Everyone watched Victoria raise her hand against a helpless elderly woman, but only one waitress dared to stop her—and seconds later, Chicago’s most powerful billionaire walked straight toward them.

"Don't do it, Emma," Vincent commanded, his eyes fixed on Helena.

"She has no choice," Helena laughed softly. "Look at the telemetry. The launch tubes are already flooded. The pre-ignition cycles have started. Five minutes until automated release."

Emma stepped forward, her eyes scanning the console. Her grandfather’s handwriting, etched into the memories of old blueprints she had seen in her father's attic, flashed before her mind. The Sovereign protocol wasn't just a biological lock; it was an absolute fail-safe. It didn't require submission. It required verification of lineage.

"Vincent," Emma said quietly. "Trust me."

"Emma—"

Before Vincent could intervene, the two lieutenants raised their weapons. Vincent drew his pistol in an explosive blur of motion, firing twice. The left guard dropped instantly, but the right guard returned fire, the round grazing Vincent's shoulder and sending him crashing against the radar plot table.

Helena lunged, pulling a hidden ceramic dagger from her sleeve, striking at Emma with blinding speed. "You will obey!"

Emma dodged beneath the blade, catching Helena’s wrist and driving her elbow into the matriarch’s ribs. Helena grunted, twisting with lethal martial precision, sweeping Emma’s legs out from under her. Emma crashed to the deck, the breath knocked from her lungs, but rolled just as Helena’s blade slammed into the steel grating where her head had been.

Across the deck, Vincent tackled the remaining guard over the helm railing, disarming the rifle and striking the man down with a crushing series of blows until the deck fell silent of gunfire.

Helena stood over Emma, raising the dagger for a killing blow. "Useless girl!"

*CRACK.*

Vincent's shot shattered the dagger in Helena's hand, sending fragments slicing across her cheek. Helena stumbled back against the primary console, clutching her bleeding fingers, her face twisted in shock.

"The next one goes through your heart, Mother," Vincent said, leveling his gun at her forehead from five feet away, blood soaking through his own shoulder.

Emma pulled herself up, her hand reaching toward the glowing crimson biometric interface.

"Emma, wait!" Vincent called out. "If she rigged it—"

"She didn't rig it," Emma said, her voice steady, filled with an ancient authority. "My grandfather built this. Not hers."