The next chapter uncovers secrets that have been buried for years.

-12-

The steel elevator descended smoothly into the subterranean bunker, sealing off the chaos, gunfire, and terrifying sounds of the invasion upstairs. The air inside the panic room was cool, scented faintly of cedar and antiseptic, smelling nothing like the sulfur and burning rubber of the war zone playing out above us.

I hurried across the reinforced concrete floor, settling into the plush leather armchair in the corner while holding tightly to little Ethan, who had buried his face against my shoulder, whimpering softly in response to the muffled concussions echoing through the ceiling.

“It’s okay, baby,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to his soft brown hair, my own hands trembling as I tried to keep my voice steady. “Daddy’s coming. We’re safe here.”

The bunker’s main monitoring console flickered to life, projecting high-definition security feeds from cameras hidden across every room of the mansion onto a massive curved screen. I watched in horror as four heavily armed mercenaries wearing tactical gear marked with an unfamiliar white-skull insignia swarmed through the grand foyer, kicking open doors and clearing the lower level with terrifying military precision. They weren't Dante’s men; they moved with a brutal, synchronized efficiency that suggested elite wet-work operatives imported directly from an international syndicate.

On camera three, I saw the mysterious woman who had been standing at the front gates. She had been dragged inside by two of the mercenaries, her hands bound behind her back, thrown forcefully onto the marble floor near the foot of the stairs.

A tall, imposing figure stepped out from the group of mercenaries—a man wearing an expensive charcoal overcoat, his silver-streaked hair neatly brushed, his face bearing a cold, calculating scar across his left jawline. It was Julian Vance, Dante’s older brother and the hidden head of the Syndicate Directorate.

“Elena,” Julian said smoothly, looking down at the captive woman with an expression of icy disappointment. “I told you that running away wouldn't change anything. The Blackwood bloodline is tied to our portfolio by contract, and loose ends must always be tied up.”

“You’re monsters!” the woman—Elena—screamed, struggling against her bonds on the marble floor. “Victor has a right to know the truth! Ethan isn't a Blackwood surrogate child—he’s—”

Before she could finish her sentence, Julian drew a silenced pistol and fired a single round directly into her chest.

Elena went limp instantly, slumping against the cold marble in a pool of dark blood.

I gasped aloud inside the bunker, clapping my hand over my mouth to stifle a cry of sheer horror. Ethan isn't a Blackwood surrogate child? What did that mean? What dark secret was hidden behind the birth records Victor had trusted for over a year?

Before my mind could process the horrifying implication, a red warning light flashed on the bunker console.