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The words hung in the damp Portland air like a falling guillotine blade. "They know about him." My breath hitched. The background hum of the farmers market—the chatter of tourists, the clinking of mason jars, the distant strumming of an acoustic guitar—vanished, replaced by the deafening roar of my own terror. / Chapter 4 / 8

Chapter 4 - The Traitor Within

"Who has the codes to this facility?" Daniel’s voice was dangerously quiet, the kind of stillness that preceded a Category 5 hurricane.

Marcus rapidly typed commands into the console, bringing up a security log. "Only three people outside of this room: Julian, Harris, and Miller."

My heart hammered against my ribs. "Julian? Your head of security in this region? But he looked at us with tears in his eyes when you survived the Brooklyn ambush years ago!"

"Loyalty bought with money can always be outbid by more money," Daniel said coldly, pulling the magazine out of his Glock to check the rounds one more time. He slid it back in with a sharp click. "Vance must have offered him a fortune to deliver both of us on a silver platter."

"Boss," Marcus interrupted, pointing at a secondary camera feed. "They’re cutting through the hydraulic seal on the secondary loading bay. We’ve got less than two minutes before they breach."

Daniel turned his gaze from the screen and locked eyes with me. There was no hesitation left in him—only the cold, absolute resolve of a predator defending his pack.

"Emily. Listen to me very carefully," he said, stepping close and grabbing my shoulders. His grip was firm, grounding me amidst the rising panic. "Take Noah into the reinforced panic room behind the server racks. There’s a satellite phone, emergency rations, and a secondary exit tunnel that leads straight to a boat on the river."

"What about you?" I asked, my breath catching.

"I’m going to stay out here and welcome our guests," Daniel said, a dark, dangerous smile touching the corners of his mouth—a smile I hadn't seen since the night he eliminated his rivals in Queens.

"I'm not leaving you out here alone to die!" I hissed.

"You aren't leaving me," Daniel corrected softly, his thumb gently brushing a stray tear from my cheek—a gesture so tender it felt entirely out of place in a war zone. "You are protecting our son. If I don't walk back through that door in twenty minutes, you take the boat, you don't look back, and you disappear again. Do you understand me?"

Before I could protest, a deafening explosion ripped through the warehouse.

The entire floor shook. Sparks rained down from the ceiling as the heavy steel door of the secondary loading bay blew inward in a cloud of thick, gray smoke.

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The burner phone in my hand felt heavy, like a slab of cold iron pulled from a sunken ship. Across the line, Marcus let out a breath that sounded like a low whistle escaping a pressure valve. Nineteen years of rust, nineteen years of school plays, quiet dinners, and ledger sheets—all of it dissolved in the space of a single heartbeat.

The burner phone in my hand felt heavy, like a slab of cold iron pulled...

The man in the back of the Bentley was not a stranger, though it took me three agonizing seconds to place the face behind the silver-trimmed beard. Arthur Vance. The reclusive billionaire shipping tycoon, corporate sniper, and my father’s oldest, most estranged rival.

The man in the back of the Bentley was not a stranger, though it took me...

The ink on the medical schedule wasn't standard printer black. It was darker, heavier, pressed down with the kind of deliberate malice that only a fountain pen could deliver. I stared at the signature at the bottom of the page, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

The ink on the medical schedule wasn't standard printer black. It was da...

"Go! Now!" Daniel shouted, shoving me gently toward the dark corridor behind the server racks.

I grabbed Noah—who was screaming in terror—and bolted into the shadows, the sound of gunfire instantly erupting behind us like rolling thunder.

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