The breathless silence in the Grand Alcazar foyer hung heavy enough to suffocate. Executives in pristine tuxedos pretended to admire the architecture, but their eyes were glued to the surreal spectacle unfolding by the elevators.

The private medical ward hidden beneath the Grand Alcazar was designed for elites who needed illicit treatments away from prying eyes. It smelled of antiseptic and old iron.

When Julian kicked open the door to Room 304, the room was empty.

The hospital bed was unmade, sheets crumpled. An IV bag was still dripping slowly onto the linoleum floor, its contents pooling around a dropped chart.

Julian’s heart skipped a beat—a raw, visceral panic he hadn't felt in a decade.

"Bane! Check the cameras! Where did they take her?" Julian roared, grabbing the monitoring tablet off the bedside table.

Before Bane could hack into the local terminal, a frail, coughing voice echoed from the adjoining utility closet.

"M-Mr. Rossi...?"

Julian whirled around and sprinted toward the closet, throwing the door open.

There, huddled between industrial mops and buckets of bleach, was Elena. Her face was bruised, her wrists marked with fresh rope burns, and her breath came in ragged, painful gasps.

"Elena!" Julian dropped to his knees, his hands hovering over her as if he were afraid she would shatter at the slightest touch. "Oh, God... Elena, I’m so sorry. I didn't know. I swear to you, I had no idea."

Elena looked up at him, tears streaming down her hollow cheeks, carving clean paths through the dust and grime.

"They... they took Lucas," she sobbed, clutching at Julian’s lapels with her raw, bleeding fingers. "When the alarms went off upstairs... Victor’s men moved him to an off-site facility. They said if I didn't get on the freight elevator... they’d pull his plug right now."

Julian’s eyes darkened into a bottomless abyss of pure, unadulterated fury. He carefully scooped her up into his arms, ignoring the dirt on her uniform as he pressed her head against his chest.

"They won't touch him," Julian whispered fiercely against her hair, his voice vibrating with lethal intent. "Nobody is touching your brother. And nobody is ever taking you away from me again."

He carried her out of the ward, walking past the rows of stunned hotel security guards who didn't even dare to raise a weapon.

Waiting in the private courtyard was Julian’s personal helicopter, its rotors kicking up a fierce wind against the midnight sky.

As Julian placed Elena gently into the passenger seat, his private phone rang. It was an unknown international number.

He answered on speaker, his voice a razor blade. "Speak."

"Mr. Rossi," a smooth, distorted voice hissed through the speaker. "Enjoying the reunion? If you ever want to see your brother-in-law alive again—and if you want your wife to survive the birth of your child—you will sign over full controlling shares of Rossi Holdings to the Vanguard Syndicate by sunrise. No police. No corporate lawyers. Just a signature."