His Dangerous Love On Ice (Olivia and Zane) novel Chapter 182

Third Person POV

The man’s fingers traced the glossy magazine cover slowly, deliberately, his touch almost reverent as it moved across the photograph displayed there, a hockey player mid-action, captured in perfect athletic form, his face focused and intense beneath the headline “Zane Mercer: The NHL’s Most Elusive Star.”

The downtown Seattle penthouse where he sat was dark except for the ambient city lights filtering through the floor-to- ceiling windows, casting shadows that made the expensive modern furniture look almost sinister in the dim glow.

He’d been staring at this particular magazine for the better part of an hour, studying every detail of the photograph, every line of Zane Mercer’s face, every nuance of his expression that might give away something the rest of the world didn’t see.

His phone buzzed on the glass coffee table, vibrating twice before he reached for it with his free hand, his eyes never leaving the magazine.

“Yes?” His voice was smooth, accented, the kind of voice that could charm or threaten depending on which served him better in the moment.

“It’s done,” a female voice said on the other end. “The second phase is complete. Just like you requested.”

“And there were no complications?” he asked, finally looking away from Zane’s photograph to stare out at the Seattle skyline.

“None. Clean. Professional. By the time anyone realizes what happened, we’ll be three steps ahead.”

“Good.” He set the magazine down on the coffee table, positioning it carefully so Zane’s face was staring up at the ceiling. “And what about Paloma?”

There was a pause on the other end, the kind of silence that spoke of hesitation.

“She’s becoming a problem,” the woman admitted. “She’s been avoiding me. Asking too many questions.”

His jaw clenched imperceptibly. “Handle it. Quietly.”

“Of course. Anything else?”

“Keep watching the Monroe woman. I want to know everywhere she goes, everyone she talks to. Every move she makes.”

“Already being done.”

He ended the call without saying goodbye and set his phone back on the table, his attention returning to the magazine.

Zane Mercer.

The name tasted bitter in his mind, brought up memories and rage and a carefully cultivated plan that had taken years to develop, years to position all the pieces exactly where they needed to be.

His secondary phone buzzed, the one only a select few people had access to-and when he saw the name on the screen. something that might have been satisfaction flickered across his features.

“William,” he answered, injecting just the right amount of respect into his tone. “To what do I owe the pleasure?

“I need an update.” William Mercer’s voice was clipped, impatient. “On the situation we discussed last week.”

“Everything is proceeding as planned,” he assured the older man. “Your son remains completely unaware of what’s coming.”

“And the Monroe girl?”

“Is exactly where we need her to be. Close enough to Zane that when everything falls apart, she’ll be caught in the blast radius.”

“I don’t want her hurt,” William said sharply. “That wasn’t part of our agreement.”

“Of course not,” he lied smoothly. “She’ll be collateral damage at worst. Nothing permanent.”

William was quiet for a moment, and he could practically hear the older man’s internal debate-weighing his desire for power against whatever minimal conscience he possessed.

“Operation Resonance 2 launches next month,” William said finally. “I assume you’re prepared?”

Operation Resonance 2.

He picked up his third phone-the one even his closest associates didn’t know existed-and made a call to a number he’d memorized years ago.

It rang once before being answered.

“Status?” A voice on the other end, digitally altered to be completely unrecognizable.

“Phase 2 complete. Phase 3 begins in seventy-two hours. William Mercer is positioned exactly where we need him. Zane Mercer is distracted by the Monroe woman. All targets are in place.”

“And the primary objective?”

“Will be achieved by the end of the month. I’ve waited fifteen years for this. I’m not going to fail now.”

“See that you don’t. Too many resources have been invested. Too many people sacrificed. This ends the way we planned or it doesn’t end at all.”

“Understood.”

The call disconnected and he returned to his chair, picking up the magazine one more time.

“Fifteen years, Zane,” he murmured to the photograph. “Thirteen years since Klaus Monroe died. Fifteen years since Operation Resonance destroyed everything. Did you really think there wouldn’t be consequences? Did you really think you could walk away from what you did?”

He tore the magazine in half, right through Zane’s face, and let the pieces fall to the floor.

The game was entering its final stages.

And this time, Zane Mercer wouldn’t survive it.