By the time that baby had screamed for eighty-seven straight minutes, the first-class cabin no longer looked annoyed—it looked defeated. Then I stood up from premium economy, walked past people rich enough to buy silence, and told the most terrifying man on the plane that his baby didn’t need another bottle.

"Inward perimeter breach! Gate three!" Lev's roaring voice echoed through Julian's lapel radio, competing with the blare of the security sirens and the sharp rat-tat-tat of suppressed assault rifles in the distance.

Julian didn't hesitate. In a fraction of a second, the gentle, passionate man vanished, replaced by a ruthless tactical commander.

He wrapped his arm around my waist, physically lifting me off my feet and pulling me back inside the stone arches of the main manor, slamming the heavy reinforced oak doors shut.

"Francesca!" Julian bellowed.

Francesca appeared from the side corridor, holding a heavy tactical briefcase, her face calm despite the chaos outside. She handed Julian a sleek, matte-black automatic weapon and two spare magazines.

"Where are the children?" Julian demanded, slapping a magazine into the weapon with a sharp, professional clack.

"In the panic room beneath the cellar, sir," Francesca reported crisply. "Maya and Leo are secured inside the steel vault with Nurse Sarah."

A wave of intense relief washed over me, but the sound of an explosion rocking the outer courtyard made the glass windows vibrate violently.

"Elena," Julian commanded, grabbing my hand and leading me toward the hidden stone staircase behind the library bookshelf. "You go down to the panic room. Stay inside the vault until I personally come for you."

"No!" I shouted, grabbing his arm, refusing to let go. "Julian, come with us! You don't have to fight them yourself!"

Julian looked down at me, his silver eyes flashing in the red emergency light. He reached up, cupping the back of my head, pulling me toward him and pressing his lips firmly against mine in a deep, fierce, possessive kiss that tasted of rain, danger, and absolute devotion.

My mind exploded. I kissed him back with everything I had, my fingers clenching into the fabric of his shirt.

When he pulled back, we were both breathless.

"This is my house, Elena," Julian whispered, his voice dark and deadly. "Lukas Weber came to slaughter my family. I am going to make sure he regrets the day he was born."

He turned to Francesca. "Get her down to the vault. Lock the outer steel door."

"Julian!" I cried out as Francesca pulled me toward the hidden stairwell.

Julian didn't look back. He turned toward the main entrance, pulling a tactical radio from his belt. "All teams, this is Vance. Free fire on all hostiles inside the gate perimeter. Leave Lukas Weber alive for me."

The heavy steel door of the underground panic room sealed shut behind me with a loud, mechanical hissed seal, cutting off the deafening noise of the battle raging above.

Inside the subterranean room, warm yellow lights illuminated plush couches, medical supplies, food reserves, and live security monitors showing every angle of the estate.

Maya was sitting on a soft rug, holding her pink bunny blanket, looking curiously at the screens. Beside her, in a portable crib, little Leo was sleeping peacefully, untroubled by the storm.

"Mommy!" Maya called out, running over and wrapping her small arms around my legs. "Is it thunder outside?"

"Yes, baby," I lied, picking her up and holding her close, my tears spilling onto her shoulder as I looked up at the wall monitors. "It's just a big thunderstorm."

On the central screen, I watched the horror unfold.

Three dark tactical SUVs had rammed through the outer wrought-iron gates. A dozen heavily armed mercenaries in black uniforms were advancing across the moonlit gardens, firing toward the manor.

Then I saw Julian.

He moved across the stone terrace like a ghost—lethal, precise, and completely merciless. Supported by Lev and his elite security team, Julian neutralized four mercenaries in less than twenty seconds, his weapon flashing in the darkness.

He moved with a terrifying, rhythmic perfection born of a man who had survived a dozen shadow wars in Europe’s dark underbelly.

On the third screen, a sleek silver sports car pulled up near the main fountain.

A tall, thin man in a expensive leather coat stepped out, holding a silver pistol, shouting commands at his remaining men.

Lukas Weber.

I watched in breathless horror as Lukas raised his weapon, aiming toward the terrace where Julian was taking cover behind a stone pillar.

"Julian, look out!" I screamed uselessly at the silent monitor screen.

On the screen, Julian suddenly pivoted. He didn't duck. He stepped directly out from behind the pillar into Lukas’s line of fire.

Lukas fired two shots. One grazed Julian’s left shoulder, tearing through his silk shirt, blood instantly staining the dark fabric.

Julian didn't even flinch. He raised his weapon with his right hand, firing three rapid shots.

The first shot hit Lukas’s handgun, shattering it into pieces. The second shot hit Lukas in the right knee, sending the mercenary leader crashing heavily onto the stone courtyard floor. The third shot took down the final guard standing beside him.

Silence returned to the gardens.

On the screen, Julian walked slowly across the bloody lawn toward the groaning, writhing body of Lukas Weber.

Julian stood over his late wife's killer, his boot resting heavily against Lukas’s chest, the barrel of his weapon pressed directly against the center of Lukas's forehead.

Lukas was screaming, his hands raised in desperate, pathetic pleading.

Julian stared down at him for three long seconds. I held my breath, terrified that Julian would pull the trigger and tear his own soul apart in front of the world.

Slowly, Julian lowered his weapon.

He didn't kill him. Instead, he pulled out his satellite phone, dialed a number, and held the phone down to Lukas’s face.

Two black vans belonging to Swiss Interpol and Italian Federal Police pulled through the shattered gates, their blue lights illuminating the courtyard. Detective Rossi stepped out, holding open arrest warrants.

Julian had delivered his enemy straight into federal custody, stripped of his power, his money, and his freedom forever.

Julian looked up at the security camera mounted near the entrance, looking directly into the lens—looking directly at me.

He raised two fingers to his lips, blowing a faint kiss toward the camera, before turning to walk back toward the house.