THE SHADOW AT THE TABLE

"Hold your position!" I roared, pushing past Leon before he could argue.

I didn't wait for permission or consensus. I grabbed a suppressed Sig Sauer from the tactical holster strapped inside my vest, checked the feed, and took the spiral stone staircase three steps at a time. Marcus and Adrian were right behind me—Marcus drawing a sleek silver revolver of his own, while Adrian pulled a tactical folding knife with chilling efficiency.

We burst through the cellar door back into the main restaurant dining room.

The scene was a slaughterhouse.

Two of my private security operatives lay face down near the grand entrance, pools of dark blood spreading across the imported hardwood. The floor-to-ceiling glass windows had been blown inward by a localized breaching charge, scattering jagged diamonds of safety glass across the tables and chairs. The cold, torrential rain was blowing directly into the room, carrying the sharp, chemical stench of C4 and burnt gunpowder.

And standing in the center of the devastation, holding a trembling little girl by the arm, was a man I hadn't seen in twenty years.

Julian Vance.

He looked older, leaner, his face carved with harsh lines and a jagged white scar running from his left ear down into the collar of his black tactical turtleneck. In his free hand, he held a suppressed MP5 submachine gun, the barrel still smoking.

"Well, well, well," Julian laughed, his voice raspy, dripping with venom and madness. "Look who survived the soup. I told Elena you had the constitution of a cockroach, sweetheart, but she insisted you'd drink whatever was put in front of you."

I raised my Sig Sauer, centering the laser dot squarely between his eyes. "Let the girl go, Julian. This is between you and me."

Julian let out a harsh, barking laugh, yanking Lily closer to his side. The little girl let out a terrified sob, struggling against his iron grip, but he jammed the barrel of the MP5 against her shoulder.

"Between you and me?" Julian sneered, his eyes wild with manic triumph. "You took everything from me, Caleb! You took my share of the syndicate, you sent me to rot in a Colombian hellhole for a decade, and you played daddy to my brother's orphan while I starved! And now? Now I'm going to watch you bleed out on the floor of your own restaurant, just like Victor did twenty years ago."

"You weren't in Colombia for my sins, Julian," I said, my voice steady, cold, unyielding. "You were there because you tried to sell our operational routes to the DEA behind our backs. Victor died trying to save your worthless skin from the men you betrayed. I didn't push him into that alley—you did."

Julian’s face twisted into an ugly, murderous mask. "Liar!" he screamed, his finger tightening on the trigger of the MP5.

Time seemed to slow down to a crawl. I saw the twitch in his index finger. I saw Marcus raising his revolver in the peripheral vision. I saw Adrian slipping silently to the left behind a shattered mahogany pillar.

And then, little Lily did the bravest thing I had ever witnessed in my entire life.

Instead of freezing, she suddenly stomped her heavy rubber boot down onto Julian’s bare foot with all her weight, twisting her heel hard.

Julian hissed in pain, his balance shifting just a fraction of an inch—enough to throw his aim off by a hair.

CRACK.

My Sig Sauer spoke first.

The bullet caught Julian square in the right shoulder, spinning him around and knocking the MP5 out of his grip. Before he could recover, Marcus’s revolver barked twice, putting two rounds into his thighs, dropping him hard to the polished floor in a spray of blood.

Adrian materialized from behind the pillar like a ghost, his tactical knife flashing once before stopping a millimeter from Julian’s throat.