Chapter 40
The peace in Tuscany was a fragile illusion that Ryan had fiercely guarded for three years. The villa, surrounded by ancient olive groves and fortified with state-of-the-art security, felt like a sanctuary untouched by the blood and betrayal of New York. Lily and Mia were now eleven, thriving under the Mediterranean sun, their laughter a constant, healing presence in Ryan's life. He had traded his tailored suits and suppressed weapons for linen shirts and the quiet satisfaction of tending his own vineyards. Silas, his old mentor, lived in a neighboring estate, keeping a watchful eye on the perimeter, ensuring the ghosts of their past remained buried.
One crisp autumn morning, as Ryan was reviewing the harvest logs on the patio, Silas walked up the stone steps, his face grim. He didn't carry a newspaper this time; he carried a heavy, encrypted satellite phone. The kind they hadn't used since the war ended.
"We have a problem, kid," Silas said, his gruff voice cutting through the peaceful morning air. "A big one."
Ryan’s jaw tightened, the familiar, cold instinct of a predator instantly returning. He set his tablet down. "Who is it?"
"It’s not the Russians. It’s not Victor's remnants," Silas replied, placing the phone on the table. "It's someone from the old commission. Someone who was supposed to be dead long before you even took the throne."
Ryan frowned, picking up the phone. The screen displayed a single, grainy photograph. It was a picture of the Tuscan villa, taken from a high vantage point across the valley. Written across the bottom in digital text was a chilling message: Did you think I wouldn't find my granddaughter?
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"Marcus," Ryan whispered, the name tasting like ash in his mouth.
Marcus was the legendary enforcer who had trained Ryan's father, a man notorious for his absolute ruthlessness and cunning. He had vanished twenty years ago, presumed killed in a mob war. If Marcus was alive and looking for Mia, the peaceful life Ryan had built was about to be violently torn apart.
