She Seduced the 3 Most Powerful Brothers in Georgia — Then Buried Their Dynasty Overnight

She seduced the three most powerful brothers in Georgia, then buried their dynasty overnight.

For decades, they controlled everything money, power, and anyone who dared to challenge them.

But when this mysterious woman entered their lives, she didn’t he just crack their impenetrable fortress, systematically extracted their darkest secrets, and in a single night brought their entire empire crashing down.

What appeared to be a passionate affair was actually a meticulously orchestrated revenge plot that would rewrite Georgia s power structure forever.

The Cavalz brothers were as much a part of Georgia as the Red Clay beneath its surface.

Alexander, Nicolos, and Arai men who had transformed themselves from humble beginnings into the most feared and respected family in the state.

Their rise began in the chaos following the Soviet collapse when opportunity favored those bold enough or ruthless enough to seize it.

Alexander, the eldest, possessed a calculating mind that could see 10 moves ahead in any business negotiation.

From his penthouse office in downtown Atlanta, he controlled a network of international shipping companies that moved goods, both legal and questionable, across continents with frightening efficiency.

His silver streaked hair and tailored suits gave him the appearance of respectability that opened doors in the highest circles of power.

Nicolas, the middle brother, had transformed his natural charm into political currency.

As the state’s longest serving senator, he crafted legislation that mysteriously benefited their family interests while maintaining a public image of unwavering integrity.

His photogenic smile and polished speeches made him the dynasty s public face.

Beloved by constituents who never glimpsed the iron will beneath the charisma.

Iraqi, the youngest, was perhaps the most dangerous of the three.

While his brothers built legitimate empires, Iraqi controlled what they called problem-solving operations, a sophisticated network of enforcers, hackers, and former intelligence operatives who ensured that obstacles to the family s ambitions disappeared quietly.

His boyish looks belied a capacity for calculated violence that even his brothers sometimes feared.

Together, they formed an impenetrable triangle of power.

When Alexander identified an opportunity, Nicolos created the legal framework to exploit it, and Iraqi removed anyone who stood in their way.

For 20 years, this system had made them virtually untouchable, their influence extending from Atlanta as gleaming skyscrapers to the marble halls of Washington.

“No one can touch us,” Nicolo once declared during a private family dinner in their ancestral home outside Tli.

“We’ve built something that will outlast us all.” Alexander had nodded, raising his glass of aged Georgian wine.

To the Cavalad legacy, may our sons inherit an even greater empire.

But what the brothers couldn’t he see was that their greatest threat wasn’t te coming from their enemies.

It was already moving within their inner circle, watching and waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

She arrived in Atlanta on a rainy Tuesday.

another face in the crowd at Hartsfield Jackson International Airport.

If anyone had bothered to look closely at her documents, they would have seen the name Nino Beridzia name that meant nothing to the Kavaladi brothers.

Not yet.

The customs officer barely glanced at her Georgian passport, stamping it with the mechanical efficiency of someone who had processed thousands of travelers that day.

She thanked him in perfect unacented English and disappeared into the terminal, wheeling a single suitcase that contained everything she needed to begin her mission.

Nino moved into a modest apartment in Midtown, paid 6 months rent in advance with cash, and established herself as a translator specializing in Georgian, Russian, and English business documents.

Her credentials were impeccable, her references unimpeachable, all carefully fabricated by contacts who specialized in creating bulletproof identities.

Within weeks, she had secured contracts with several international firms that did business with the former Soviet republics.

Her work was flawless, her professionalism beyond reproach.

It was only a matter of time before her reputation reached Alexander Cavalad s shipping empire.

Each morning she followed the same routine of five mile run through Piedmont Park.

Coffee at the same calf where Alexander s personal assistant liked to stop.

Casual conversations with the right people in Atlanta as tight-knit Georgian expatriate community.

She was building a presence, a history, a web of connections that would eventually lead to her target.

At night she studied dossier on the brothers, memorizing details that might seem insignificant but could prove crucial.

Alexander s allergy to shellfish.

Nicolo’s s superstition about wearing his grandfather s watch during important votes.

Iraqi s habit of touching the scar on his left wrist when he was contemplating violence.

What no one knew, what no one could possibly know was that Nino Beridz was a carefully constructed identity built layer by layer over five years.

The woman behind the name had spent half a decade studying the Cavalads brothers, memorizing their habits, their weaknesses, their desires.

She knew Alexander s preference for rare Georgian wines and his secret gambling addiction that had nearly bankrupted him twice before his brothers intervened.

She knew which nights Nicolo visited his mistress in a penthouse apartment registered to a shell company and which charities he used to launder campaign funds from foreign interests.

She knew about Iraq’s collection of Soviet era weapons and his panic attacks that he hid from his brothers with prescription medications obtained through a doctor they had once saved from financial ruin.

She knew everything because she had been watching them since the day her father s body was found floating in the M Tevari Rivera suicide.

That conveniently occurred after he refused to sell his shipping company to Alexander Cavaladi.

She remembered standing at the funeral a 16-year-old girl in a black dress too large for her thin frame watching her mother collapse from grief while three black cars idled respectfully at the cemetery gates.

Inside those cars, the Cavali brothers waited to express their condolences and make another offer to her mother one that couldn’t he be refused this time.

“Your first target is Alexander,” her mentor had told her during those years of preparation.

“An aging former KGB operative who had once crossed paths with the Cavalads and lived to regret it.

He had recognized something in the griefstricken teenager that others missed, a cold, patient fury that could be harnessed.

He’s the brain.

Without him, the other two are just muscle and charm.

Learn to move in his world before you strike.

Nino had nodded, memorizing the dossier on Alexander s personal life.

And after him, one by one, they fall.

But patience is everything.

Rush nothing.

These men didn’t te build their empire overnight, and you one tea dismantle it in a day.

Remember, avenge is a dish best served cold, but it must also be served precisely.

One mistake and you were dead.

For 5 years, she had trained languages, business, psychology, even seduction techniques.

She learned how to read micro expressions, how to manipulate conversations, how to become whoever she needed to be to get close to her targets.

She studied financial crimes and computer hacking.

She learned how to shoot, though she hoped never to need that particular skill.

A bullet was too quick, too merciful for what the Cavalad’s brothers deserved.

Now, as she unpacked her carefully selected wardrobe in her new apartment clothes designed to appeal to each brother, s specific tastes, allowed herself a small, cold smile.

The Cavalzi brothers had built their empire on the broken lives of countless victims.

Families destroyed, businesses seized, lives ended.

They believed themselves untouchable, protected by their power and their brotherhood.

But they had never encountered someone like her, someone with nothing left to lose, someone who had transformed grief into a weapon more precise than any bullet.

Someone who could see their weaknesses because she had spent years studying nothing else.

In her bathroom, she opened a small makeup case and removed a false bottom, revealing three small vials of clear liquid and a flash drive encrypted with evidence that could bring down their empire if deployed correctly.

When her phone rang 3 weeks later with an offer to translate documents for Cavalad International Shipping, Nino answered with perfect professional courtesy, her voice betraying none of the triumph she felt.

The Kaler Alexander s chief of operations explained, “They needed someone trustworthy for sensitive contracts, someone who understood the nuances of Georgian business culture.

I would be honored to meet with Mr.

Cavaladz to discuss how I might be of service,” she replied, her voice warm and professional.

As she hung up the phone, she glanced at the photograph on her nightstand.

The only personal item in the apartment, a smiling man with kind eyes and a teenage girl on a boat on the Black Sea, taken the summer before his death.

She touched the frame lightly.

“It begins, Papa,” she whispered.

“It finally begins.

The game was now in motion, and Nino Berids, whoever she truly wish had, just made her first move on the board.

The headquarters of Cavaladz International Shipping occupied the top 10 floors of a gleaming glass tower in downtown Atlanta.

As Nino stepped into the elevator, she adjusted her tailored navy suit and touched the small gold pendant at her neca family heirloom that had once belonged to her grandmother, now serving as both talisman and reminder of why she was here.

The pendant, a delicate Georgian cross with intricate filigree work, was one of the few authentic pieces of her past that she had allowed herself to keep.

Everything else about Nino Beritizu was carefully constructed, except for the cold resolve that powered her mission.

The elevator ascended smoothly to the 48th floor, where Alexander Cavalads maintained his empire.

She used these moments of solitude to center herself, mentally reviewing the dossier on the man she was about to meet.

Alexander Cavaladi, eldest of three brothers, graduated Sumakum Laud from Wharton, built his first million by age 27 importing.

Georgian wines to the American market expanded into shipping by 30%.

And by 40% controlled the largest private fleet operating between the Black Sea and North America.

A man who donated generously to charities while simultaneously destroying anyone who stood in his path.

A man who quoted Rustaval poetry at state dinners while ordering rivals eliminated.

The doors open to reveal a reception area designed to impress Georgian artwork adorned walls of polished marble while floor to ceiling windows offered a commanding view of the city skyline.

A sleek modern chandelier crafted from S Swarovski crystal cast prismatic light across the space.

A subtle reminder of the wealth and power concentrated here.

She recognized a painting on the far walla pirrosmani original that had supposedly been in a private collection in Tlisi.

She wondered how many laws had been broken to bring it to this Atlanta skyscraper.

Miss Beridza, the receptionist, a young woman with perfect posture and a practiced smile, approached.

Her badge identified her as Sophia Reynolds, and Nino immediately matched the face to the file she had memorized.

Harvard Business School graduate hired three years ago, privy to many of Alexander S’s business dealings, but kept away from the darker aspects of the operation.

Mr.

Cavalads will see you now.

Nino followed her through a series of corridors, mentally mapping the layout against the floor plans she had memorized months ago.

Security cameras tracked their movement she had counted 12 so far, exactly as her intelligence had indicated.

Two men in suits with the telltale bulge of shoulder holsters stood at strategic points, their eyes following her with professional suspicion.

One she recognized as Vaja Maserods, former Georgian special forces, now head of Alexander s personal security detail.

The other was unfamiliar new hire perhaps or brought in from another Cavalad operation.

“Mr.

Cavaladza is finishing a call, Sophia explained as they approached a set of double doors made from polished cherrywood.

He asked that you be shown in as soon as you arrived.

Can I offer you anything? Water, coffee.

No, thank you.

Nino replied with a warm smile.

I appreciate your kindness.

Sophia nodded, clearly approving of Nino’s professional demeanor.

Building allies among the staff had been part of Nino strategy from the beginning.

The receptionist opened one of the heavy doors, announced Nino S’s arrival, and then stepped aside with a respectful nod.

Alexander S office occupied the northeast corner of the building, a vast space dominated by a desk carved from a single slab of black walnut.

The room spoke of power restrained by taste expensive but not ostentatious, designed to impress without appearing to try.

Oriental rugs in deep burgundies and blues covered sections of the hardwood floor.

One wall displayed framed shipping maps from various historical periods.

Another showcased photographs of Alexander with world leaders, celebrities, and business titans.

A glass case near the window contained artifacts from Georgia s ancient history items that rightfully belonged in museums, not in a private collection.

Behind the imposing desk stood Alexander Cavalazi himself, examining documents through reading glasses that softened his otherwise severe appearance.

At 58, he remained impressive tall and broad shouldered with silver streaked black hair and the confident bearing of a man accustomed to absolute authority.

He wore a charcoal suit that Nino recognized as Brioni, custommade with a subtle pattern in the fabric that only revealed itself when the light hit it at certain angles.

His burgundy tie was secured with a platinum pin bearing the Cavalz family crest falcon clutching a sword.

He looked up as she entered, removing his glasses with deliberate slowness.

Nino felt his eyes assess her, cataloging details, searching for weaknesses.

the same predatory evaluation he applied to business opportunities and potential threats.

His gaze was penetrating, almost physical in its intensity.

Lesser opponents had crumbled under that stare.

Nino met it with calm professionalism, allowing him to see exactly what she wanted him to see, competence, confidence, and just enough difference to appeal to his ego.

Miss Beridzi, he said, his Georgian accent barely detectable beneath years of American education.

Your reputation precedes you.

Forom University, top of your class in international business.

Translation: 3 years with Eastman Global Consulting, glowing recommendations from the Georgian consulate.

He sat down her resume, which she noted had been annotated in his precise handwriting.

Impressive credentials for someone so young.

I’m honored that you would consider my services, Mr.

Cavaladz, she replied in Georgian, the language of intimacy and home.

It was a calculated choice a subtle reminder of shared heritage, a gentle nudge toward connection.

Her Georgian was flawless with the specific cadence and tonal qualities of Tlisias educated class exactly the background she had constructed for herself.

His eyebrows lifted slightly first genuine reaction.

Your Georgian is flawless, not the American Georgian hybrid I’ve become accustomed to hearing.

Where did you study? My father insisted on preserving our language and traditions, even after we left Blissey, she explained, the half-truth flowing easily.

He believed that forgetting one s language meant losing one soul.

We spoke only Georgian at home, and he imported books and recordings to ensure I maintained not just vocabulary, but proper literary form.

Alexander nodded with apparent approval, moving from behind his desk with the fluid confidence of a man comfortable in his domain.

A sentiment I share.

My own children speak Georgian, Russian, and English with equal fluency.

In today global marketplace, such linguistic agility is invaluable.

He gestured toward a seating area by the windows where a silver samovar and tea service waited.

The tea set, she noted, was antique George and silver work, probably from the late 19th century.

Another treasure acquired through means she could only imagine.

A wise man, your father.

Is he still with us? Alexander asked as they moved toward the seating area.

The question so innocent on its surface, so painful in its reality as the first test.

Nino allowed herself a moment of calculated vulnerability, a brief shadow crossing her features before she composed herself.

The emotion wasn’t t fained.

She simply channeled her real grief into this constructed narrative.

No, we lost him when I was 16.

A boating accident on the Black Sea.

She paused, allowing her voice to soften.

He was teaching me to sail.

A sudden storm came up.

He made sure I reached the shore safely.

But by then she left the sentence unfinished, the implication clear.

It was another carefully constructed Lee close enough to her true story to carry emotional authenticity, different enough to prevent any connection to her real identity.

In reality, her father had never taught her to sail.

He had been afraid of deep water.

His death had come not from waves but from the hands of Iraqi Cavalades s enforcers who had held him underwater in the Mavery River until he stopped struggling.

“My condolences,” Alexander said, studying her reaction with eyes that missed nothing.

“Family is everything.

I’ve been fortunate to have my brothers beside me through life s challenges.” He gestured toward a photograph on a side table.

Three Cavalza brothers at what appeared to be the opening of a new shipping terminal, their arms around each other’s shoulders.

Nicolos, my middle brother, handles our political interests, while Iraqi overseas security operations.

Together, we Viv built something that will outlast us.

The casual mention of Iraq man directly responsible for her father s murderent a cold spike through Nino s chest but her expression revealed nothing beyond polite interest.

Years of training had taught her to compartmentalize to channel emotion into focus rather than reaction.

Alexander poured tea in the traditional Georgian style, the amber liquid streaming in a high arc from samovar to cup.

The familiar ritual created an artificial intimacy between them exactly as she had planned.

He added a slice of lemon and passed her the delicate porcelain cup.

“I have several contracts requiring immediate translation,” he explained as she accepted the tea.

“Documents that demand not just linguistic accuracy, but cultural understanding.

Our legal team is excellent, but they sometimes miss nuances in Georgian business practices.

The postsviet business environment in the Caucases remains complex.” His slight smile acknowledged the understatement.

I understand completely, Nino replied, taking a measured sip of the tear strong and fragrant imported from Georgia Sajara region.

In my experience, translation is as much about cultural context as it about words.

A phrase that seems straightforward in English might carry layers of meaning in Georgian, particularly in business or legal documents.

Alexander nodded clearly pleased with her response.

Precisely.

We were negotiating several delicate arrangements with partners in Batumi and Putty.

The language must be impeccable with no room for misinterpretation.

He leaned forward slightly.

Some of these documents contain sensitive information.

Discretion would be paramount.

Of course, Nino assured him.

Client confidentiality is the foundation of my practice.

IV worked with diplomatic missions and international corporations where security was essential.

Their conversation continued for nearly an hour, a careful dance of professional discussion interspersed with personal observations.

She mentioned her love of classical Georgian poetry.

He revealed his collection of rare first editions, including a handwritten manuscript of Shodda Rustelli s the knight in the panther s skin that he claimed to have acquired from a private collector in Vienna.

She spoke of her volunteer work with Georgian immigrants.

He described his foundation s educational initiatives into Bisei.

She noted his preference for directing conversations back to himself, his tendency to touch his wedding ring when discussing family matters, the way his eyes lingered on her pendant when she mentioned her grandmother.

With each exchange, she felt the invisible barrier between them thinning, felt him recategorizing her from service provider to person of interest.

He began asking more personal question about her hobbies, her social life in Atlanta, her long-term career goals.

Each question was a probe testing her consistency, her authenticity.

Each answer she provided had been rehearsed dozens of times with her mentor, refined to appear spontaneous while reinforcing the identity she had created.

Do you enjoy opera, Miss Bareds? Alexander asked as their meeting drew to a close.

The Atlanta Opera is performing Palashas abalam da eti next month.

a rare treat outside of Georgia.

My wife is unfortunately traveling in Europe during the performance, and I find myself with an extra ticket.

The invitation was exactly what Nino had been working toward a personal connection outside the professional relationship.

Still, she couldn’t te appear too eager.

“That extraordinarily kind of you, Mr.

Cavaladzi,” she replied, allowing a hint of genuine enthusiasm to color her voice.

Palash villi has always been a favorite of mine.

My father used to play recordings of his work on Sunday afternoons.

Then it s settled.

Alexander said his decision made.

My assistant will send you the details.

Consider it a welcome to our extended cavalade family of associates.

When Alexander finally stood to conclude their meeting, he did something unexpected to switch to Georgian again.

This time using the familiar form reserved for friends and family.

I believe we ll work well together, Nino, he said, extending his hand.

My assistant will provide the documents today.

I’d delight your preliminary translations by Friday.

Feel free to call me directly if you have any questions about context or intent.

Of course, she replied, accepting his handshake.

His grip was firm, his hand warm and dry.

She wondered how many lives had been destroyed by the decisions made by those same hands.

I will begin work immediately.

As she gathered her portfolio, Alexander walked her to the door himself rather than summoning an assistant.

Another small indicator of his interest.

One more thing, he added almost as an afterthought.

My brother Nicolo is hosting a fundraiser next weekend at his home in Buckhead.

Nothing for Mala Garden Party for supporters of his education initiative.

Perhaps you might attend.

It would be an opportunity to meet others in Atlanta Georgian community.

I would be delighted, Nino replied.

The perfect balance of professional gratitude and personal warmth in her voice.

As she left the office, Nino maintained her professional demeanor until she reached the privacy of the elevator.

Only then did she allow herself a moment of grim satisfaction.

The first door had opened exactly as planned.

Alexander had revealed his interest not just in her professional capabilities, but in her personally the slight lingering of his handshake, the switch to the familiar form, the unnecessary personal questions throughout their conversation.

The opera invitation and the fundraiser were unexpected accelerations of her timeline, but adaptability had always been her strength.

In her purse, the small recording device had captured every word, every nuance.

Tonight, she would analyze the conversation, identifying leverage points and potential weaknesses.

The documents he would send would likely contain sensitive information information she could use to begin mapping the Cavalz Empirees s vulnerabilities.

As the elevator descended, Nino glanced at her reflection in the polished doors.

The woman who stared back looked confident, professional, and completely unremarkable exactly the image she had cultivated.

No one looking at her would see the years of planning, the careful construction of her identity, or the cold determination that drove her every action.

The first piece had moved on the board.

Alexander Cavaladz had just invited the architect of his destruction into his inner circle, and he had done it with a smile.

Soon she would meet the second brother, Nicolos, the public face, the political power, and eventually Iraq enforcer, the killer, the man whose hands had likely carried out her father s murder.

As she exited the building into the bright Atlanta sunshine, Nino checked her watch.

She had exactly 43 minutes to reach her next appointment, a seemingly routine lunch with a former employee of Cavalad Shipping, who had been quietly feeding her information for months.

The pieces were falling into place one by one.

The game was no longer theoretical.

It had begun in earnest, and Nino Berids, whoever she truly was, beneath the carefully crafted personas playing to win, no matter the cost.

The restaurant Nino had chosen for her meeting, was deliberately, unremarkably a mid-priced Italian place in Buckhead, popular enough to ensure a steady flow of customers, but not so trendy that it attracted attention.

She arrived 15 minutes early, requesting a table in the back corner where she could observe the entrance while keeping her back to the wall.

Old habits ingrained during her training years with former intelligence operatives who had taught her that survival often depended on such seemingly paranoid precautions.

The major D had initially tried to seat her near the window such a lovely view of the garden.

Miss Butino had politely insisted on the corner table, offering a warm smile and a story about sensitivity to sunlight that made her preference seem reasonable rather than suspicious.

People were always more accommodating when given an explanation that allowed them to feel helpful rather than manipulated.

She ordered sparkling water and pretended to review emails on her phone while scanning the room with practiced casualness.

Two businessmen discussing quarterly projections.

Their voices occasionally rising with disagreement before subsiding into tense murmurss.

A young couple lost in each other sis.

Their food growing cold as they reached across the table to touch hands.

A group of women celebrating a birthday.

Their laughter punctuating the restaurant s quiet atmosphere.

Nothing suspicious.

No one paying undue attention to her corner table.

No one lingering too long at the bar with a clear sighteline to her position.

Still, she performed the security checks her mentor had drilled into her consciousness.

Exit routes, main entrance, kitchen door likely leading to an alley.

Possible emergency exit near the restrooms.

Potential weapons.

Steak knives on nearby tables.

Heavy glass water pitcher.

Chair that could be wielded if necessary.

Surveillance.

three visible security cameras, none aimed directly at her table.

It was second nature now, this constant assessment, this perpetual vigilance.

She wondered sometimes if she would ever be able to enter a room again without mentally cataloging threats and escape routes.

At precisely 1:15 p.m., David Lumids entered the restaurant.

52 years old, slightly stooped shoulders, thinning gray hair.

He looked like countless middle management executives approaching retirement.

His charcoal suit was well-made but not ostentatious.

His tie conservative, his demeanor unremarkable.

Nothing about his appearance suggested his importance to Nino’s mission.

Nothing hinted at the risk he was taking by meeting her.

He paused at the entrance, eyes scanning the room with the practiced efficiency of someone who had also learned caution.

When his gaze found her, she detected the briefest hesitation before he approached his path to her table indirect, allowing him to observe the other patrons as he moved through the restaurant.

For 15 years, Lomidz had served as Cavalad shipping s chief financial officer until a sudden retirement three years ago retirement that coincided with his discovery of certain irregularities in the company s Black Sea operations.

The official story involved health concerns and a desire to spend more time with family.

The truth, which he had shared with Nino during their first clandestine meeting 6 months ago, was far darker.

He had discovered evidence of systematic money laundering through the company Espatumi operations millions flowing from Russian oligarchs through Georgian shell companies and into legitimate American investments.

When he had quietly begun documenting these transactions, intending to present his concerns to Alexander directly, a colleague had warned him that his activities had been noticed.

That warning had likely saved his life.

Lumidzi had been smart enough to secure evidence before raising concerns.

smart enough to create insurance against the fate that had befallen others who questioned the Cavalad’s brothers.

That evidence and his continued survival made him invaluable to Ninoa’s plans.

“Miss Bered,” he greeted her formally, extending his hand.

“His eyes, however, held the weariness of a man who had learned caution the hard way.” “Thank you for meeting me.

The pleasure is mine, Mr.

Lumids,” she replied, matching his professional tone.

I’ve been looking forward to discussing potential collaboration opportunities.

Their conversation remained deliberately mundane as they ordered business platitudes and discussions of market trends.

The kind of conversation no eavesdropper would find interesting.

Lomidz ordered the grilled salmon but barely glanced at the menu.

Nino selected mushroom risoto maintaining the appearance of a normal business lunch.

The waiter, a young man with a practiced smile, seemed uninterested in their conversation as he took their orders and disappeared toward the kitchen.

Only after their server had delivered their meals and moved out of earshot did Lomid’s ass demeanor change.

His shoulders tensed slightly, his voice dropped to a near whisper, and his eyes became more focused, more alert.

You met with Alexander this morning,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible above the restaurant ambient noise.

He cut his salmon into precise pieces, but made no move to eat.

Nino nodded, taking a sip of water.

He was exactly as you described, and he offered you work, translation services for contracts with their Georgian partners.

He mentioned operations in Batumi Potty, specifically.

She twirled pasta around her fork, maintaining the appearance of a casual lunch.

He seemed particularly interested in ensuring the nuances of certain legal clauses were properly conveyed.

Lomidsa s expression darkened, a shadow passing across his features that transformed his unremarkable face into something harder, more haunted.

Batumi.

That’s where it started.

The arrangement with Mckedrion remnants using shipping containers to move more than just consumer goods.

He pushed his food around his plate, appetite apparently gone.

The Batumi terminal manager, Archiel Gogalad, reports directly to Iraqi, bypassing normal operational hierarchies.

That should tell you everything you need to know.

The Mckedriion reference wasn’t te lost on Nino.

The paramilitary organization had been officially disbanded after Georgia s civil conflicts in the early 1990s, but many of its members had transitioned into various criminal enterprises.

If the Cavalottas were employing former Mckedrion members, it suggested connections to organized crime that went beyond simple financial improprieties.

Did he mention his brother s fundraiser? Lumidz asked, finally taking a small bite of his meal, maintaining their cover as business associates having lunch.

Yes, he invited me to attend.

Something about an education initiative.

The Cavalz Future Leaders Foundation.

Lomides tone carried a hint of disdain.

Nicolo’s pet project supposedly providing scholarships to Georgian students to study at American universities.

In reality, it is a sophisticated influence operation.

They select students from families with political connections, bring them to the US, indoctrinate them with certain perspectives, then send them back to Georgia to assume positions in government or industry.

It is how they maintain their influence in TLI despite living in Atlanta.

Clever, Nino observed, creating the next generation of officials who feel indebted to the Cavali family.

Precisely.

But Alexander doesn’t he typically introduce new associates to Nicolas so quickly.

The brothers maintain separate spheres of influence.

Alexander handles business operations.

Nicolo manages political relationships.

And Iraqi oversees security and enforcement.

Lomid studied her face with unexpected intensity.

He must see something in you that interests him.

I presented myself exactly as we planned, Nino replied, maintaining eye contact to project confidence.

A competent professional with Georgian heritage and no apparent connections to anyone in their past.

Be careful, Lommed warned, leaning closer.

Alexander didn’t he build his empire by being careless or trusting.

He’ll have you investigated thoroughly if there are any flaws in your background.

their R&T.

Nino assured him with quiet confidence.

Every detail has been verified and backstopped.

Education records, employment history, residential addresses, tax filings, all authenticated and consistent.

Even if they employ their best resources, my identity will hold.

Her confidence was in tea misplaced.

The identity of Nino Beriz had been constructed over years, layer by layer, with meticulous attention to detail.

Her mentor, a former intelligence operative with decades of experience in creating legend Chad, insisted on authenticity in every aspect.

She had actually attended forom University under this identity, actually worked at Eastman Global Consulting, actually volunteered with Georgian immigrant organizations.

The documentation wasn’t t falsified.

was genuine, created through legitimate channels supported by people who believed in her cover story or had been paid well to maintain it.

Lommedi didn’t he seem entirely convinced, but he nodded nonetheless, perhaps recognizing that they had passed the point where such concerns could alter their course.

“Iva brought what you asked for,” he said, reaching into his jacket pocket to retrieve a small flash drive, which he slipped across the table beneath a napkin.

security protocols for their main database, including remote access pathways and authentication requirements.

It’s not completely vupgraded systems since my departure, but it should provide a foundation.

Nino palmed the drive smoothly, transferring it to her purse without a visible movement.

Thank you.

This will be extremely helpful.

There’s something else, Lomids added, his voice dropping even lower, forcing Nino to lean slightly forward to hear him.

A name you should be aware of.

Victor Zodilava.

He was Alexander S.

Enforcer before Iraqi took over the security division.

Former Georgian special forces, then FSB trained, ruthlessly efficient.

Officially, he died in a boating accident in 2010.

But there are rumors he’s still alive living in Turkey under a new identity.

Still handling special projects for the brothers when necessary.

Nino committed the name to memory, mentally adding it to her growing map of the Cavalzi network.

Do you believe these rumors? I’ve learned that with the Cavali’s death and tea always permanent at least not for those who serve them loyally.

Lomides eyes carried the haunted look of a man who had seen too much.

Just as life isn’t te guaranteed for those who cross them.

He glanced around the restaurant before continuing.

His voice so low that Nino had to strain to hear him.

In 2008, a shipping competitor named Gorgich Ka began undercutting cavalazi rates on Black Sea routes.

Within 3 months, his body was found in his swimming pool apparent heart attack.

Two years later, an American journalist started asking questions about Cavaladi financial transactions.

Car accident.

a Georgian prosecutor who opened an investigation into their pod operations.

Suicide supposedly all convenient deaths all benefiting the brothers.

Nino kept her expression neutral despite the cold anger building inside her.

Her father same was in T on Lomid s list, but it belonged there another convenient death that had benefited the Cavalad Empire.

Yet here you are, Nino observed, still breathing despite what you know.

A grim smile crossed Lumid’s as face, transforming his features momentarily into something harder, more resolute, only because I ensured that certain documents would be released to specific authorities in the event of my untimely demise.

Banking records, transfer authorizations, email correspondence enough to trigger investigations in three countries, mutually assured destruction.

only language the brothers truly understand and they reaware of this insurance policy.

Alexander is we had a conversation before my retirement became official.

He understands the terms of our arrangement.

I live quietly, maintain my silence and receive a generous pension.

In return, I continue breathing and the documents remain secured.

And you trust him to honor this arrangement indefinitely? Nino asked, genuinely curious about the dynamics of this uneasy Dante.

Lomiz laugh was soft and bitter.

Trust? No.

But Alexander is nothing if not pragmatic.

The cost of eliminating me exceeds the benefit, at least for now.

Should that calculation ever change, he shrugged, the gesture conveying a fatalistic acceptance of his precarious position.

They finished their meal discussing safer topics establishing the public narrative of their relationship as potential business associates.

Lomid shared insights about Atlanta s Georgian communityo was aligned with the cavalads who maintained independence who might be sympathetic to someone investigating the brothers.

Nino provided enough details about her supposed background to make their connection plausible to anyone observing their meeting.

As they prepared to leave, Lumidza hesitated, his hand resting on the table as if to steady himself, something in his expression had changed a new intensity, a need to understand something that had clearly been troubling him.

“May I ask you something, Miss Beridza?” His eyes searched her face with uncomfortable perception.

What is your real interest in the cavaladzas? This goes beyond professional opportunity.

I’ve recognized that from our first conversation.

Nino had prepared for this question, knowing it would eventually come.

She allowed a carefully calibrated vulnerability to show in her expression not enough to suggest weakness, but sufficient to imply authentic emotion beneath her professional exterior.

Let’s just say that my family once had business dealings with the Cabaladses, she replied softly.

Those dealings ended poorly for us.

I’m simply seeking to understand why.

It wasn’t te the full truth, but it contained enough authenticity to satisfy Lommed curiosity without revealing her true purpose.

The older man studied her for a long moment before nodding slowly, perhaps recognizing in her a reflection of his own motivation, a desire for truth or justice, or perhaps for something darker.

Be careful, he said again as they parted outside the restaurant.

Whatever you were seeking, remember that the Cavalzi brothers have destroyed people far more powerful than either of us.

I I’ll remember, Nino promised, watching as he walked away, shoulders hunched against an invisible weight.

She felt a momentary pang of guilt for involving him in her plans.

Lamids was taking significant risks by helping her, and she hadn’t he been entirely honest about how she intended to use the information he provided.

If her true agenda were discovered, his carefully negotiated detente with Alexander would shatter instantly.

But guilt was a luxury she couldn’t he afford.

Not now.

Not when she was finally positioning herself to strike at the heart of the Cavalz Empire.

Lomidz had made his choice just as she had made hers years ago, standing beside her father’s grave while the Cavaladzi brothers offered insincere condolences.

She waited until Lumidz had disappeared around the corner before checking her watch.

She had 3 hours before her next appointment enough time to return to her apartment, review the information on the flash drive, and prepare for her evening meeting with Alexander s assistant to collect the translation documents.

As she hailed a taxi, her phone buzzed with an incoming message.

The number was unfamiliar, but the text was clear.

Opera tickets confirmed for the 15th.

Car will collect you at 700 p.m.

Aino allowed herself a small smile as she slipped the phone back into her purse.

The game was advancing faster than anticipated.

Alexander Cavalad, the calculating predator who never made a move without careful consideration, was showing unusual interest in his new translator.

Her apartment was a 15-minute drive from the restaurant, a modest one-bedroom in a secure building that offered the right balance of anonymity and respectability.

As the taxi navigated Atlanta s midday traffic, Nino mentally reviewed her next steps.

The flash drive from Lomids would need to be examined on her secure laptop, the one not connected to any network, the one whose contents were encrypted and could be wiped with a single keystroke if necessary.

She would need to prepare for the opera with Alexander researching Palashvil s work to ensure she could discuss it knowledgeably, selecting an outfit that would be appropriate without appearing too calculated.

And she would need to contact her mentor, the man who had found her after her father s death, who had recognized her potential and shaped her into a weapon aimed at the Cavalad heart.

He would want to know that the first phase of their plan was proceeding even more quickly than anticipated.

The taxi pulled up to her building and Nino paid the driver in cash no digital trail, another habit from her training.

As she entered her apartment, she performed her usual security check.

Door lock undisturbed.

Invisible tape on the frame still intact.

Subtle markers she had placed on drawers and cabinets all in their proper positions.

Satisfied that no one had entered in her absence, she moved to the kitchen where she removed a panel beneath the sink to retrieve her secure laptop.

The flash drive from Lumitz contained exactly what he had promised to detailed information about Kavalad shipping suding remote access pathways that could potentially be exploited.

More importantly, it contained organizational charts, financial summaries, and internal communications that began to illuminate the true structure of the Cavalade Empire.

She spent an hour analyzing the data, making notes in a cipher of her own creation, building her understanding of the vulnerabilities she might eventually target.

At 4:30 p.m., she secured the laptop again and prepared for her meeting with Alexander s assistant.

She changed into a different outfit, still professional, but slightly more formal, appropriate for an evening visit to the Cavalade offices.

As she applied a touch of lipstick, she studied her reflection in the mirror.

The woman who looked back at her appeared composed, confident, perhaps even eager for this professional opportunity.

Nothing in her expression revealed the cold calculation behind her eyes, the years of planning now coming to fruition.

Her phone buzzed again.

Another text message.

Miss Beridz, I meet you in the lobby at 5:30 with the documents Mr.

Cavalads mentioned.

Sophia Reynolds, executive assistant to Alexander Cavaladino, texted a polite confirmation, then checked the time.

She had 30 minutes before she needed to leave just enough time for one more important call.

She retrieved a different phone from a hidden compartment in her closet, one that operated on a secure network and left no traceable records.

She dialed a number from memory, waiting as it rang three times before connecting.

Yes, the voice was male, older, with the faint accent of someone who had learned English late in life.

I made contact, Nino reported simply.

Phase one is proceeding ahead of schedule.

The eldest brother already showing personal interest.

Opera next week.

Political fundraiser this weekend.

A pause then.

Be cautious.

If he’s accelerating the timeline, it may indicate suspicion rather than interest.

I’ve considered that possibility, Nino acknowledged.

But my assessment suggests genuine interest.

His body language, conversational patterns, and subsequent actions all align with attraction rather than suspicion.

Perhaps the voice sounded unconvinced.

Remember your training.

Attraction can be weaponized, but it can also be a vulnerability if it becomes reciprocal.

That one tea be an issue, Nino assured him, her tone hardening slightly.

I haven’t he forgotten why I’m here.

See that you don T.

The line went dead without further commenth.

Their mentor had never been one for unnecessary words or emotional reassurances.

Nino returned the secure phone to its hiding place and gathered her things for the meeting with Alexander s assistant.

As she locked her apartment, she felt the familiar calm settling over her focused clarity that came with advancing toward a longheld goal.

After years of preparation, she was finally inside the Cavalzi orbit, positioned to learn their secrets, exploit their weaknesses, and ultimately bring them to justice for her father s death and countless other crimes.

Alexander Cavaladzi thought he was cultivating a valuable new associate, perhaps even a potential romantic interest.

He had no idea he was inviting his nemesis into his carefully constructed world.

He thought he was the hunter.

He had no idea he was being hunted in return.

The night of the opera arrived with unseasonable warmth.

Atlanta as spring evening, carrying hints of approaching summer.

Nino stood before her mirror, making final adjustments to her appearance.

Her dress midnight blue silk with a modest neckline and a hemline that fell just below the knee struck.

The perfect balance between elegance and restraint.

Her grandmother s pendant rested at her throat, its gold filigree catching the light.

She had styled her hair in a simple updo, applied makeup that enhanced rather than transformed, and selected heels that were flattering without being impractical.

Every detail had been considered not for vanity, but for strategy.

Tonight wasn’t tea about attraction.

It was about access.

Alexander Cavalad was offering her entry into his world, and she needed to appear as if she belonged there without drawing undue attention.

At precisely 700 p.m., her phone chimed with a text message.

Car waiting downstairs.

at the vehicle was a black Mercedes S-Class with tinted windows and diplomatic plates Georgian consulate.

She noted with interest.

The driver, a broad-shouldered man with the watchful eyes of former military, opened the door without speaking.

As she settled into the leather seat, she realized Alexander wasn’t tea in the car.

Instead, a handwritten note rested on the adjacent seat.

Miss Berid, urgent business requires my attention.

I’ll meet you at the Woodruff Arts Center.

Please enjoy the drive, Alexander.

The note was written on heavy cream stationary embossed with the Cavalade family crest.

Nino tucked it into her evening bag, analyzing this unexpected development.

Was it truly business or a test to observe how she handled herself when arriving alone? With Alexander, every action likely served multiple purposes.

The drive to the Woodruff Arts Center took 20 minutes through Atlanta s evening traffic.

The driver remained silent, his eyes occasionally meeting hers in the rearview mirror with professional assessment.

Nino used the time to center herself, mentally reviewing what she knew about Polyeshilia opera and preparing for the evening ahead.

The Mercedes pulled up to the arts center as main entrance where the driver finally spoke.

Mr.

Cavalad is waiting in the main lobby near the eastern staircase.

His Georgian accent was thick, his tone respectful but distant.

“Thank you,” Nino replied in Georgian, offering a small smile that the man did not return.

The Woodruff Arts Center buzzed with Atlanta s elite gathered for what had been promoted as a cultural highlight of the season.

Women in designer gowns and men in tailored tuxedos moved through the space with the easy confidence of wealth and privilege.

Nino navigated through them with practiced grace, scanning the crowd for Alexander, she found him exactly where the driver had indicated, engaged in conversation with an older couple.

Even in this gathering of powerful people, Alexander Cavaladz commanded attention’s bespoke tuxedo impeccably fitted, his posture radiating authority, his expression animated as he spoke.

When he caught sight of Nino approaching, something shifted in his demeanor, a subtle straightening of his shoulders, a focusing of his attention.

“Ah, Miss Beridzi,” he called, extending his hand in welcome.

“I’m pleased you’ve arrived safely.

Allow me to introduce Senator and Mrs.

Harrison.

Senator, this is Nino Beridzi, a brilliant translator who has recently joined our team.

Senator Harrison Silver-Haired, ruddy faced with the practice smile of a career politician, shook her hand warmly.

Any friend of Alexander S is welcome indeed.

Are you enjoying Atlanta, Miss Beridza? Very much, Senator, Nino replied.

The city has been incredibly welcoming.

Nino recently relocated from New York, Alexander explained, his hand coming to rest lightly on her lower back as he guided the conversation.

She’s helping us with some delicate negotiations requiring perfect Georgian translation.

Ah, maintaining those homeland connections.

Mrs.

Harrison nodded approvingly.

Alexander has done so much to strengthen Georgia American relations.

We need more business people with his global vision.

The conversation continued for several minutes, polite, superficial, laden with political undertones.

Nino observed how Alexander navigated the exchange, noting his ability to make the senator feel important while subtly reminding him of past support.

When the Harrisons finally moved on to greet other attendees, Alexander turned his full attention to Nino.

“You look lovely,” he said.

his eyes making a quick but thorough assessment.

That pendant Georgian work, is it not? Nino touched it briefly.

My grandmother s one of the few family treasures that made it out of Telisi with us.

Beautiful craftsmanship.

19th century, I would guess.

From the Ceti region.

His knowledge surprised her, though she didn’t.

He let it show.

Yes, exactly.

You have an impressive eye for such details.

Alexander smiled, pleased with her acknowledgement.

I collect Georgian artifacts, a way of maintaining connection to our heritage despite the distance.

Perhaps you de liked to see my collection sometime.

I would be honored, Nino replied, recognizing the invitation for what it was another step toward the inner circle she needed to penetrate.

A soft chime announced that the performance would begin shortly.

Alexander offered his arm with oldworld courtesy, guiding her toward the theater entrance.

“Have you seen Abselum Dieteteri performed before?” “Only recordings,” she admitted.

“My father had an old vinyl set that we would play on special occasions.

The lullaby scene was his favorite.” “Mine as well,” Alexander replied, genuine enthusiasm warming his voice.

Palesi captured something essential about our people in that melody resilience beneath sorrow, strength within tenderness.

As they entered the theater, Nino noted how heads turned in their direction, how whispers followed their progress.

Alexander s position in Atlanta society was evident in the respectful nods he received.

The difference shown by staff who guided them to their seats premium orchestra section center with perfect sight lines to the stage.

I must apologize for not collecting you personally, Alexander said as they settled into their seats.

A situation with our Batumi terminal required immediate attention.

No apology necessary, Nino assured him.

Business must come first indeed, though I try not to let it consume every moment.

He studied her with unexpected directness.

The translations you provided were excellent.

By the way, you captured nuances that our previous translator missed entirely.

Thank you.

I believe context is essential to accurate translation.

words alone aren’t he enough without understanding the cultural and historical background they emerge from.

Alexander nodded approvingly precisely my view.

In fact, I’d like to expand your role beyond the initial contracts we discussed.

We have several sensitive negotiations upcoming that would benefit from your expertise.

I would welcome the opportunity, Nino replied, careful to show appropriate enthusiasm without appearing too eager.

Their conversation paused as the lights dimmed and the conductor appeared to enthusiastic applause.

As the overture began rich, sweeping, infused with Georgian folk, Melody’s Nino felt Alexander’s attention shift partially from her to the music.

His hand rested on the armrest between them, fingers moving slightly with the rhythm, betraying a genuine emotional connection to the performance.

This was a side of Alexander Cavalad.

She hadn’t t anticipated a man capable of being moved by beauty, of connecting to his cultural heritage through art.

It didn’t he align with the cold, calculating image she had constructed based on Lommed’s descriptions and her own research.

This complexity made him more dangerous.

She realized a simple monster would be easier to predict, easier to outmaneuver.

The opera unfolded the tragic love story of Absalam Nitaryi filled with betrayal, magic, and sacrifice.

Nino divided her attention between the performance and the man beside her, observing his reactions, noting which scenes affected him most deeply.

When the famous lullabi began in the second act, she saw Alexander close his eyes briefly, his expression softening in a moment of unguarded emotion.

During intermission, they moved to the private donor s lounge where champagne and orders were served.

Alexander introduced her to a succession of Atlanta s elite bank executives, real estate developers, university presidents, political figures.

Each introduction was carefully framed to establish her legitimacy within his circle while maintaining professional boundaries.

My talented translator became his standard description with occasional elaborations about her educational background or linguistic abilities.

Nino played her role perfectly intelligent but not threatening.

Knowledgeable about Georgia but appropriately differential when Alexander spoke of business matters.

Charming without being flirtatious, she observed how others responded to him.

him the respect tinged with weariness from business associates, the calculated warmth from political figures, the genuine admiration from cultural leaders whose organizations had benefited from his philanthropy.

Alexander darling, a striking woman in her early 50s, approached, air kissing Alexander s cheeks with practiced elegance.

Her black gown was Valentino, her diamonds substantial without being ostentatious.

Her cosmetic enhancements subtle but effective.

The first act was magnificent.

Your support for bringing Georgian culture to Atlanta has been transformative.

Elena Alexander greeted her with apparent warmth.

Thank you for your kind words.

May I introduce Nino Berid? Nino, this is Elena Vadz, chair of the Atlanta International Cultural Exchange.

A pleasure, Elena said, assessing Nino with quick shrewd eyes.

Are you enjoying the performance, Miss Beridza? Very much, Nino replied.

The Sopranos s interpretation of it is particularly moving.

Indeed, though I found her a bit sharp during the confrontation scene.

Elena turned back to Alexander.

Will you be attending the Governor s dinner next week? He specifically asked if you would be there.

Unfortunately, ILLB in Washington for meetings, Alexander replied smoothly.

But Nicolo’s will represent our family interests.

Pity.

The governor values your perspective on international trade matters.

Elena Sgaze shifted back to Nino with renewed interest.

Are you recently arrived in Atlanta, Ms.

Berids? Yes, from New York.

How interesting.

What brings you to our city? Before Nino could answer, Alexander intervened.

Nino is assisting with some specialized translation work for our Georgian operations.

Her expertise is invaluable.

Elena as perfectly shaped eyebrows rose slightly.

I see.

Well, we must get you involved in our cultural exchange programs.

We were always seeking individuals with authentic connections to Georgian heritage.

The conversation continued briefly before Elena excused herself to greet other patrons.

As she departed, Alexander leaned closer to Nino.

Elena is wellconed but intensely curious.

Be cautious about sharing personal details.

Thank you for the warning, Nino replied, noting this protective gesture with interest.

She seems formidable.

She is.

Her husband is Georgia s honorary consul in Atlanta, and she leverages that position effectively.

Alexander guided Nino toward a quieter corner of the lounge.

You handled yourself well with the senator and others.

Many find these social obligations tedious.

Not at all.

I find people fascinating, especially those who shape policy and business.

Alexander smiled, apparently pleased with her response.

A useful perspective for someone in your position.

Understanding motivations and relationships is as important as understanding language.

The chimes sounded for the second act, and they returned to their seats.

As the performance resumed, Nino felt Alexander shift slightly closer, his arm occasionally brushing hers on the shared armrest.

The contact seemed casual, perhaps even unconscious.

But Nino recognized it as deliberatia testing of boundaries, an assertion of growing familiarity.

When the final tragic scene concluded Abby Salam dying in its s arms, their love destroyed by jealousy and deception noticed Alexander s subtle emotional response, a tightening of his jaw, a momentary stillness.

The audience erupted in applause as the performers took their bows and Alexander joined them enthusiastically, his momentary vulnerability replaced by public persona once again.

A magnificent performance, he commented as they joined the crowd moving toward the exits.

What did you think? Extraordinary, Nino replied truthfully.

The conductor s interpretation of the wedding scene was unlike any I’ve heard before.

more urgent, more foroding.

You have a good ear, Alexander observed.

Most wouldn’t he notice such subtleties.

Outside, the warm evening had given way to a gentle rain.

Alexander s driver appeared immediately with an umbrella, escorting them to the waiting Mercedes.

Once inside the vehicle, Alexander turned to Nino with unexpected directness.

Would you join me for a night cap? I have an excellent Georgian cognac that would provide a fitting conclusion to an evening of cultural celebration.

The invitation represented both opportunity and risk.

Accepting would accelerate her access to Alexander s’s private world, but it would also potentially shift their relationship from professional to personal more quickly than she had planned.

That sounds wonderful, she replied after a carefully measured hesitation.

But perhaps another evening.

It’s been a long day and I have early commitments tomorrow.

Alexander studied her for a moment, then nodded with what appeared to be approval rather than disappointment.

Of course, responsibility before pleasury a principle I respect.

He gave instructions to the driver before turning back to her.

The fundraiser at Nicolas s home this weekend.

Ul still attend.

Yes, I’m looking forward to it.

Excellent.

My brother is eager to meet you.

Ivy told him about your exceptional work.

The remainder of the drive passed with comfortable conversation about the opera and its cultural significance.

When they reached her apartment building, Alexander exited the car to walk her to the entrance, despite the continuing rain.

“Thank you for a lovely evening,” Nino said as they reached the doors.

“The performance was everything I hoped it would be.

The pleasure was mine,” Alexander replied, taking her hand.

For a moment, she thought he might kiss it in the oldworld manner he occasionally affected.

Instead, he simply held it briefly, his thumb brushing lightly across her knuckles.

“Until Saturday, then.” Until Saturday, she echoed, withdrawing her hand with natural grace.

Inside her apartment, Nino immediately removed her pendant, which contained a sophisticated recording device, and connected it to her secure laptop.

The evening s conversations would need to be analyzed for useful information, connections, potential leverage points.

As the data transferred, she slipped out of her dress and heels, replacing them with comfortable clothes, more suited to the long night of work ahead.

Her phone chimed with a text message.

A truly enjoyable evening.

Thank you for sharing it with me, Ax.

She replied with appropriate appreciation, then set the phone aside.

Alexander sin interest was growing more personal exactly as she had hoped.

The opera had revealed useful aspects of his characterist emotional connection to Georgian culture, his extensive social network, his careful management of his public image.

More importantly, it had confirmed her initial assessment.

Despite his caution and intelligence, Alexander Cavaladz had vulnerabilities that could be exploited.

As she began reviewing the recorded conversations, Nino allowed herself a moment of grim satisfaction.

The pieces were moving into position.

Soon she would meet the second brother, Nicolas, expanding her understanding of the family dynamics.

Eventually, she would encounter Iraqly enforcer, the most dangerous of the three.

And then when she had gathered sufficient evidence, when she understood the full extent of their operations and vulnerabilities, she would begin the real work dismantling the Cavalade Empire piece by piece, exposing their crimes, destroying everything they had built.

It would be her tribute to her father.