The text glowed ominously on Sophia's phone—"Langston's free. War's not over. -E"—its words a stark contrast to the soft pink dawn breaking over the forest. The FBI agents were still milling around, securing Victoria's captured men and processing the drive, but the news hit like a punch to the gut. Alexander stood beside her, his jaw tightening as he read the message over her shoulder. The cousin bond, newly confirmed by the birth records, pulsed between them, a mix of solidarity and unspoken tension. The Jeep's hood was still warm from their escape, and the air carried the faint scent of pine and gunpowder.
"Langston's got connections," Alexander muttered, his voice low and edged with frustration. "He's outmaneuvered us again." He turned to the lead agent, a wiry man named Agent Harrow, who was overseeing the operation. "How the hell did this happen?"
Harrow adjusted his earpiece, his expression grim. "Preliminary intel suggests a judicial favor—someone high up pulled strings. We've got the data, but without Langston in custody, it's circumstantial until we build a case." He glanced at Sophia, then back to Alexander. "You two need to lie low. We'll contact you when we have more."
"Lying low won't stop him," Sophia said, her artist's mind already sketching the scene—agents in black, the Jeep's dented frame, Alexander's steely resolve. "He'll come for us. Especially now that he knows I'm family."
Alexander nodded, his hand brushing her arm in a gesture that was both protective and possessive. "She's right. We need a counterstrike—something to flush him out." He pulled out the satellite phone, dialing a number. "Carter, meet us at the secondary safe house. Bring everything on Langston's network." Hanging up, he turned to her. "We're not running this time. We're fighting."
The drive to the secondary safe house—a secluded cabin near Lake George—was tense, the forest road winding through dense trees that offered both cover and potential ambush points. Sophia took the wheel, her hands steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her. Alexander sat shotgun, the rifle across his lap, his eyes scanning the mirrors. The cousin revelation hung heavy, complicating their dynamic, but it also forged a deeper trust. Every glance they shared carried a new weight, a silent acknowledgment of their shared bloodline.
They arrived as dusk fell, the cabin's log exterior blending into the woods. Carter was already there, a laptop open on the porch table, its screen casting a blue glow on his weathered face. "Found a backdoor into Langston's system," he said, gesturing to the screen. "Emails, financials—proof he bribed the judge. But there's more. He's planning a public hit—tomorrow night, at the Metropolitan Opera gala. You're the target, Voss."
Sophia's stomach churned. "A gala? That's bold."
"Desperate," Alexander corrected, leaning over the laptop. "He wants to send a message—eliminate me and discredit the evidence. We can use it." His mind worked visibly, plotting. "We'll go, but with a twist. Sophia, you'll pose as my fiancée—again. It'll draw him out, and we'll have the FBI ready."
She raised an eyebrow, the word "fiancée" stirring memories of their fake engagement ploy. "And if he takes the bait?"
"We'll be armed, and Carter will hack their comms. We turn his trap into ours." He met her gaze, a flicker of concern softening his resolve. "You sure you're up for this?"
"I've survived worse with you," she said, a half-smile breaking through. The tension between them crackled, the cousin bond adding a layer of restraint to their lingering attraction. They turned to planning—disguises, escape routes, signal codes with the FBI.
Carter set up a mock gala scenario in the cabin, using furniture to simulate the opera house's layout. Sophia practiced her role, slipping into a borrowed gown from the duffel—black satin, elegant yet practical. Alexander adjusted a hidden mic on her, his fingers grazing her collarbone, sending a shiver through her. "You look the part," he murmured, his voice low.
"And you look like trouble," she teased, stepping back to break the moment.