Blake took a step towards the window before turning back to stare at his father. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft but dangerous."Wait, you had a brother involved in arms dealing. And you never considered mentioning him to me?"Robert's face was carved from stone. "James Sterling wasn't… he already died eight years ago—""James Sterling." Blake repeated the name like it tasted wrong. "My uncle. Working with Dimitri Volkov's organization two decades ago.""Yes.""And you just decided that wasn't relevant information?" Blake's control was fracturing, rage bleeding through the cracks. "That your son might want to know his family had history with international arms dealers?"Robert stood, matched Blake's intensity with his own. "I was protecting you! James made choices that would have destroyed our family's reputation. I cleaned up his mess, paid off the right people, made sure no one connected Sterling Industries to his crimes."Emma glared at almost nothing, confusion looming in

Sam pulled up files on his tablet, spread them across the hospital waiting room table like battle plans."Blake's been tracking Dimitri's entire network since the warehouse." His finger traced connections between locations, names, businesses. "Every safe house. Every corrupt official. Every shell company and weapons cache. We've had surveillance on all of them for forty-eight hours."Emma stared at the web of information. Dozens of targets. "This is impossible to coordinate.""Not impossible. Difficult." Sam swiped to another screen showing personnel deployments. "FBI's been waiting for actionable intel on Dimitri for years. Blake gave them everything. Federal warrants were issued two hours ago for every name on this list."Robert leaned closer, scanning the documents. "This is half the city's criminal infrastructure.""Dimitri's infrastructure," Sam corrected. "Tonight, while Blake walks into that factory, teams hit every location simultaneously. Safe houses, weapon depots, corrupt o

The ambulance screamed through city streets, sirens carving a path through traffic that wasn't moving fast enough.Emma clutched Blake's hand, felt his pulse fluttering weak and irregular beneath her fingers. Too fast. Too shallow. Blood soaked through the pressure bandages the paramedics had wrapped around his side and shoulder, darkening the white gauze into something obscene."Stay with me." Her voice cracked. "Blake, please. Stay with me."His eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glassy. "Emma?""I'm here. I'm right here.""Tired." The word came out slurred. "So tired.""I know, but you have to stay awake. Just a little longer. We're almost there."Blake's lips moved, shaping words with no sound. Emma leaned closer, pressed her ear to his mouth."Love you," he whispered. Barely there. Almost nothing.Then his eyes rolled back and his hand went limp in hers."No!" Emma's scream filled the ambulance. "Blake! Blake, wake up!"The paramedic was already moving, checking vitals, barking i

Sam twisted Madam Mary's wrist with clinical precision, the kind of move that spoke of military training and zero tolerance for resistance.The syringe clattered to the floor, poison spreading across sterile tile in a harmless puddle."Security!" Sam's voice cut through the room. "Code red! Room 418!"Footsteps thundered in the hallway. Four guards burst through the door, hands on weapons, faces tense with adrenaline. They processed the scene in seconds—Sam restraining an older woman in stolen scrubs, a syringe on the floor, Blake Sterling unconscious in the bed."Restrain her," Sam ordered. "She just attempted murder."Two guards grabbed Madam Mary's arms, yanked them behind her back. Handcuffs clicked shut with brutal finality.Blake's eyes opened, groggy from medication, confused by the noise. His gaze found Madam Mary, registered her presence, and something sharp crossed his face."You," he said. Voice rough but certain.Madam Mary's face contorted. Rage stripped away whatever hum

Emma's finger was still hovering over Blake's contact when her office door swung open.Sam stood there, weapon drawn, three security guards flanking him. He scanned the room with tactical precision, found Emma backed against the window, then the finger on her desk."Clear the floor," Sam ordered. "Now. Full lockdown."Alarms shrieked to life. Emergency lights flickered on, painting everything in red. Emma heard doors slamming, people shouting, the organized chaos of evacuation procedures.Sam approached the severed finger carefully, pulling an evidence bag from his jacket. "Don't touch anything else. Forensics is en route.""There was someone in the hallway." Emma's voice came out steadier than she felt. "Russian accent. He said—he said we should talk about family."Sam's jaw clenched. He spoke into his radio. "Sweep every floor. Target is male, Russian national, armed and extremely dangerous."Blake's voice crackled through Emma's phone, finally connected. "Emma? What's happening?""