Read Chapter 25: Hidden Truths

The knock came at the door of the safehouse not as a knock at all, but as a soft, deliberate scrape of knuckles against wood—two quick, one slow. Zoe had taught them that signal an hour ago. Pascal's man, bringing food.

Alex didn't move from the chair. His shoulder throbbed beneath the bandage Zoe had rigged from a torn sheet and medical tape she'd lifted from a pharmacy two blocks over. The burn on his cheek had started to blister, a hot, tight mask of skin that pulled every time he blinked.

The rival thief—he still didn't have a name for her—stood in the corner, arms crossed, watching him with the patience of a cat eyeing a wounded bird. She'd given him the news flat, no drama, like she was reading a weather report.

"Your brother," she'd said. "Not dead. Witness protection. Viktor's been holding that card for six years."

Alex had laughed. A dry, broken sound that scraped his throat. "I buried him. I stood in the rain and watched them lower the box."

"Box was weighted," she said. "I checked the records myself. Empty casket, concrete base."

Now Alex sat with his phone in his hands, the old photo app open. A picture from ten years ago. Two boys on a beach in Nice, arms around each other's shoulders, squinting into the sun. Luca. His brother. The one who'd gotten tangled with the syndicate first, who'd dragged Alex in to help him pay off a debt, who'd died—supposedly—during a botched delivery in Marseille.

Alex zoomed in on the face. Same jaw. Same crooked smile. The scar above the left eyebrow—Luca had gotten it falling off a scooter when he was sixteen.

The rival thief pushed off the wall and came closer. "You need to stop staring at that and start thinking."

"Thinking about what?" Alex set the phone down. His hand shook. He didn't want it to, but it did. "That my brother's been alive for six years and didn't tell me? That my entire life since his funeral—every job, every debt, every night I spent counting cards to keep the syndicate from breaking my legs—was built on a lie?"

"It wasn't a lie. It was a protection."

"His protection or yours?"

The woman's mouth tightened. "He went into witness protection because he was going to testify against Viktor. The syndicate had ears everywhere. They would've killed him, and they would've killed you to make sure he stayed quiet. The only way to keep you safe was to make you believe he was dead."

Alex stood. The chair scraped back with a sound like a scream. "So I went into debt trying to get out of a life he pulled me into. I've spent years running from a ghost."

"You've spent years being the perfect decoy." Zoe's voice came from the doorway. She'd returned from the rooftop lookout, hair wet from the drizzle outside. She held a folder in one hand, Pascal's intel on Viktor's flight. "Every time the syndicate checked on you, you were exactly where they expected—deep in debt, desperate, tied to the casino. It made you predictable. It made you useful."

Alex turned to her, jaw tight. "You knew?"

"Not until tonight." Zoe crossed the room and set the folder on the table. "But it explains the ledger."

"The ledger." Alex looked down at the fireproof case sitting on the table between them. Still unopened. He'd carried it through a gunfight, taken a bullet for it, and he still didn't know what was inside. "What does the ledger have to do with my brother?"

The rival thief answered. "Viktor's kept records for fifteen years. Names, amounts, payments to cops, judges, politicians. But the last six years of entries—they're clean. Too clean. No new names, no new accounts, no new bribes. Because Viktor knew he was being watched."

"By who?"

"By your brother." She nodded at the case. "Luca's testimony put Viktor on notice. He couldn't stop the trial, but he could make sure nothing new got added to the record. Everything he's done since—every side deal, every hidden payment—exist only because he's been able to deny them."

Alex stared at the case. "So the ledger doesn't show what Viktor's done. It shows what he hasn't been able to hide."

"It's the smoking gun," Zoe said quietly. "If Luca testifies again with that ledger as evidence, Viktor doesn't just lose his operation. He loses everything. His money, his connections, his escape."

"He's not fleeing Monaco tomorrow because he's running from the syndicate," Alex said, the pieces clicking into place. "He's fleeing because Luca's protection is about to expire. Viktor knows the trial's coming back, so he's getting out before the evidence lands."

The rival thief nodded. "And the passenger on his jet?"

Alex's stomach dropped. "Luca."

No one spoke for a long moment. The rain picked up against the window, a steady patter that filled the silence like a drumbeat.

"If Viktor's taking Luca with him," Zoe said slowly, "then Luca's not just a witness. He's insurance. Viktor plans to use him as leverage if the trial goes forward."

"Or he plans to kill him the moment they're over international waters," Alex said. His voice was flat, cold. The shock had burned away, replaced by something harder. "Six years. Viktor's held my brother's life over my head without me even knowing it. I've been running from a man who was already holding the leash."

The rival thief unfolded her arms. "So what's the play?"

Alex looked at the ledger. His brother's testimony, locked in a fireproof case. The answer to Viktor's hold on the syndicate. The reason Pascal wanted a name, the reason Delacroix wanted immunity, the reason every player in Monaco was circling like sharks.

He turned to Zoe. "Pascal's intel—what time does the jet depart?"

"Eighteen hundred hours, local. From the private terminal at Heliport de Monaco."

"Sunset." Alex nodded. "Viktor leaves at sunset. Delacroix wants my answer by sunrise. That gives me twelve hours to figure out how to get onto that tarmac and pull my brother off that plane."

"Twelve hours," the rival thief said, "to take on Viktor's security, get past airport defenses, and rescue a man who's spent six years believing he was protecting you by staying dead."

Alex picked up the ledger. He turned it over in his hands, feeling the weight of it. His brother's words. His brother's sacrifice.

"He didn't protect me," Alex said quietly. "He taught me how to survive. There's a difference." He looked up, meeting Zoe's eyes. "Get Pascal on the line. I need transport, a distraction, and a name—the buyer Viktor's meeting on the other end. If I'm going to stop that plane, I need to know who's waiting for it."

Zoe pulled out her phone. "And the ledger?"

Alex tucked the case under his arm. He felt the heat of the burn on his cheek, the throb of the wound in his shoulder.

He walked toward the door of the safehouse, the rival thief falling into step beside him.

"Open it," he said. "I need to know exactly what my brother said about Viktor."

He paused at the threshold, hand on the frame, and looked back at the fireproof case on the table.

"Because if Viktor's kept him alive this long, it means my brother knows something even worse than what's in that ledger. And whatever it is, I'm going to make sure it never dies with either of us."