Captain Owen Harris narrowed his eyes, shifting his gaze from Mateo’s impenetrable expression to Genevieve. The flashing red and blue lights from the police cruisers outside painted the shattered marble floor in eerie, pulsing strokes.

That evening, under the glittering lights of Manhattan’s exclusive Azure Lounge, Genevieve walked through the crowded room as if she owned it. She wore a backless crimson silk gown that turned heads from the bar to the VIP booths, her composure an absolute fortress of calm.

Mateo had wanted to lock her inside the estate. Genevieve had refused with a single, unyielding sentence: “If your father’s enemies are hunting us, hiding in a castle makes us sitting ducks. Let me be the bait.”

Now, she sat alone at a corner table sipping a dry martini, while Mateo and Enzo monitored the room’s security feeds from an unmarked van parked three blocks away.

A shadow fell across her table.

A tall man with silver-streaked hair, sharp Italian tailoring, and cold, calculating dark eyes slid smoothly into the empty leather seat opposite her.

“Miss Sinclair, I presume?” the man asked, his voice dripping with an accented, silken menace. “Or should I call you Mrs. Viscanti-in-waiting?”

Genevieve didn't flinch. She set her glass down with deliberate slowness. “You have the advantage of me, Mr.—”

“Rossi,” the man supplied smoothly, a thin, cruel smile playing on his lips. “Dante Rossi. The son of the man your beloved Mateo’s father destroyed thirty years ago.”

“If you’re looking for Mateo, you’re early,” Genevieve said, tilting her head. “And if you’re looking to intimidate me, you’re wasting a very expensive suit.”

Dante leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Intimidation is for amateurs, my dear. I’m simply here to collect. Mateo thinks he’s a modern corporate CEO sitting on a throne of legitimacy. But blood debts don't clear themselves just because you incorporate a shipping company in Delaware.”