Dr. Nathan Bianchi adjusted his steel-rimmed glasses, his expression grim under the dim hallway lights. He glanced back toward the closed door of the staff quarters before stepping closer to Alessandro Moretti.

In a sudden, desperate movement, he drew a concealed pistol from his shoulder holster and lunged toward the door, aiming the barrel straight at Emma.

“Get back!” Marco screamed, panic cracking his voice.

Alessandro moved faster than thought.

He didn't draw a gun; he launched himself across the mahogany desk, tackling Marco mid-stride. The pistol discharged into the ceiling with a deafening crack of thunder, showering plaster dust across the Persian rug.

The two men crashed heavily to the floor. Alessandro pinned Marco’s arm behind his back with bone-crushing force, wrenching the weapon from his grip and tossing it across the room.

Security guards burst through the double doors seconds later, weapons drawn, dropping into tactical positions before freezing at the sight of their boss kneeling on top of his chief of operations.

“Take him down to the basement armory,” Alessandro ordered, his chest heaving, his face dark with murderous rage. “Lock him in the secure vault. Don't let him speak to anyone.”

As two burly guards hauled a struggling, cursing Marco out of the room, Alessandro stood up, dusting off his sleeves. He turned around to find Emma staring at him wide-eyed, sucking on her thumb in shock.