"The Maid’s Toddler Sneaked Into My Dressing Room and Mocked My Expression—Then Brought Back a Ghost I Hadn’t Seen in 3 Years"

Julian’s comms unit flared to life instantly.

"Boss! We’ve got an unauthorized perimeter breach at the service loading dock!" Dmitri’s voice shouted over heavy background gunfire and static. "Four heavy-tactical units, professional grade. They bypassed the electronic locks using a military-spec frequency override!"

"Military-spec?" Julian’s jaw tightened until a muscle twitched violently in his cheek. "That code hasn't been used since the European syndicates tried to hit our Zurich accounts two years ago. Who’s leading them?"

"Checking the closed-circuit feeds now—boss, it’s Viktor’s men! Your cousin’s faction from the Detroit syndicate!" Dmitri cursed loudly as glass shattered over the comms. "They’re heading straight for the north elevator shaft! They know you're in the private wing!"

Julian didn't hesitate. He spun away from Clara and the terrified child, reaching inside his tailored suit jacket to draw his heavy SIG Sauer pistol with fluid, lethal speed.

"Stay in this room," Julian ordered Clara, his voice an absolute command that brook no argument. "If anyone other than me or Dmitri opens this door, you shoot them. Do you understand?"

Clara nodded frantically, pulling Rosie into her lap and diving beneath the bed.

Julian burst out into the hallway, where two of his elite security guards were already taking up defensive positions near the north stairwell. The estate’s private quarters were a labyrinth of reinforced steel and smart glass, designed to withstand an urban assault, but Viktor knew the blueprints. He had grown up walking these corridors before his greed and treachery had forced Julian to exile him to the frozen industrial ruins of Detroit.

"They're on the second floor, pushing through the gallery!" one of the guards yelled over the din of automatic weapons fire echoing up the stairwell.

"Hold the line," Julian growled, stepping up to the corner of the corridor, raising his weapon with cold, absolute precision.

In the dim emergency red lighting, heavy combat boots stomped up the final steps. Three mercenaries in matte-black tactical gear charged around the corner, assault rifles raised.

Julian didn't miss. Two shots rang out in rapid succession—bang, bang—dropping the lead mercenaries instantly. The third fired wild, spraying shrapnel across the Venetian plaster walls before Julian’s second guard dropped him with a clean shot to the chest.

"Clear!" the guard shouted.

"Not yet," Julian muttered, his eyes narrowing as he stared down the empty stairwell.

Viktor Vance wasn't the kind of man to send foot soldiers into a suicide mission without a backup plan. If Viktor was hitting the estate tonight, it wasn't just to assassinate Julian. It was to retrieve something—or someone—hidden inside this house.