The porcelain cup was already inches from his lips... r g n

The safehouse in Pilsen was a three-room flat above an abandoned Italian bakery, the air inside smelling of damp plaster, old flour, and the cold rain that had begun to fall over the city.

Sophia Alvarez sat on the edge of the small wooden bed, her arms wrapped tightly around Emma, who had finally fallen asleep under a thick wool blanket. The child’s gray rabbit was tucked securely beneath her chin, its single eye staring up at the cracked plaster of the ceiling.

"He knows," Sophia whispered, looking up as Dr. Hale set his medical bag on the table. "He knows my husband didn't just die. He knows they killed him."

"Alessandro Duca is not a man who forgives a betrayal, Sophia," Hale said, pulling a sterile syringe from his bag to check her vitals. Her pulse was rapid, her skin pale and clammy from the sheer shock of the last twelve hours. "But he is also a man who pays his debts. Your daughter saved his life today. That means you and Emma are under the protection of the Duca name. There is no safer place in this city."

"The Duca name is what killed Carlos," Sophia said, her voice cracking as she wiped a tear from her cheek. "He was just a chemist. He didn't want the money, he didn't want the power. He just wanted to do his job and come home to his girl. But Filippo... Filippo saw him as an obstacle."

The door to the flat opened with a soft, metallic click. Franco stepped inside, his dark coat damp from the rain, his face carrying the grim, focused expression of an enforcer before a raid.

"Dr. Hale," Franco said, gesturing for the doctor to step into the hallway.

Hale walked out, closing the wooden door behind him. "What is it, Franco? Has Alessandro made his move?"

"Filippo has three of his personal security team at the Gold Coast club," Franco whispered, his voice dropping to a gravelly rumble. "But they aren't looking at the front gate. They’ve been monitoring the estate’s internal security feed. They know the kitchen was shut down at eight o'clock."

"Did they see the child?"

"They saw Sophia leave the laundry room with her," Franco said. "They’re smart, Marcus. They know that if the child spoke, Alessandro’s coffee was tested. Filippo’s already booked a private flight to Zurich from O'Hare at five."

"He’s running," Hale said.

"No," Franco said, his hand going to the weapon beneath his coat. "He’s not running. He’s trying to clear his accounts before Alessandro can lock them. But Alessandro has already blocked the terminal gates. We’re going to the club."