The nursery grew so quiet that the hum of the electronic air purifiers sounded like a jet engine. I stared at the underside of Theo’s mattress, my chest tightening with a cold, metallic dread that I hadn't felt since my early days in the underworld.

I knelt down to Sophie’s eye level, ignoring the crisp fabric of my Italian suit brushing against the dusty rug. "What did you say, sweetheart?"

"The doll," she repeated, pointing a tiny finger at the plastic button where its nose used to be. "It makes a click sound when the box inside talks. Like when my mommy's old radio gets stuck between stations."

Bruno leaned in, pulling a portable frequency scanner from his utility belt. He swept the wand across the cloth doll. The LED screen on the scanner lit up like a Christmas tree, screaming a high-pitched digital shriek.

"It's not just a transmitter," Bruno said, his voice laced with disbelief. "It's a two-way acoustic repeater. It's broadcasting a live audio feed to an external receiver, and right now... it's receiving a data burst."

"Trace it," I commanded.

"Trying, but it's bouncing through multiple proxy servers in Zurich and Panama. Whoever is on the other end is using military-grade encryption." Bruno tapped furiously at his tablet. "Wait. There's a localized sub-carrier frequency piggybacking on the burst. Short-range Bluetooth handshake. Range is about five hundred meters."

Five hundred meters. That meant the receiver wasn't overseas. It was somewhere on the estate grounds.

"Marcus," I said, the name tasting like ash in my mouth.

I stood up abruptly, motioning for Bruno to follow. "Gather the tactical squad. Sweep the guest houses, the staff quarters, and the old carriage house. Leave no floorboard unturned."

Before we could reach the nursery door, a sharp, piercing chime echoed through the estate’s intercom system. It wasn't the standard security alarm. It was the private ringtone assigned to the master study—a secure line that only three people outside the family knew.

I tapped my wrist communicator, opening the channel. "Speak."

"Adrien," a voice purred through the static. It was smooth, cultured, and dripping with an unsettling familiarity. "I see little Sophie found my little gift. Tell me, how are Theo, Miles, and Nora? Still screaming, or did the silence finally set in?"

My blood ran instantly cold. I knew that voice. I had shared scotch with that voice in private lounges in Milan. I had trusted that voice with my financial portfolios during the great bank raids of 2022.

"Dante," I snarled, the name tearing from my throat like a physical blow. Dante Morelle, my closest ally, my primary rival-turned-partner in the European syndicate. "You cowardly piece of filth."

"Oh, don't be dramatic, Adrien," Dante chuckled softly on the other end. "A Mafia boss with three vulnerable heirs? You became soft. You settled down in this ridiculous country estate, playing domestic bliss with your maids and your little brats. You forgot the first rule of our world: family is a weaponized liability."

"If you wanted a war, you should have come to my door like a man," I said, signaling Bruno to patch the call into the estate's signal tracker to pinpoint Dante's exact location.

"A war? Ha! Why waste bullets when I can slowly drive your children insane while you watch helplessly from the sidelines?" Dante's tone turned razor-sharp. "The transmitters in the cribs and the doll are just the beginning, Adrien. They emit a resonance frequency that causes localized neurological distress. Give it another twenty-four hours, and your precious heirs would have suffered permanent cognitive damage. No blood. No forensics. Just broken minds."

"I am going to flay you alive," I whispered, every muscle in my body locking into predatory focus. "I am going to take your empire, brick by brick, and feed you to your own dogs."