Chapter 606
Chapter 606:
The black, unmarked private jet sliced through the pre-dawn darkness, its engines a low hum against the vast silence of the Alps. It touched down not in Geneva, but on a quiet private airstrip in Nice, where the air tasted of salt and money.
Eliza stepped onto the tarmac. The warm Mediterranean night was a stark contrast to the sterile, climate-controlled world she had just left behind. She wore the cheap gray trench coat and the prosthetic scar of “Mila,” but beneath the disguise her senses were razor-sharp and screaming.
A beat-up cargo van, identical to the one from Brooklyn, waited at the edge of the runway. The side door slid open. Elias sat inside, surrounded by a nest of humming electronics.
“Welcome to the French Riviera,” he said, not looking up from a screen displaying satellite thermal imaging. “The party’s in Monaco. Your sister-in-law is the guest of honor at a slaughter p>
Eliza climbed in. The van smelled of stale coffee and ozone.
“What did you find p>
“Gideon Sterling isn’t hiding in his castle. He’s the main event at Prince Edward’s gala tonight aboard the superyacht The Sovereign,” Elias reported, tapping a key. A three-dimensional schematic of a massive, multi-decked vessel filled the main monitor. “It’s a floating fortress crawling with European royalty and their private armies. Adrian Vance’s intel was correct. The Citadel was a decoy p>
Eliza’s blood ran cold. Gideon was parading in the open, using the most powerful people in Europe as human shields. And Azalea was walking straight into the lion’s den — a sacrificial lamb trading herself for a meeting with a doctor.
𝗙o𝗅𝗹o𝘸 𝘂ѕ o𝗻
“The PMC assault on the Citadel is off,” Eliza said, her voice flat. She had already sent the encrypted abort code mid-flight. “A frontal attack on an empty castle would have been a catastrophic waste of resources and would have announced my arrival in Europe to Gideon. I had to go dark. Completely p>
Elias gave a short nod, a flicker of respect crossing his eyes. “Smart move. A ghost has a better chance than an army p>
“I need a way onto that yacht,” Eliza said, her gaze fixed on the schematic. “Not as a guest. As a shadow p>
In Geneva, the morning sun pierced through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Royal Family Estate, but the light offered no warmth.
Azalea sat before a gilded vanity as a team of stylists worked around her, encasing her in a breathtaking gown of midnight-blue silk — a dress that felt less like couture and more like a beautiful shroud. Her reflection showed a princess. Her eyes held the terror of a prisoner.
Prince Edward was waiting. The gala was hours away. Her grandfather, Jean-Paul, had made the terms brutally clear: secure the alliance, charm the prince, and the family would grant her an audience with the one man who could save Dallas.