"Rain, blood, and forty-five stolen minutes were all it took to destroy the only job keeping my five-year-old son and me afloat. I stopped in a filthy Chicago alley to save a stranger from bleeding to death, and less than two hours later my manager threw my final paycheck onto the floor—without knowing the man I had saved owned the building beneath his feet."

"Stay here," he instructed, his voice an absolute command that left no room for debate. "Lock the bedroom door behind me. Do not open it for anyone—not even Maria—unless you hear my voice."

"Roman, wait—" I grabbed the sleeve of his shirt, my heart hammering against my ribs. "What's happening?"

"The men who tried to kill me in the alley found us," he said simply, his gray eyes locking onto mine with fierce, unyielding resolve. "They think they can corner me in my own home. They're about to find out how wrong they are."

He leaned down quickly, pressing a brief, firm kiss against my forehead before turning and striding out of the room, closing the heavy oak door behind him. The distinct click of the automated deadbolt engaging echoed in the quiet space.

I rushed to the window, pulling back the heavy velvet curtains slightly to look down at the street below.

Parked directly across from the loft building were two unmarked black vans. Men in tactical gear—wearing ballistic vests and carrying suppressed submachine guns—were pouring out of the side doors, moving with military precision toward the main service entrance.

Inside the bedroom, Leo stirred slightly, murmuring something in his sleep, his little hand clutching the corner of the heavy blanket. I stroked his hair softly, whispering prayers that he wouldn't wake up, while my own hands shook uncontrollably.

Downstairs, the security system’s automated chime sounded once, twice, three times—indicating perimeter breaches.

Then came the first muffled pop of a silenced gunshot echoing through the ventilation shafts.

My breath caught in my throat. Every horror movie, every true-crime podcast, every nightmare I had ever pushed away came rushing back into my mind. Roman was out there against an armed squad of professional killers, and I was trapped behind a locked door with a sick child.

I couldn't just sit here and wait to be rescued.

I scanned the room frantically. On the mahogany desk in the corner sat a secure tactical comms tablet that Marcus had left behind earlier. I rushed over, picking it up. The screen was lit with a live grid of the penthouse security cameras.

Camera Four showed the main elevator foyer.

Three tactical operatives were stacking up against the elevator doors, preparing to blow the mechanical locks with a breaching charge.

And standing twenty feet down the corridor, leaning casually against a concrete pillar with a suppressed Sig Sauer pistol in his right hand, was Roman.

He was completely alone. No backup. Just one man against an assault team.

As the breaching charge went off with a dull, muffled thud, blowing the elevator doors inward in a shower of sparks and smoke, Roman raised his weapon.

The firefight that followed was short, brutal, and terrifyingly efficient. Roman moved with the deadly grace of a panther, dropping two of the operatives before they even cleared the smoke, while the third dropped his weapon and threw his hands up against the wall.

I watched on the tablet screen as Roman walked up to the surviving operative, grabbed him by the tactical vest, and slammed him against the concrete pillar.

"Who sent you?" Roman’s voice, amplified through the corridor mic, echoed faintly in the bedroom.

"Go to hell, Vane," the operative spat, blood dripping from his lip.

Roman didn't flinch. He simply pressed the barrel of his pistol against the man's shoulder. "Incorrect answer. You have three seconds to tell me which council member hired you before my patience runs out."

Before the man could speak, a red laser dot suddenly flickered across Roman’s chest from the opposite end of the hallway.

Sniper.

"Roman!" I screamed at the screen, forgetting for a split second that he couldn't hear me through the tablet.

On the screen, Roman’s tactical instincts kicked in instantly. He dropped flat to the floor just as a high-caliber bullet punched clean through the concrete pillar where he had been standing a fraction of a second earlier.