“Yeah?”
He listened for several seconds.
Then smiled.
“Perfect.”
He turned toward the bedroom door.
“Our people just disabled the front gate cameras again.”
One of the men frowned.
“What if Vincent comes through the underground entrance?”
“He won’t.”
Marcus smiled wider.
“Tony made sure the tunnel explosives are ready.”
Explosives.
Marcus had planned every escape.
Every route.
Every backup.
Someone had spent months studying Vincent’s habits.
Someone Vincent had personally trained.
Elena leaned closer.
“They’ve been preparing this for almost eight months.”
Vincent looked at her.
“You knew?”
“I suspected.”
“You said nothing.”
“I had no proof.”
She lowered her eyes.
“And because nobody notices the maid.”
For the first time that night, Vincent truly looked at her.
She wasn’t afraid for herself.
She was afraid for him.
That made no sense.
Unless…
“Who are you?” he whispered.
Elena hesitated.
Outside, footsteps drifted farther away.
She reached into her apron.
Instead of a cleaning cloth…
She pulled out an old silver badge.
Not police.
Military.
Italian intelligence.
“My real name isn’t Elena Rossi.”
Vincent blinked.
“My name is Elena Bianchi.”
“I’ve been undercover for three years.”
Silence.
“I was assigned to watch you.”
Vincent almost laughed.
“Government?”
She nodded.
“They believed eventually someone inside your organization would betray you.”
“They were right.”
“You’ve been spying on me.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve reported everything.”
“No.”
His eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“I stopped reporting eighteen months ago.”
“Why?”
She looked away.
“Because the reports stopped matching the man I actually saw.”
Vincent frowned.
“I expected a monster.”
Instead…
“I watched you secretly pay for children’s surgeries.”
“I watched you send anonymous scholarships.”
“I watched you keep promises that politicians never kept.”
“You’ve done terrible things.”
She met his eyes again.
“But you’re not the man they described.”
Vincent said nothing.
He had never cared what anyone thought.
Yet hearing those words from someone who had spent three years observing every ordinary moment of his life felt strangely different.
Outside the closet…
Marcus stopped.
“Wait.”
Every muscle in Elena’s body tensed.
“I smell perfume.”
One of the gunmen laughed.
“You’re standing in his bedroom.”
“No.”
Marcus slowly turned.
“The maid.”
His footsteps approached.
Closer.
Closer.
The closet handle moved.
Locked.
Marcus frowned.
“Elena?”
No answer.
“Open the door.”
Vincent reached for the pistol beneath Elena’s dress.
She grabbed his wrist.
“Not yet.”
Marcus’s voice hardened.
“Elena.”
“I know you’re in there.”
Silence.
Then—
Bang!
The closet door exploded inward.
Wood splintered across expensive suits.
Marcus raised his pistol.
His smile vanished.
“…Uncle.”
For one endless second…
Nobody moved.
Marcus looked from Vincent…
To Elena…
To the gun in Vincent’s hand.
Then everything erupted.
Gunfire shattered mirrors.
Glass exploded across the bedroom.
Vincent shoved Elena behind him as bullets ripped through hanging jackets.
Marcus dove behind the bed.
Two gunmen rushed forward.
Vincent fired twice.
Years of instinct never disappeared.
Both men collapsed before they reached the closet.
Marcus fired back.
The bullet grazed Vincent’s shoulder.
