Elena’s breath hitched in her throat, the glowing digits of the phone screen burning into her retinas. The infant’s cries grew ragged against her collarbone, but inside her chest, everything went deathly still.

Kill the child in the penthouse.

She scrambled forward on her knees, the cold marble biting through her jeans, and snatched the phone from Mateo’s pocket. Her blood-slick fingers almost dropped it. She tapped the screen, praying for a contact name, a trace, anything—but the thread self-destructed before her eyes, the text vanishing into a blank black interface.

Mateo groaned, a shallow, wet sound. Dark crimson was spreading fast across the white floor, pooling near the shattered glass of the vase.

«Mateo…» she choked out, placing a trembling hand against the side of his neck. His pulse was thready, a faint, erratic fluttering beneath her palm. «Stay with me. Please, stay with me.»

She pulled her phone from her back pocket, her hands shaking so violently she mistyped the emergency code twice. Just as the dial tone began to ring, the heavy electronic bolt of the penthouse front door clicked.

Elena froze. Victoria couldn’t have returned—not that fast.

The heavy oak door didn’t swing open with Victoria’s dramatic rage. It slid inward silently, pushed by a gloved hand. Two men in dark, unmarked tactical gear stepped into the foyer. Neither carried a weapon in their hands, but the sharp, military precision of their movements screamed lethal efficiency.

Elena’s heart slammed against her ribs like a trapped bird. She thrust the phone behind her, pressing her back against the sofa, pulling Leo so tightly against her chest he let out a muffled squeak.

«Target secured,» the lead man said into a lapel mic, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. He didn’t even look at Mateo bleeding out on the floor. His cold, pale eyes locked directly onto the baby blanket in Elena’s arms. «Initiating cleanup.»

«Who are you?!» Elena screamed, her voice cracking. «Get out! The police are on their way!»

The man didn’t slow his stride. He reached into his coat, pulling out a heavy metal cylinder—a suppressed sidearm. «The police won’t cross the bridge in time, Mrs. Vance. Hand over the decoy.»

Decoy.

The word struck Elena like a physical blow. Her mind raced back to the encrypted text. The real heir is secure in London. She stared down at the child in her arms—the boy she had given birth to in a private clinic three weeks ago, the boy she had held every night.

«He’s my son!» she shrieked, backing away until her spine hit the glass panel of the balcony door.

«He is an asset,» the man corrected calmly, raising the barrel. «And assets are replaceable.»

Before he could pull the trigger, Mateo’s arm shot out from the floor. With a desperate, dying surge of strength, Mateo grabbed the operative’s ankle, yanking with all his weight. The man stumbled forward, his gun discharging with a soft pfft that shattered the floor-to-ceiling glass beside Elena into a web of spiderweb fractures.

«Run!» Mateo gasped, blood pouring from his lips. «Elena… run!»

Elena didn’t hesitate. She threw her shoulder against the cracked glass, shattering it completely, and burst out onto the breezy, high-altitude terrace. The Lisbon wind roared around her, whipping her hair across her face. Looking down, the city was a sea of glittering lights hundreds of feet below. There was no escape down the stairs; the second operative was already cutting off the interior corridor.

Cornered at the edge of the rooftop drop, she looked back through the ruined glass. The second operative kicked Mateo viciously in the side, pinning him down, while the lead man stepped out onto the wind-swept terrace, his gun leveled directly at her forehead.

«End of the line, Elena,» the man said over the howling wind. «Give us the child, and you walk away.»

«You’re lying,» she whispered, tears burning her cold cheeks. She glanced over the railing, her stomach dropping into a sickening freefall.

Then, her eyes caught something moving in the shadows of the adjacent rooftop, barely thirty feet across the narrow alleyway. A figure clad in dark grey stood near the HVAC unit, holding a high-powered tactical crossbow aimed not at her, but at the operative standing before her.

A high-pitched thwip sliced through the wind.

A heavy steel bolt pierced the lead operative’s shoulder, throwing him backward against the glass frame. He dropped his gun with a shout of pain.

«Jump!» a sharp female voice hollered from the opposite roof.

Elena didn’t think. She didn’t look down. Wrapping her arms tightly around Leo to shield his head, she launched herself off the edge of the penthouse terrace into the empty black air.