He simply stared at Elena.
In thirty years, no one had ever managed to surprise him twice in the same night.
Yet somehow the quiet maid who folded his shirts and served his morning espresso had already done it.
Twice.
“What do you mean?” he mouthed silently.
Elena finally removed her hand from his mouth.
Her voice was so soft it barely existed.
“They’re not here to steal your empire.”
She swallowed.
“They’re here to erase your bloodline.”
Outside the closet, Marcus stopped walking.
“The daughter,” he said.
The words froze Vincent where he stood.
“Has anyone found her?” Marcus asked.
One of the men answered.
“No.”
Marcus cursed.
“We can’t leave loose ends.”
Vincent felt something inside him crack.
His daughter.
Sophia.
The only person he had ever loved more than power.
She had left the family business years earlier after begging him to abandon the violence.
