Then came the wail. It tore from Lily’s throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated shock and pain that finally snapped the invisible strings holding me in place. I moved before conscious thought caught up with my body.

I looked at the screen. It displayed a news chyron from a major financial network: PETERSON HOLDINGS IN FREEFALL AMID ALLEGATIONS OF FRAUD AND INSOLVENCY.

“Richard Peterson?” I asked, sipping the scalding tea.

“Currently barricaded in his estate,” Viktor chimed in from the doorway, a cruel smirk playing on his scarred face. “The banks have frozen his personal accounts pending a federal investigation. We leaked the offshore accounts to a highly ambitious prosecutor in the Southern District. Richard’s passport was flagged at 4:00 AM. He cannot leave the country, and he cannot access his wealth.”

“And the sister? Vanessa?”

My father’s eyes darkened. “Her fiancé, the investment banker? He terminated the engagement this morning when he realized her family name was now toxic. She is currently having a public breakdown on social media, claiming a massive conspiracy.”

I felt a dark, satisfying warmth spread through my chest. It wasn’t just revenge; it was an excision. I had surgically removed a cancer from my daughter’s life.

“And Mark?” I asked softly.

My father leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “Mark is the wild card. He did not go back into the house last night. He took one of the remaining cars and drove to a motel in Stamford. He has been drinking steadily. He is currently calling every lawyer in the state, trying to file an emergency custody order.”

I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “Let him try. What judge is going to grant custody to a man whose family is under federal indictment for racketeering and tax evasion, especially when his sister assaulted the child?”

“Legally, you have nothing to fear,” my father agreed. “But desperate men do stupid things, Mila. And Mark, stripped of his privilege, is a very desperate, very small man. You must be prepared for the fact that he may try to retaliate outside the courtroom.”

“He doesn’t have the courage,” I dismissed, waving a hand. “Mark gets a nosebleed if the WiFi goes down. He doesn’t know how to navigate our world.”

“He doesn’t,” a new voice said from the entrance of the conservatory.

I turned. Walking into the room was my older brother, Alexei. I hadn’t seen him since I left. He had grown broader, his face sharper, a jagged scar tracing the line of his jaw. He wore a dark suit without a tie, looking every inch the brutal enforcer he was known to be.

“Alexei,” I breathed, standing up.

He crossed the room in three long strides and pulled me into a fierce embrace, burying his face in my neck. “You stupid, stubborn girl,” he whispered fiercely. “Five years. I should break your neck for making me worry.”

“You could try,” I whispered back, holding him tight.

He pulled away, holding me by the shoulders and inspecting my face. “You look tired. But you look like yourself again.” He turned to our father, his expression turning serious. “I just got off the phone with our contacts in the city. Mark is desperate, yes. But his desperation is loud. And in our world, loud desperation attracts vultures.”

My father’s posture stiffened. “Explain.”

Alexei pulled up a chair, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Mark was at a dive bar near his motel a few hours ago, crying into his whiskey about how the Russian mafia stole his wife and child. Most people ignored him. But someone didn’t. One of our lookouts spotted a man approaching Mark. The man bought him a drink, talked to him for twenty minutes, and then they left together.”

“Who was the man?” I asked, a cold knot forming in my stomach.

“Dmitri Sokolov,” Alexei said.

The name hung in the air like a poisonous gas. The Sokolov syndicate was our oldest, most bitter rival in the Northeast. They controlled the ports in Jersey and had been trying to bleed into my father’s territory for a decade. It was a cold war, defined by fragile truces and quiet assassinations.

“Sokolov,” my father repeated softly, the syllables dripping with menace. “Why would Dmitri approach a bankrupt suburbanite?”

“Because Dmitri is an opportunist,” I said, the pieces clicking together in my mind with terrifying speed. I looked at my father. “Mark doesn’t know how to find me. He doesn’t know where this estate is. But the Sokolovs do.”

“Exactly,” Alexei nodded. “Dmitri knows you returned, Mila. He knows you brought a child. He sees this as a vulnerability. Nikolai Volkov, the untouchable, suddenly has a five-year-old granddaughter living under his roof. Dmitri will use Mark as a proxy. He will offer to help Mark ‘rescue’ his daughter, using Mark’s legal right as a father as a smokescreen to launch an assault on our family.”

“They wouldn’t dare attack this compound,” Viktor stated, his hand resting instinctively on his holster.

“No, they wouldn’t,” my father agreed. “But Mila and Lily cannot stay locked in this fortress forever. The moment they step off the grounds, they become targets.”

I looked out the massive glass windows, watching the snow begin to fall over the valley. Five years ago, I had run away because I didn’t want Lily to grow up looking over her shoulder. I had wanted to spare her the paranoia, the violence, the constant specter of death. But in my attempt to save her from the wolves, I had handed her to the leeches.

I was done running.

“They want a vulnerability?” I asked, my voice dropping to a register that mirrored my father’s. I turned back to the table, my eyes locking with Alexei’s, then my father’s. “Let’s give them one.”

My father raised an eyebrow. “What are you planning, little bird?”

“Mark wants to play the hero,” I said, a dangerous calm settling over my mind. “Let him think he has a chance. We don’t hide, Papa. We draw them out.”