The crystal chandelier overhead hummed, a low, high-voltage vibration that usually blended into the terrifying silence of my dining hall. Tonight, that silence was shattered by a single, innocent breath.

"If a single hair on my daughter's head is touched, Viktor, I will personally carve your name into every surviving member of the Morosco family," I said, my voice dropping into an icy, venomous register that made even Marcus flinch.

Viktor laughed on the other end of the line—a hollow, grating sound. “Save the theatrics, Hale. You have two hours to sign over every asset, every property, and every shipping route you own to my offshore holding company. If you aren't at the old church on 5th Street with the signed portfolio by midnight, your mansion goes up in flames, starting with the sunroom.”

The video feed cut to black.

I looked at Marcus, my face carved from stone. "Get every available unit on the encrypted frequency. We’re not waiting until midnight."

"Boss, the estate is five miles away through narrow coastal roads," Marcus warned, checking the magazine of his rifle. "If Viktor’s men have a tactical blockade set up along the ridge—"

"Then we carve a new road through them," I interrupted, walking out of the warehouse and sliding into the driver's seat of the Mercedes.

Elena sat handcuffed in the back, staring out the window with a chilling, vacant calm. "You can't beat Viktor, Julian," she whispered. "He's not Salvatore. He doesn't care about money. He cares about blood."

"Then it's a good thing I've got plenty of it to spare," I replied, slamming the car into drive and roaring out of Pier 42 with tires smoking against the asphalt.

The Mercedes rocketed up the coastal highway, the engine screaming as we pushed past ninety miles per hour, cutting through the midnight fog toward Hale Manor.

The digital clock on the dashboard flashed: 11:05 PM.