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The wind off Boston Harbor didn't just bite that October evening; it tore through wool and leather like a blade. Dante Russo didn't feel it. His fingers, calloused from decades of handling triggers, ledgers, and the quiet execution of underworld business, hovered just inches from the rough canvas. / Chapter 8 / 10

Chapter 8 - Race Against the ClockBack in the master suite, the digital monitors monitoring Elena’s vitals suddenly let out a sharp, piercing beep.

Elena bolted upright, gasping for air, clutching her chest as a wave of dizziness hit her. The door burst open—not with Dante's calm authority, but with the silent, deadly entry of a man wearing a black tactical balaclava.

Marcus Vance stepped into the bedroom, a suppressed Heckler & Koch MP5 raised and leveled straight at Elena’s chest.

"Well, well," Marcus said, his voice dripping with venom as he pulled off his mask. "Dante thought he was being so clever, bringing you back to the penthouse. But he forgot one thing: I built the security system in this building, Elena. I know every blind spot."

Elena tried to scream, but her damaged lungs failed her, producing only a raspy hiss. She threw herself over the edge of the mattress, trying to crawl toward the interconnecting door where her daughters were sleeping.

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The boss didn't blink. He reached out, his ink-stained fingers brushing the loose strands of hair away from my forehead, his touch terrifyingly gentle yet completely immovable. "A ghost doesn't know her own reflection, maybe," he murmured, his breath hot against my temple. "Look at the corner of your left eye. The faint crescent scar. My wife got it falling off a horse in Sicily when she was twelve. You have it, too. Down to the millimeter."

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Viral Hook: Security locks the grand dining hall doors. Eleanor screams as her designer handbag is ripped open—and the hidden vial of rare, paralyzing poison rolls across the marble floor!

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"Don't bother," Marcus sneered, stepping closer and raising the barrel. "Dante is busy chasing ghosts across the city. By the time he gets back, you’ll be cold for real this time—and this time, there won't be an empty casket to bury."

Just as Marcus squeezed his finger against the trigger, the heavy mahogany door behind him exploded inward in a shower of splinters.

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