The long con wasn't over. It was just changing hands.
"The villa in Como. The one I bought last year under a fake trust." Eve’s voice was steady. "It's yours. The deed’s in the safe behind the Modigliani. I'll meet you there in forty-eight hours. If I'm not there…"
Eve finally looked up. Her eyes were the color of sea glass—beautiful, deceptive, and cold. "The con changed, Aggie. Viktor was a stepping stone. The real target was always the buyer he was meeting tonight. The warlord from the Golden Triangle. He’s in the penthouse. Viktor’s dead. Now we take the buyer's sat-phone, transfer the thirty million from his accounts, and disappear."
"No more secrets," Agatha demanded, pressing her forehead close to Eve's. It was an intimate, threatening gesture. "After this. We're even. Or I swear to God, I'll find you."
"You set the charges early," Agatha said, not a question. Her voice was low, a viper’s whisper.
Eve didn't look up. "The extraction window moved. Viktor was going to run."