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Marco Ruiz did not blink. His dark eyes, hardened by a decade of wet-work in South America before he ever set foot inside the gilded cage of the Blackwood estate, locked onto Serena Montigue. He had seen fear mask itself as arrogance a thousand times, but tonight, Serena’s panic smelled like raw copper. / Chapter 3 / 10

Chapter 3 - THE GHOST FROM THE EAST WINGThe security monitor flickered, casting a sickly greenish glow across Marco’s rugged features as the high-definition camera zoomed in on the western access road. A black, unmarked sedan had barreled right through the reinforced steel service gate, its radiator smoking, steam billowing into the damp Chicago night air.

"Intruders," Marco muttered, his fingers flying across the console to lock down the internal blast doors of the mansion. "Two individuals. Armed. Standard tactical gear, no insignia."

Victor’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "They aren't here to rob the place. They’re here to finish what the poison started."

Serena backed away toward the shadows of the drawing-room door, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "This is a setup! You brought them here, Victor—your dirty corporate wars are finally catching up to us, and you’re going to let us all get slaughtered in this mausoleum!"

"Shut up, Serena," Victor barked without turning around. He reached behind his back, sliding a heavy, suppressed Sig Sauer P226 from a concealed holster beneath his belt. The metallic slide racked with a slick, oiled sound that sent shivers down the spine. "Marco, take the west corridor. Cut them off before they reach the nursery. Moreno, stay with Chloe in the master suite and lock the reinforced door. If anyone knocks twice followed by three short taps, put a bullet through the wood."

"Understood," Dr. Moreno muttered, grabbing his medical bag and sprinting up the stairs with surprising agility for a man of his years.

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Alexander Reed did not breathe. For three agonizing seconds, the air inside the grand marble foyer seemed to freeze, trapped beneath the weight of a horrific realization. The man who controlled eighty percent of the city's tech infrastructure, whose signature could bankrupt corporations and whose name was whispered with a mix of awe and terror in boardrooms, was suddenly nothing more than a terrified son.

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"And you, Serena?" Victor turned his cold, dead-eyed gaze toward her. "You’re going to walk into my study, sit in that leather chair, and wait for me to return. Because if I find out you had a single hand in letting those mercenaries onto my property, the poison Chloe drank will feel like a mercy compared to what I do to you."

Serena didn't argue. She turned on her heel and practically fled down the hall, the sound of her expensive heels clicking frantically against the hardwood floor fading into the gloom.

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