Chapter 68 The Safehouse In Santorini

• The jet touched down on the private runway just after dusk, its engines whining as the island breeze carried the salt of the sea through the open doors. Ivy stepped out first, her heels clicking against the steps before the warm air hit her face. Santorini glowed in the distance, its whitewashed villas perched along the cliffside, lights glittering like fireflies against the dark velvet of the Aegean. It should have been beautiful. It should have felt like escape. But Ivy knew better. Nothing Damien touched was ever innocent.
• The convoy was waiting. Two black SUVs idled at the base of the steps, their drivers faceless in the glow of the landing lights. Men emerged to take their bags, though Ivy noticed how Damien’s cases weren’t luggage—they were reinforced crates. Weapons. Documents. Secrets.
• She glanced at him as he descended behind her, his black shirt rolled at the forearms, tattoos curling along his veins, his presence commanding without a word. He didn’t look like a man on holiday. He looked like a man preparing for war.