Mister, put your dog in timeout!” Three-year-old Lucy Bennett marched into the private meeting of the most feared man in Chicago with one hand on her hip and the other gripping what

The sea caves beneath the abandoned lighthouse on the northernmost point of the bluff were a labyrinth of forgotten history and damp, suffocating darkness. Carved out of the sheer limestone by centuries of battering waves, the tunnels smelled of salt, stagnant water, and ancient decay.

Vincent descended into the subterranean gloom alone, his tactical flashlight casting long, dancing beams across the dripping brick walls that his father had supposedly sealed away decades ago. The mortar was fresh in places—cracked open recently by heavy industrial charges.

*Clink. Clink.*

A faint, metallic sound echoed down the damp corridor ahead. It wasn't the heavy boots of mercenaries. It was the distinct, rhythmic tapping of a small, frightened child.

Vincent froze, dousing his flashlight to plunge himself into absolute blackness. He strained his ears, his heart hammering against his ribs like a war drum.

"...Captain Carrot?" a tiny, trembling voice whispered from the darkness ahead, barely audible over the distant, subterranean roar of the crashing lake. "...Are you hiding, too?"

"Lucy," Vincent breathed, his voice cracking slightly as he flicked the light back on at a low, amber setting, sweeping the beam toward a narrow alcove formed by a collapsed rockfall.

Huddled in the corner behind a rusted iron ore cart sat the three-year-old girl. Her pink coat was torn and stained with mud, her face streaked with tears, but she was miraculously unharmed. Hearing his voice, she scrambled out from behind the cart, her wide, terrified eyes reflecting the amber glow of his tactical light.

"Vincent!" she sobbed, scrambling across the wet stone floor and throwing herself straight into his arms.

Vincent dropped his Kimber to the stone, catching the little girl and pulling her tightly against his chest, burying his face in her damp curls. For a long, agonizing moment, the cold, ruthless king of the Chicago underworld vanished, leaving only a man holding the only fragment of light left in his shattered world.

"I've got you, sweetheart," Vincent murmured, his voice trembling as he kissed the top of her head. "I've got you. We're going home."

"The bad men took Nora," Lucy cried, her small hands clutching desperately at the lapel of his ruined jacket. "They put a bag over her head and took her to the big noisy bird in the sky."

Vincent stood up slowly, lifting Lucy into his arms and securing her safely against his shoulder. He reached down with his right hand, retrieving his Kimber, his thumb clicking the safety off with a sharp, metallic snap that echoed down the empty corridor.

He turned toward the deeper recesses of the vault—toward the heavy iron door at the far end of the tunnel that wasn't on any architectural map of the estate. The door stood wide open, a faint, sickly yellow light spilling out from the chamber beyond.