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 dawn broke over the mountains, painting the sky in bruised shades of purple and gold. I sat on the tailgate of an ambulance at the base of the estate's driveway, a paramedic finishing the bandages on my shoulder. The west wing of my home was a blackened skeleton, still smoldering as firefighters sprayed water onto the ruins.

Clara sat beside me, sipping from a Styrofoam cup of coffee, her head resting gently against my good shoulder. Emma was asleep inside the warmth of the ambulance, finally succumbing to exhaustion.

"It looks so different in the daylight," Clara murmured, watching the smoke drift lazily into the morning sky.

"We can rebuild," I said softly, wrapping my arm around her waist. "The house is just stone and wood. What matters is that we're safe. We survived."

Marcus approached, his face smeared with soot and grim determination. He handed me a secure tablet.

"The local police have cordoned off the area," Marcus reported. "I've spoken with our contacts. The official story is a gas leak in the west wing caused an explosion, and the subsequent fire destroyed the property. The bodies of the mercenaries have already been... relocated."

"Good," I nodded. "And the city?"

"Quiet. Viktor’s men are cleaning up the mess at the warehouse. The Corsican shell companies are dissolving as we speak. Without Lucien, they are scattering to the wind."

I handed the tablet back to Marcus. "Stand down the men, Marcus. Let them rest. Pay double bonuses to the families of the guards we lost tonight. They died protecting my family, and I will ensure their families are cared for forever."