The helicopter touched down on the private helipad atop the Moretti Grand Hotel just as the Chicago sun began to melt into Lake Michigan, staining the horizon the color of fresh blood.

High above the pristine blue waters of Lake Geneva, the Swiss sun bathed the stone terrace of our villa in a warm, golden glow. Inside, the sound of joyous laughter echoed down the high-ceilinged hallway.

"Catch me if you can, Mama!"

Elena darted around the mahogany dining table, her dark curls bouncing with every step. At five years old, she was a spitting image of her father—possessing the same sharp, striking bone structure and piercing eyes—yet her spirit was entirely her own: bright, untamed, and completely free of fear.

I dropped my gardening shears onto the terracotta pot and smiled, crouching down just in time as she launched herself into my arms with a joyful shriek.

"Got you!" I laughed, spinning her around before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Are we still going to the village for gelato?" she asked, blinking up at me with those familiar, intelligent eyes that reminded me so much of the battles I had fought to keep her safe.

"Of course, my love," I replied softly. "Just let me check my messages first."

Marcus stepped out onto the terrace, his stride as measured and vigilant as ever, though the years had brought a few silver streaks to his temples. He handed me a secure tablet.

"You're going to want to see this, boss," Marcus said, his voice dropping into that low, professional register he used whenever old ghosts stirred. "A wire from Chicago just hit our private monitor."

My smile faded. I took the tablet, my eyes scanning the encrypted alert.