NINE MEMBERS OF MY PREGNANT WIFE’S FAMILY BEAT HER SO BADLY THAT WE LOST OUR UNBORN CHILD, THEN LAUGHED OUTSIDE HER ICU ROOM—UNTIL I SENT ONE MESSAGE THAT MADE ALL NINE OF THEIR PHONES RING.

The rain had returned, slicking the tarmac of the private airfield upstate with a glossy, reflective sheen.

My Maybach cut its headlights half a mile down the access road, gliding silently through the dark perimeter fence that Victor’s tactical team had already breached. Three black tactical vehicles formed a semicircle around a idling twin-engine Gulfstream private jet sitting on the wet runway.

Inside the jet’s cabin, illuminated by warm interior lights, sat Julian Sterling.

I stepped out into the biting midnight wind, my long coat snapping around my legs. Victor and four of our top operatives flanked me, moving with absolute, silent precision.

The airport security guards didn't even try to stop us; they had either been quietly neutralized or recognized the terrifying authority carried by the men in black suits.

I walked up the metal steps of the aircraft, pulled the heavy cabin door open, and stepped inside.

Julian, who had been pouring a glass of scotch at the mini-bar, spun around. The glass slipped from his fingers, shattering against the plush carpeting as his eyes locked onto mine.

“Adrian...?” Julian stammered, stumbling backward against the leather upholstery, his face draining of all color. “How did you—?”

“You should have stayed in Europe, Julian,” I said, my voice echoing quietly through the narrow cabin.

“I lost everything!” Julian shrieked, panic breaking through his bravado. “You destroyed my family! You took our name, our money, our entire legacy! I have a right to finish you!”

“You had a right to live a quiet life after I exiled you,” I corrected, closing the distance between us until he had nowhere left to run. “Instead, you sent men after my wife. You threatened the only pure thing I have left in this world.”

Julian lunged forward, desperately trying to pull a concealed pistol from his waistband.

He didn't even get his hand past his belt.

Victor intercepted him mid-motion, slamming Julian’s face against the mahogany table with a sickening thud and pinning his arm behind his back.

I looked down at Julian as he groaned against the floorboards, blood trickling from his nose onto the expensive carpet.