A little girl stunned me in front of my entire company when she pointed out the tattoo I'd kept hidden for thirteen years—and the instant her mother whispered my supposedly dead brother's name, I realized she was the key to a deadly family secret.

The scent of spilled wine mixed heavily with the sharp tang of gunpowder. I crouched behind the shattered remnants of a wine rack, my breathing slow and controlled despite the chaos. The two Corsican soldiers were pinned behind the stone pillar, but they knew I was alone.

"Give it up, Vale!" one of them shouted. "Lucien's reinforcements are on the way. You can't hold us forever."

"Lucien is dead," I called back, my voice cold and echoing in the damp cellar. "I put a bullet in his chest an hour ago. You're dying for a ghost."

A beat of hesitation passed between them—a fatal mistake. I broke cover, sliding across the slick stone floor. I fired twice, the bullets catching the first soldier as he peeked around the pillar. He collapsed instantly.

The second soldier roared in anger, stepping out fully to spray the room with automatic fire. I felt a sharp, burning pain slice across my left shoulder, but the adrenaline masked the worst of it. I steadied my grip and squeezed the trigger. The final shot hit him squarely in the chest, and the cellar fell dead silent.

I slumped against the damp wall, clutching my bleeding shoulder. The wound wasn't deep, but it throbbed violently. I forced myself to stand, staggering toward the tunnel entrance where Clara and Emma had vanished.

"Marcus," I coughed into my radio. "The basement is secure. I'm heading into the tunnel."

"Copy that, Boss," Marcus replied, panting heavily. "We wiped out the squad on the second floor. The local authorities finally responded to the fire; sirens are approaching the mountain. The remaining Corsicans are fleeing into the woods."