina again.

The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He crushed another cigarette beneath his boot and headed toward the SUV.

Forty minutes later, he entered the Moretti financial building through a maintenance entrance beneath the Lower East Side.

The office tower looked dark from the outside, but Adrian knew better. Security remained active twenty-four hours a day now that Luca trusted almost nobody.

Two guards patrolled the lower hallways.

Adrian disabled both silently within ninety seconds.

No gunfire.

No alarms.

Just controlled violence inside fluorescent corridors smelling faintly of printer ink and industrial cleaner.

The wolf underneath moved easily through places like this.

Too easily.

That was the problem.

Adrian reached the archive floor shortly before 2:00 a.m.

The security door required retinal clearance and two-factor authentication.

Fortunately, he already had both.

That realization sat heavily inside his chest every time.

Because undercover work stopped feeling like pretending after enough years passed.

The archive room opened into freezing air and endless shelves of locked document cases beneath sterile white lighting.

Financial records.

Blackmail files.

Political donations.

Human lives reduced to paper and numbers.

Adrian moved directly toward Section C-19.

The secondary ledger sat exactly where Roman predicted—sealed inside a fireproof vault beneath biometric locks.

He opened it quickly.

Inside rested three black accounting books and a secure flash drive.

Enough evidence to destroy empires.

Enough evidence to start wars.

Adrian slid everything into the waterproof bag beneath his coat.

Then the archive lights shut off.

Instantly.

Darkness swallowed the room.

Adrian’s hand reached for his weapon before the emergency backup lights flickered on red across the ceiling.

Alarm system.

No.

Manual override.

Someone else was inside the building.

A voice echoed calmly through the archive hallway beyond.

“You always were difficult to predict.”

Adrian froze instantly.

Mikhail.

Not FBI.

Not Luca.

Worse.

Former contractor.

Former mercenary.

Former ghost from another life Adrian hoped stayed buried overseas.

Mikhail stepped into the red emergency lighting wearing a charcoal overcoat and holding a suppressed handgun casually at his side.

Same cold eyes.

Same dead expression.

Years changed nothing.

“You look terrible,” Mikhail observed.

“You look alive. Unfortunately.”

A faint smile touched Mikhail’s mouth. “Roman said you might resist.”

Cold realization hit immediately.

Roman.

No.

Not Roman directly.

But someone near him.

Someone inside the operation leaked information.

The FBI wasn’t compromised accidentally.

They were being sold deliberately.

Mikhail leaned one shoulder against the archive doorway. “You should’ve stayed detached, Adrian.”

“Interesting advice from a man paid to kill witnesses.”

“We all kill witnesses.”

The words dragged old memories sharply back into focus.

Ukraine.

Odessa.

Children hidden beneath ruined buildings while mercenaries negotiated contracts over bodies.

Adrian’s grip tightened slightly around the weapon beneath his coat.

Mikhail noticed instantly.

“You’re emotional,” he observed calmly. “That’s new.”

“No,” Adrian replied quietly. “Just tired.”

Mikhail’s eyes shifted briefly toward the waterproof document bag beneath Adrian’s coat.

“There’s no extraction plan anymore,” he said softly. “You know that, right?”

Adrian said nothing.

Because silence confirmed enough.

Mikhail continued anyway.

“Once Luca realizes there’s an internal operation, everybody becomes disposable. Including your mafia princess upstairs.”

The words landed like a knife beneath the ribs.

Controlled breathing.

Controlled posture.

Controlled rage.

Adrian forced all three back into place instantly.

Mikhail smiled faintly.

“There he is,” he murmured. “The wolf underneath.”

Then he raised the handgun.

Adrian moved first.

The archive exploded into violence.

Gunfire cracked through the red-lit room while paper and shattered glass burst across the floor. Adrian slammed into the metal shelving beside him just as bullets ripped through the archive cases overhead.

Mikhail fired again.

Too precise.

Still military.

Adrian rolled behind the vault structure and returned fire immediately.

Two shots.

One miss.

One hit.

Mikhail staggered backward as blood spread darkly across his shoulder beneath the emergency lights.

But he still smiled.

Psychopath.

“You should’ve disappeared with the girl,” Mikhail muttered.

Then the building alarms finally triggered fully.

Sirens screamed through the tower.

Security teams incoming.

Time gone.

Mikhail retreated instantly into the hallway shadows before Adrian could finish the shot.

Cowardly.

Professional.

Same thing sometimes.

Adrian stood breathing hard beneath flashing red lights while blood dripped slowly from a fresh graze across his ribs.

The ledger remained secure beneath his coat.

But now something far worse mattered.

Someone inside the operation had sold them out.

And if the wrong names surfaced next—

Valentina would become a liability everyone wanted erased.