Marcus Reid was sobbing now. Not the dignified tears of a man who'd lost with grace, but the ugly, gasping kind that came from watching your entire world collapse in real time."Please!" The word broke on a hiccup. "Please, I'll tell you everything! Just—just don't—"Dante's boot pressed down on Marcus's ruined shoulder. Not harder. Not gentler. Just maintaining that perfect pressure that made nerve endings scream."I'm waiting."Marcus's face had gone the color of spoiled milk. Sweat poured down his temples, mixing with the tears, with the blood from where Dante's knife still protruded from muscle and tendon."It wasn't just about Scarlett!" The confession spilled out in a desperate rush. "Or the company! There's someone bigger—someone who wanted Leonard Hayes's secrets! Who needed access to what he'd hidden!"Sophia's eyes went wide. She was still wrapped in Dante's jacket, still shivering from her near-death experience, but the words cut through her shock like a blade."My father's

Dante's phone was back in his hand before the video could end."All assets to Hayes mansion, NOW!" His voice cut through the chaos like a blade. "Full tactical response. Assume hostile environment."The team that had been securing the basement snapped to attention. Within seconds, they were mobilizing—weapons checked, communications synced, vehicles already being pulled around.But Dante's mind was elsewhere, replaying Victoria's last words before the line cut off.The Syndicate has orders to kill everyone you care about, starting with—Starting with who? The question gnawed at him. Who did Victoria think he cared about enough to use as leverage? Sophia was safe—relatively—here with him. Scarlett was worthless as a hostage. So who?His phone rang. Isabella's name flashed on screen."Dante, police just raided Victoria's mansion." Isabella's voice was tight with urgency. "I've been monitoring emergency channels. She's gone. They found underground tunnels—looks like she escaped through t

Dante's face did something Isabella had never seen before—it showed actual shock."Reaper." The name fell from his lips like a curse. "That's impossible."Isabella grabbed his arm, her own terror momentarily forgotten in the face of his reaction. "Who is that? Dante, who is that man?"Five years ago, somewhere in the mountains between hostile territories, Dante had led a black ops team into hell with a simple objective: eliminate a terrorist cell before they could detonate a dirty bomb in a civilian population center.The mission had been textbook until the end. Breach. Secure. Extract. The team had moved like a single organism, every member trusting the others with their lives.Cole Savage had been his second-in-command. Brilliant. Ruthless. The kind of soldier who could calculate kill zones while eating breakfast and never lose his appetite. They called him Reaper because death followed him like a shadow.The terrorist cell had been neutralized. The bomb had been secured. And then C

The Syndicate headquarters looked like something built to survive the apocalypse.Converted military bunker, buried three stories underground, concrete walls thick enough to withstand direct missile strikes. The only visible entrance was a reinforced steel door that could stop a tank. The perfect fortress for someone who had enemies and knew they were coming.Outside, in the darkness three hundred meters away, Dante's forces assembled with the silent precision of predators preparing to hunt. Night vision equipment turned the world into shades of green. Suppressed weapons rested in hands that knew how to use them. Forty-seven operators, spread across four teams, waiting for a signal.Inside the mobile command center—a converted surveillance van with more technology than most government operations—Scarlett, Sophia, and Isabella clustered around Vincent's monitors. Screens showed thermal signatures, building layouts, communication frequencies."Plan is simple," Dante's voice came through

The night air tasted like gunpowder and victory.Dante stood outside the smoking fortress, watching families collapse into each other's arms. Tears. Gratitude. Relief so thick it was almost suffocating. Around him, his operatives maintained perimeter security with military precision, but the war—at least this battle—was over."Mom!"Adrian's voice cracked as he stumbled toward Isabella, confusion and terror written across his nineteen-year-old face. She caught him, pulled him close, and something inside her shattered. Years of secrets. Years of lies to keep him safe. All of it spilling out in broken sobs against his shoulder."I'll tell you everything, baby," Isabella gasped. "Everything."Dante looked away. Some reunions weren't meant for his eyes.James Westfield approached, his usual corporate composure fractured by raw emotion. His daughter clung to his side, still shaking. The billionaire extended his hand, gripping Dante's with surprising strength."I owe you twice now, Phantom.