My Milf Conqueror System novel Chapter 113

Chapter 113: The Ghost of Sector 4

[Ethan’s POV]

Bucharest didn’t welcome us; it swallowed us.

The Gulfstream touched down at a private airstrip on the outskirts of the city just as the sun was beginning to set, casting long, bruised shadows across the cracked tarmac. The air outside the cabin was thick with the smell of diesel exhaust and impending rain.

I stepped off the airstairs first, my hand resting casually near the small of my back where the Glock was holstered. Claire followed close behind, carrying a sleek, reinforced briefcase that held her laptop and a stack of untraceable euros.

A rusted black Mercedes sedan was waiting for us near the edge of the runway. The driver, a thick-necked man smoking a cheap cigarette, didn’t get out to open the doors. He just stared at us through the rearview mirror.

"Aegis Solutions local contact?" Claire asked quietly, her eyes scanning the perimeter.

"No," I said, keeping my voice low. "Aegis is compromised in Europe. Isabella Vane has been buying out our private military contractors for the last six months. If we used Vanguard’s official security network, Isabella would know we were here before we even cleared customs."

"So who is he?"

"A smuggler I found on the dark web," I said, walking toward the car. "He doesn’t know who we are, and he doesn’t care. He just knows we pay in cash."

We climbed into the back of the Mercedes. The interior smelled like stale tobacco and cheap cologne.

"Sector 4," I told the driver in English. "The coordinates I sent you."

The driver grunted, flicked his cigarette out the window, and put the car in gear.

The drive into the city was a stark reminder of why Jake had chosen this place to hide. The glittering, modern financial districts of Western Europe were a world away. Here, the architecture was a brutalist mix of decaying Soviet-era apartment blocks and narrow, winding streets choked with traffic and neon signs. There were no high-end security cameras on the street corners. There were no digital payment kiosks. It was a cash-only, analog world.

It was the perfect place for a man with no digital footprint to disappear.

"The signal originated from a block of abandoned tenements near the river," Claire said, opening her laptop and dimming the screen so the driver couldn’t see the reflection. "It’s a bad neighborhood, Ethan. Local police don’t even patrol there. It’s run by a syndicate called the Lupii—the Wolves. They deal in extortion, smuggling, and underground gambling."

"If Jake has been living here for two years, he’s either paying them off, or he’s hiding from them," I said, watching the decaying buildings roll past the window.

"Or he’s working for them," Claire suggested quietly.

I looked at her, my jaw tightening. "Jake Hart doesn’t work for street thugs."

"The Jake Hart we knew didn’t," Claire corrected gently. "But you said it yourself, Ethan. We don’t know what Isabella Vane did to his mind. If he lost his edge... if he lost his memory... he might just be trying to survive."

The thought made my stomach churn. Jake had been a king. He had bent billionaires to his will and orchestrated the downfall of entire corporate empires. The idea of him running errands for a low-level Romanian crime syndicate was sickening.

The Mercedes lurched to a halt, the brakes squealing in protest.

"End of the line," the driver grunted, tapping the steering wheel. "I don’t go further into Sector 4 after dark. You walk from here."

I handed him a thick stack of euros. He counted it quickly, nodded, and unlocked the doors.

We stepped out into the freezing rain. The street was narrow and poorly lit, flanked by towering, concrete apartment blocks that looked like they were slowly crumbling into the pavement. The air smelled of wet garbage and cheap liquor. A group of men standing near a burning trash can down the alley stopped talking and turned to look at us.

We stood out. Even in our tactical gear, we looked like money. And in Sector 4, money was a target.

"Keep your head down and walk with purpose," I told Claire, pulling the collar of my coat up. "Don’t make eye contact."

We moved down the street, the rain slicking the cobblestones. I kept my hand close to my weapon, my eyes constantly scanning the shadows. Darius’s training echoed in my mind. Watch their hips. Watch their hands. Look for the ambush.

"The coordinates are about two blocks east," Claire whispered, checking a handheld GPS device. "It’s an old industrial laundry facility. Supposedly abandoned."

As we turned the corner, the group of men from the trash can stepped out of the shadows, blocking our path. There were four of them. They wore heavy leather jackets and carried themselves with the loose, aggressive confidence of men who owned the street. One of them, a tall man with a jagged scar across his cheek, stepped forward.

"You are lost, Americans," the scarred man said in heavily accented English. He smiled, revealing a row of gold-capped teeth. "This is Lupii territory. You need to pay a toll to walk here."

I didn’t stop walking. I didn’t slow down. I just kept moving toward him.

"We’re not lost," I said, my voice flat and devoid of fear. "And we’re not paying a toll. Move."

The scarred man laughed, a harsh, barking sound. He reached into his jacket, his hand wrapping around the handle of a knife. "You do not understand. You pay, or you bleed."

...

Flashback - Twelve Months Ago

"You’re hesitating!" Darius roared, slapping my hands away as I tried to block his jab. He stepped inside my guard and delivered a brutal, open-handed strike to my solar plexus.

I hit the mat, gasping for air, my vision swimming.

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