2Two barefoot little girls pushing a rusted shopping cart nearly brought me to my knees in downtown Los Angeles.

The clock struck 2:00 AM.

The mansion was completely silent except for the low hum of the perimeter defense systems. Outside, heavy marine-layer fog rolled off the Pacific, blanketing the Bel-Air hills in an ethereal white mist.

I couldn't sleep. I sat in a leather armchair inside Marie’s untouched nursery.

For six years, this room had been frozen in time. The hand-carved mahogany crib, the white lace curtains, the shelves lined with classic storybooks that had never been read. Tonight, however, the room was different.

Two small beds had been pushed together in the center of the room.

Lily was curled up like a kitten beneath a heavy goose-down duvet, her breathing deep and even. But Rose was sitting bolt upright against the headboard, her eyes wide, staring at the darkened doorway.

When she saw me sitting in the corner, she didn't jump. She just pulled the blanket up to her chin.

"You're not sleeping," I said softly.

"The bed is too soft," Rose replied, her voice barely louder than a whisper. "It feels like quicksand. You can't hear footsteps when you sleep on feathers."

My heart cracked open. A five-year-old child should worry about bruised knees and cartoon characters, not the acoustics of approaching footsteps.

I stood up, walked slowly across the plush Persian rug, and sat on the floor beside her bed, resting my back against the frame.

"In this house, nobody has to listen for footsteps," I told her. "Do you know why?"

Rose tilted her head, suspicious. "Why?"

"Because there are wolves outside that gate. But they work for me. And inside this room, you have me. Nothing comes through that door unless it goes through me first."

Rose looked down at her hands. Her small fingers were calloused, the cuticles scarred from sorting broken glass and aluminum cans. "Mama Elena said our father was a king. She said he lived in a castle of gold."

"Your father isn't a king, Rose," I whispered, reaching out slowly, offering my hand palm-up. "I’m just a man who lost the only things that mattered in the world. And spent every single second of the last six years wishing I could hold you."

Rose stared at my open palm. She hesitated for a long, agonizing moment. Then, with infinite caution, she placed her small, scarred hand into mine.

Her skin was warm. Her pulse beat rapid and steady against my fingers.

"Lily had a bad dream earlier," Rose murmured, looking over at her sleeping sister. "She dreamed about the loud man with the silver watch. The one who used to visit the cellar before we ran away."

A chill ran down my spine. "The loud man with the silver watch?"

"He smelled like bitter almonds and smoke," Rose said. "He had a silver watch with a green snake on the face. He told Mama Elena that if she ever showed her face in the daylight, he’d put us in a box and drop us into the deep water."

Julian Vance wore a custom Rolex Daytona. Its dial was customized with an emerald-enameled serpent—the crest of his family’s private holding company.

Before I could answer, a soft chime sounded through the wireless earpiece hidden in my ear.

*"Boss,"* Parker’s voice crackled, tense and clipped. *"Movement at the south gate. Thermal sensors picked up four heat signatures breaching the tree line near the lower tennis courts. They’re carrying suppressed carbines."*

My blood turned to liquid nitrogen.

Julian hadn't just relied on the arson fire in Skid Row. He had tracked our movements. Or someone had tipped him off that the girls had been extracted before the fire took hold.

"Hold your fire until they cross the secondary line," I ordered into my comm, keeping my voice utterly level so as not to alarm Rose. "Take them alive if possible. If not, stack them at the gate."

I looked up at Rose. She had already sensed the shift in my posture. Her eyes widened with sudden panic.

"Is the bad man here?" she whispered.

"Nobody is getting near this room, Rose," I said calmly. I stood up, walked to the armoire, and pulled out a keycard. I pressed it against the mahogany paneling beside the door.

A hidden pneumatic seal hiss-clicked open, revealing a reinforced steel panic room concealed within the nursery wall. It was stocked with water, independent ventilation, and reinforced with four-inch ballistic plating.

"Rose, take Lily inside," I commanded gently. "Press the green button on the inside wall. The door will lock. It will not open for anyone except my voice. Do you understand?"

Rose nodded fiercely. Without a hint of hesitation, she shook Lily awake.

"Lily, get up. It’s the game. We have to go to the safe box."

Lily rubbed her sleepy eyes, but seeing Rose’s expression, she didn't cry. She scrambled out of the bed on her bare feet and darted into the steel room. Rose stepped inside after her, her little hand resting on the heavy titanium door.

She looked at me through the opening. "You promise you'll come back?"

"I survived six years without you, Rose," I smiled, though my eyes were dead steel. "A few shadows in the garden aren't going to keep me away. Close the door."

The pneumatic seal hissed shut. The lock engaged with a heavy, final clunk.

I walked out into the corridor.

Parker met me at the top of the marble staircase, tossing me a customized black Benelli M4 shotgun. I caught it out of the air, racking the action with a crisp, brutal snap.

"They just breached the glass on the conservatory patio," Parker said, his tactical vest strapped tight. "Four hostiles. Heavy body armor. No chatter on standard radio frequencies—they're running encrypted tactical comms. Ex-military contractors."

"Julian spent top dollar," I muttered, my lips curling into a vicious sneer. "Let's show him what money can't buy."