My Milf Conqueror System novel Chapter 129

Chapter 129: The Opening Salvo

[Ethan’s POV]

The Hotel Sacher was a monument to Viennese luxury, its lobby a sea of red velvet, crystal chandeliers, and polished marble.

I sat in a high-backed leather chair near the bar, nursing a glass of sparkling water. I had spent the last of our euros on a decent haircut and a shave at a local barber, washing the grime of Odesa off my face. I still wore the cheap canvas jacket, but I looked respectable enough not to draw the immediate attention of the hotel security.

I was watching the elevators.

Isabella Vane’s summit was the most exclusive event in Europe. The people attending weren’t just rich; they were the apex predators of the financial underworld. I needed targets who matched my build and Claire’s, and I needed their invitations.

At 8:00 PM, the elevator doors chimed open.

A man and a woman stepped out. The man was in his late twenties, built like a swimmer, wearing a bespoke tuxedo that screamed Savile Row. The woman was stunning, wearing a floor-length emerald silk gown and a diamond necklace that caught the light of the chandeliers. They moved with the arrogant, untouchable swagger of people who owned the world.

I recognized the man from the dossiers Nia had made us memorize back in DC. Julian Croft. He was a high-level hedge fund manager who specialized in laundering cartel money through European real estate. He was one of Isabella’s top earners.

I stood up, leaving my water on the table, and followed them at a discreet distance.

They walked out of the hotel and turned down a quiet, cobblestone side street, heading toward a private black car waiting at the corner.

Close the gap, Darius’s voice whispered in my mind. Strike before they know they’re in a fight.

I accelerated, my boots making no sound on the stones.

As Croft reached for the door handle of the car, I stepped up right behind him. I didn’t draw my gun. I slipped my arm around his throat, locking in a flawless rear naked choke, and dragged him backward into the shadows of a narrow alleyway.

The woman spun around, her mouth opening to scream.

I swept my leg out, catching her behind the knees. She fell backward, and I caught her before she hit the ground, pressing a pressure point on the side of her neck. Her eyes rolled back, and she went limp in my arms.

Croft was thrashing wildly, his hands clawing at my arm, but I held the choke tight. Ten seconds later, his eyes fluttered shut, and his body went slack.

I dragged them both behind a row of industrial trash bins. I worked quickly, stripping Croft of his tuxedo jacket, trousers, and shoes. I carefully removed the emerald gown from the woman, leaving them both in their undergarments. I used zip-ties from my duffel bag to bind their wrists and ankles, and taped their mouths shut. They would wake up in an hour with a massive headache and a bruised ego, but they would live.

I searched Croft’s jacket pockets. Inside, I found two heavy, gold-foil invitations embossed with the crest of the Hofburg Palace.

"The Crown Jewels of her European syndicate," Claire nodded. "They’ll be holding them in a temporary, high-security vault inside the palace during the gala. Jake is going to put the entire party to sleep, walk right past her elite PMCs, and rob her blind."

I let out a low whistle. It was brilliant. It was terrifying. It was classic Jake Hart, amplified by the cold, calculating power of the Oracle.

"If he pulls this off," I said, "Isabella’s investors will turn on her. She’ll lose her funding. The corporate siege on Vanguard in DC will collapse."

"This isn’t the end of the war, Ethan," Claire said softly, looking out the window toward the glittering lights of the city center. "This is the opening salvo. He’s forcing Isabella out into the open."

"But Varga knows he’s coming," I said, the memory of the ex-FBI agent’s dead eyes flashing in my mind. "Varga survived the train. He’s already in Vienna. And if he figures out Jake’s play with the ventilation system, he’ll be waiting for him in the dark."

I walked over to the bed and picked up the bespoke tuxedo.

"Get dressed," I told Claire, tossing her the emerald gown. "Jake is walking into a trap. We have to intercept him before Varga puts a bullet in his head."

Claire caught the silk dress, her expression hardening into the fierce, determined look of a Vanguard executive going to war.

"Let’s go crash a party," she said.