Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I'm borrowing her characters and giving them some guns (again).

Unbeta'd, unedited.

"Where are they?"

Like usual, Whitlock rolls his eyes at my apparent lack of patience. "Just picked up the Mercedes on Rennweg."

With a couple of quick keystrokes, the bank of temporary screens he and Emmett set up in the hotel room blink to life. In the center, a small motorcade of slick black vehicles approaches an intersection right outside the Innere Stadt.

In the front SUV – a brand new boxy G-class – sits a pair of stern-faced bruisers. Aronov's big-ass sedan with heavily tinted windows comes next, followed by a second G-class with another pair of security guards. Like the ones in the front and the guys picked up on Platt's earlier surveillance, they're the real deal. The blond, pale-eyed fucker riding shotgun is openly sporting a matte black H&K MP5K subcompact.

It's a solid weapon, especially for close quarters. I can't really fault him there.

But it lets me know that Aronov doesn't give a fuck about even pretending to follow any kind of local laws.

"Any idea on what he's been up to?" I ask and then suck down the last gulp of some shitty Nespresso Emmett swears by. It tastes like wet dog to me.

"Looks like they came out of the Russian Embassy," Jasper replies, simultaneously swapping one of the other screens over to a recorded feed of a large, ivory-colored Neo-Renaissance palace. Functional, black iron fencing rings the building, contrasted by the gold, domed spires of the nearby cathedral rising in the background. "They were there for around an hour and a half. I'm working on who they were meeting."

I don't know how, but Whitlock's managed to gain access to Vienna's very intricate network of traffic and security cameras. He isn't a hacker… so he says, but his connections are excellent, and they go both wide and deep. More importantly, he's got that rare, rare innate gift for convincing people to do whatever the hell we want them to do. I mean, no one – no one – gets the Swiss to give up their clients, yet that's exactly what they did with Petrescu.

Let's just say that I'm glad he's on our side.

I also hope he's not been bargaining away any first-born children in exchange for this level of surveillance.

It's really that good.

As Aronov's entourage exits the embassy, one of his bruisers passes a thick, tan-colored envelope to the guard at the gate. As soon as the gate slams shut, the soldier pockets the envelope, turns on his heel, and then heads straight back into the embassy.

Interesting.

Stepping closer to the makeshift desk, I squint and try to make out the street sign as they turn off Rennweg onto some smaller side street. "Do we know where they're heading now?"

Jasper clucks his tongue and clicks a tiny square, bringing up yet another camera and view. "Appears he's going back toward the Sacher. My source in the hotel tells me he's in the Butterfly Suite."

"Of course, he is." Several thousand a night's chump change for a guy like Aronov. "Hope he tips the staff at least."

One corner of Jasper's mouth tugs up. "Platt's people have been tracking a known entity out of Iran. Flew in two nights ago, about the time your charter landed in Bratislava. They think the initial meeting is today."

"Shit, just keep an eye on him. Anything else?"

Whitlock's fingers fly across the keyboard, and another one of the screens pop up, this one with rows and rows of times and dates. "Apparently, Aronov really likes opera."

My nose crinkles. "What?"

"He has tickets for tomorrow's night's premiere," he says. "Same private box as last week."

Opera is not my thing, but that doesn't mean I haven't sat through my share of screech-a-thons. Assholes like Aronov always like that shit, or at least pretend to. Seeing as how I like eliminating them, there you go.

"What's playing?" I ask, just hoping it's not fucking Wagner.

Jasper chuffs out a laugh. "Don Giovanni."

"Wonderful." Rolling my eyes, I glance over my shoulder to Alice, where she's sitting cross-legged on top of the very expensive gilt and glass coffee table positioned between a pair of fancy brocade couches. "Spooky, what do you think?"

Alice looks up from the inch-thick file on her lap. "I think this is some shit intel, that's what." She makes an ugly face and blows a chunk of violet highlighted hair out of her eyes. "Is this seriously all they have on this bastard?"

Leaving Jasper to his tracking, I slouch down into one of the matching brocade wingbacks and dry wash my face. "Apparently, or at least that's what they're willing to give us."

The responding sound she makes falls somewhere between a huff and a laugh. "God, no wonder."

I don't ask her what she means by that. They always say a picture is worth a thousand words, and Alice's expression says it all.

Instead, I tell her, "I sent Dayan a request earlier this morning, just to see what he can get on him. On Masen, too."

"Good." A slow, approving smile stretches Alice's face as she nods. "Eli's people at King Saul Boulevard always have excellent intel. Plus, that man's in love with you."

I laugh at that. "He's in love with any woman who can hit a target."

She snorts. "Okay, that's probably true. But still, he'll bend over backward for you."

"So," I say, quickly redirecting from that uncomfortable conversation. More tired than I like to admit, I lean forward to rest my elbows on my knees. "Aronov. Ideas?"

Alice sighs and slaps the file down on the glass in front of her. "I have no idea what really makes this motherfucker tick. At least not yet… And Masen's a fucking blank slate. What we have on that asshole's been redacted to the point of uselessness." She makes another one of those huffing sounds. "You're going to need to get… a lot closer, especially if we want to figure out what the hell happened to Cullen."

Jasper's bored baritone pipes in. "Tomorrow night?"

I look over. "Can you get me tickets?"

Whitlock sends me a pissy, almost-baleful glare, like I just insulted both him and ten generations of his ancestors. Apparently, my question isn't even worthy of an answer.

Alice tsks. "Get a private box, something conspicuously pricey." She pauses. "And it needs to be close to Aronov's, but… not too close. Same level. If you can get one diagonal or across, that would be perfect."

"Consider it done," he says, and that little glare of his morphs into something else altogether when he nods to Alice.

Jesus, he's obvious. He would make a terrible field operator.

When I arch a brow, Alice waves me off. "Aronov needs to come to us. Anything else would be suspicious."

"Us?"

"You and Rosalie." Thumbing over to the as-yet silent blonde in the opposite chair, Alice's cheeks split into another one of those creepy little grins of hers. "She'll be the diversion. Bait, maybe."

Now it's Rosalie's turn to look surprised. "Excuse me?"

Still wearing that creepy grin, Alice rifles through the file and extracts a handful of stills. Laying them out across the glass, one by one, she says, "Look. What do you see?" Not waiting for either of us to respond, she jabs a finger at a triplet of women off to Aronov's side. They're all tall, leggy, and absolutely stunning. "You're a perfect fit for his… collection."

Rosalie gags. "Gross."

"Agreed." But that grin widens as she whips out another shot, this one older. "But see, while you look just like his little harem, with a tiny bit of work, Bella here… She looks like Aronov's wife – his long-dead and, it would appear, much beloved wife."

"Fuck."

Enjoying this way too much, Alice throws a hand at Rosalie's general person and then at me. "So, you'll get his attention… along with every other straight male's in the whole building, but B here…" Alice's eyes glitter. "When he sees her, he won't be able to stop himself."

Thirty hours later, an impeccably suited McCarty swings open my door, and I step out of the decked-out, jet black A8 he somehow procured on short notice. As I tuck my arm through Rosalie's, plastering on a sparkling smile that rivals the rhinestones in my dress, he leans in. "You got everything?"

I tug on the fucking gigantic diamonds dangling from my ear. Yet another McCarty special, they're 100% real and distracting enough that no one would ever notice the tiny, skin-colored tab in my ear canal. "Yeah, we're good."

He hands me my clutch. "As soon as you can, go to the second-floor ladies' room. In the last stall, in the usual hiding spot, you'll find your Glock."

"This fucking blows," Rosalie says. "Tell me again why I don't get a weapon."

I laugh. "You couldn't hide a pea in that thing."

See, as the bait, as Alice likes to say, Rosalie looks like a wet dream. In head-to-toe, skin-tight, blood-red silk, she's like a wealthy, real-life version of Jessica Rabbit. With more cleavage than I'd know what to do with, curves to kill for, and legs that go on for miles, there's no possible way Aronov won't notice her.

Hell, I'm a solid 95% on the straight end of the sexuality spectrum, but if she were to come on to me right now, I'm pretty sure I'd cave.

Emmett's practically drooling.

"Seriously, Bella," Rosalie grumbles through gritted teeth, still sporting a beatific smile to anyone watching. "After this, I'm never, ever wearing a corset again. How do women wear this shit? I can barely breathe, let alone eat."

All I can do is shrug and try not to gloat that the navy-nearly-black, floor-skimming ball gown Emmett delivered to my room hours ago has a lot more freedom of movement, along with a full skirt to hide the empty holster currently strapped to my inner thigh. I make a note to go straight to the second floor.

Hey, a woman's got to be prepared. And despite the yards of fabric I'm swimming in, frankly, I feel a little naked without a sidearm.

As we step away from the car toward the front entrance and the hundreds of other well-heeled men and women, Emmett shoots Rosalie a wink. "Looking good, darling."

"Shut up, asshole."

Lips twitching, he tips his head in mock deference. "Yes, ma'am."

By the time we make it through security and I retrieve my weapon, we have about twenty minutes until show time. As a tuxedoed usher escorts us to our seats – half-way goggling at Rosalie as we go – Jasper whispers in my earpiece, "Be aware, Aronov is already in place and Masen's with him. Four guards."

Shit.

"Did you hear about Aaron?" I ask.

Rosalie throws me a flirty smile. "Oh, yes, I heard. I can't wait to see him."

"He's not going to know what hit him."

As we step down into our box, it takes every bit of training and self-restraint I have not to look over to the box directly across the Mittelloge. Instead, we point to the orchestra down below and the ornate, gilded trim work and lighting. Like we planned, all the while, Rosalie preens like the self-absorbed socialite she's pretending to be.

And damn, if it doesn't work, too. As I surreptitiously take in the surrounding boxes and rows, I don't think there's a man in the building whose jaw's not hit the floor.

Reaching into my clutch, I pull out my cell and flip over to the app Whitlock loaded right before we left. When I click on the little red box and tap in my code, the screen blips twice and then a moment later, I can see everything. Literally, everything. It's like I'm standing on the stage and looking out into the audience.

Somehow that sneaky son of a bitch hijacked the opera house's private cameras.

I have to say, it's more than a little disconcerting to see myself on camera, but it tells me everything I want to know.

"What do you think?" Rosalie asks, peeking over. "It's a beautiful building, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes," I say, tilting my cell over where she can see. I grin as I watch Aronov's eyes track Rosalie like a salivating dog. "The view is just superb."

Sitting on Aronov's right, Masen's smoother. Instead of staring, he's playing bored and watching something on his phone. The subtle shift of his shoulders gives him away, however, and without a doubt, now that I see him in the flesh, I know he's every bit the silent, waiting panther I named him to be.

He's going to be a fucking problem.

Rosalie flashes me a row of teeth. "Do you think we'll have any problems… seeing the show?"

I catch the exact moment when Aronov picks me out. Those dark, lascivious eyes of his suddenly shoot wide, almost like he's seen a ghost. His Adam's apple bobs, dipping beneath the crimson tie looping his neck, and his lips part in a small, surprised O.

I don't watch the rest of his reaction, nor do I wait to see if he says anything to Masen. Instead, wearing my best put-on smile, I slide my phone back into my bag and play my part, idly chatting away with my model of a partner. But I can feel that man's eyes on me, and when the second pair joins his, a tingle skates down my spine and pebbles my skin. "No, I don't think we'll have any problems at all."

"Good. I've not seen this one."

I grin. "You'll love the ending."

Right as the lights begin to dim, an usher appears with a shiny silver tray, topped with a pair of tall, slim crystal glasses. I'm certain that there's several hundred dollars' worth of champagne sitting on that tray.

"My ladies, if you please," the usher says in low, lightly accented English. When he inclines his head toward Aronov's box, I have to school the smirk that wants to creep into my expression. "Courtesy of the gentleman across the way."

On cue, Rosalie arches a perfectly sculpted brow, glances over to Aronov, and without breaking eye contact, picks up her glass and makes a show of slowly sipping the fine, bubbly wine. When she's done, her red lips spread in a playful smile, and her tongue swipes across her bottom lip, licking away an errant droplet. It's a bold, blatant move, charged with a level of sexual heat I didn't know she had in her.

Holy crap, she's good.

There's no possible way I can pull off that kind of thing. So, I do something else altogether, something I suspect will work even better.

Leaving the second flute where it sits, I shoot Aronov an annoyed, borderline-pissed off scowl, doing my damnedest to ignore the probing, emerald-eyed stare of the man next to him, and wave the usher off. In a low purr that I'm sure they can read, I say, "Please tell the gentleman to kindly fuck off."

Instead of being offended, just like I'd anticipated, Aronov's eyes gleam with instant, unbridled interest, and his cheeks crease in amusement.

Beside him, leaning back in his seat and looking sexier than any traitor has the right to be, Masen just laughs.

But I've caught my fish.

Hook, line, and sinker.

.

.

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Notes:

- Last chapter, a reader made a great observation. If you add up the ages and experiences for some of the team members, it puts them starting their careers at ~18. This is correct! Bella (Sgt 1st Class), Rosalie (SSgt), and Emmett (SSgt) enlisted vs were commissioned. It's not uncommon for enlisted soldiers and Marines to go in right out of high school. Alice (Lt), on the other hand, was a commissioned officer and would have started right after completing her BS. You can assume she picked up the MS along the way.

- And yes, for those who read OPERATION: Break the Dawn, you might have noticed a familiar name mentioned in the chapter above. It's possible that a certain incorrigible secondary character from that fic may make a small cameo in this one at some point. Call it an alternate reality / crossover if you'd like, lol. After a convo on FB the other day, I just couldn't help myself.

Glossary:

Innere Stadt: the central 1st District in Vienna. This is the historical section where you'll find the Hofburg Imperial Palace, various museums, St. Stephen's, the Burgtheater, etc

Sacher: Hotel Sacher is a historic 5-star luxury hotel in the Innere Stadt. It's hosted presidents, royalty, etc. The Madame Butterfly Suite is the premier accommodation at the hotel and is very, very expensive.

H&K MP5K: Heckler and Koch 9x19mm parabellum submachine gun. The K variant is a shortened machine pistol and was designed for close quarters battle use by clandestine operations and special services.

Wiener Staatsoper: Vienna State Opera, located in the Innere Stadt of Vienna

Mittelloge: this is the center-back seating section in the Vienna State Opera, occupying the 2nd and 3rd levels. These are superb seats, as are the boxes on each side where Aronov and Bella are sitting.