My pregnant wife’s father and eight brothers beat her so brutally that our unborn child died, then stood outside her ICU room laughing while they told me I wasn’t powerful enough to touch them.

Richard was not a man who surrendered easily. He was a cornered rat, and cornered rats bite.

By midnight, my intelligence network intercepted encrypted communications coming from Richard’s estate. Desperate and terrified by the sudden imprisonment of his eldest sons, he had liquidated his last remaining hidden asset—a collection of stolen artwork—to hire professionals.

He didn't hire lawyers. He hired mercenaries.

Elias stepped into the war room, his face grim.

“Sir, we have chatter. The Petrov Syndicate has accepted a contract from Richard. Five million dollars. The target is you, and the secondary objective is locating Clara.”

I didn't blink. The Petrovs were a ruthless group of ex-military contractors who operated outside the law, known for brutal efficiency.

“Richard thinks he can buy an army,” I mused, staring at the map of the city on the digital table.

“They are tracking your decoy vehicle, sir. They plan to ambush the convoy on the bridge heading toward the financial district in exactly one hour.”

“Let them,” I said.

Elias frowned. “Sir, they have heavy artillery.”

“I don't care what they have. I want Richard to watch his last hope burn.” I turned to my head of security. “Evacuate the bridge. Divert local law enforcement. Send the Blackout Team.”

Elias nodded, a dark smile touching his lips. “Understood, Adrian.”

I wanted Richard to understand that he hadn't just picked a fight with a wealthy businessman. He had declared war on a man who controlled the shadows.

The mercenaries were driving into a trap they could not possibly comprehend.