HE THOUGHT SHE WAS JUST A WEEKEND ESCAPE—UNTIL SHE WALKED INTO HIS BOARDROOM AS HIS EXECUTIONER

The digital clock on the mahogany nightstand glowed 3:14 a.m.

Mila lay awake in the vast, silk-sheeted bed of the master guest suite, staring up at the dark wooden beams of the ceiling. The storm outside had intensified, the wind howling against the reinforced glass windows like a living thing, rattling the heavy frames.

Beside her, the space on the mattress was empty.

Thomas had left hours earlier, disappearing down into his private basement study to interface with his offshore legal team in Zurich before the European markets opened.

She turned onto her side, punching the plush down pillow into a more comfortable shape, but sleep refused to come. Her skin still tingled from where his hands had gripped her waist; her lips still ached from the fierce, unrelenting hunger of his kiss.

She wasn't just hiding anymore. She was an active combatant in a war she hadn't started, bound to a man whose past was as dark and opaque as the Sicilian night.

A sharp, metallic sound echoed through the quiet house.

Mila froze.

It wasn't the wind. It wasn't the crackle of dying embers in the living room fireplace.

It was the distinct, low-frequency hum of the estate’s secondary perimeter security grid tripping.

She sat up instantly, throwing off the heavy duvet and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Her bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor with a soft thud.

She grabbed an oversized charcoal cashmere sweater that Thomas had left draped over a chair, pulling it hastily over her silk sleep shirt.

Stepping cautiously out of the bedroom, she entered the dimly lit second-floor hallway. The massive arched windows overlooked the front gravel drive and the dense wall of pine trees framing the property.

Through the rain-streaked glass, she saw it.

Two black, unmarked SUVs had breached the automated security gates, their headlights cut off, coasting silently up the winding gravel drive before coming to a complete stop near the grand double doors of the front entrance.

The doors didn't open. Instead, figures in tactical gear began spilling out of the vehicles, moving with terrifying, military-grade precision.

Not federal agents. Not police.

Meridian’s private security wing—mercenaries operating completely off the books.

Mila’s breath caught in her throat. Arthur Vance hadn't sent lawyers or threats. He had sent an execution squad to recover the token and eliminate everyone in the house.

She spun around, sprinting down the grand staircase toward the main study on the ground floor where Thomas had gone.

Before she reached the bottom step, the heavy oak front door exploded inward with a deafening crash as a breaching charge blew the deadbolts clean out of the frame.

Splintered wood and smoke filled the grand foyer.

“Clear!” a harsh, muffled voice shouted through a tactical comms unit.

Mila didn't hesitate. She threw herself behind a massive marble pillar near the base of the staircase, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs as heavy combat boots began stomping across the hardwood floor.

“Search the upper levels! Secure the asset!”

She pressed her back against the cool marble, sliding her hand into the pocket of the cashmere sweater. Her fingers brushed against her phone.

She pulled it out with trembling fingers, her screen casting a pale blue glow across her face.

She dialed Thomas’s private extension.

Ring.

There was no answer.

“Damn it, Thomas, pick up,” she whispered frantically, her eyes darting toward the hallway where the tactical team was already moving toward the grand staircase.

A heavy hand suddenly clamped over her mouth from behind.

Before Mila could scream, an arm banded around her waist with iron strength, yanking her backward off her feet and dragging her into the shadowy alcove beneath the staircase.

She thrashed wildly, driving her elbow backward with all her might, connecting hard against a solid chest.

A low, sharp hiss of pain escaped a familiar voice right beside her ear.

“Stop moving, you idiot. It’s me.”

Thomas’s voice.

Mila went rigid in his arms. He released her mouth, his other hand gripping her shoulder to keep her silent as the heavy footsteps of two mercenaries marched past the base of the stairs less than six feet away.

In the dim light, Mila saw that Thomas wasn't wearing his suit jacket anymore. He wore a simple black tactical turtleneck, and in his right hand, he held a sleek, suppressed HK tactical pistol with terrifying familiarity.

His face was completely calm, devoid of panic, carved from the same cold stone as the masonry around them.

“How did they bypass the perimeter grid?” Mila whispered fiercely against his neck, her breath hot against his skin.

“They didn't bypass it,” Thomas replied, his eyes fixed on the retreating footsteps of the guards. “They had an access code from an internal Meridian asset. Someone on my own executive board sold us out.”

“Who?”

“Does it matter?” Thomas murmured, his jaw tightening into a dangerous line. “Right now, we have six armed professionals clearing my house with orders to kill.”

He turned his gaze fully onto Mila, his dark eyes burning with absolute, chilling focus.

“Can you run?”

“I’m wearing cashmere and no shoes,” she retorted, a fierce spark of adrenaline cutting through her fear. “Of course I can run.”

Thomas let out a very brief, humorless breath that sounded almost like a laugh.