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.

The voice belonged to a man Emma recognized immediately from the dossiers Vincent had reviewed days earlier: Lucian Vance, the younger, deadlier brother of the late Senator Marcus Vance, and the field commander for the Sovereign Ledger’s private paramilitary wing.

"Lucian," Vincent called out without stepping out from behind cover. His voice was utterly calm, devoid of fear. "Your brother died with a hole in his head ten minutes ago. You're running out of family members to bury."

A cold, humorless laugh bounced off the iron rafters. "Marcus was a politician. Soft, greedy, and easily replaced. I don't care about Marcus. I care about the ledger. Step out with the access sequence, Vincent, and maybe I’ll let the little waitress take the morning train back to Chicago before we level this county."

Emma looked at Vincent. Her hand slipped into her pocket, gripping a small tactical knife Mateo had given her earlier. She met Vincent’s eyes. "Don't let them have it," she whispered fiercely. "Whatever is in that vault, your father died to keep it out of their hands. If they get it, nobody survives anyway."

A faint, lethal smirk curved Vincent’s lips. "Good girl," he murmured.

Vincent signaled Mateo with two fingers, pointing toward the emergency gas main lever on the north wall. Mateo nodded grimly, crawling through the shadows behind the slag piles.

Vincent stepped out from behind the heavy steel ladle, his hands held at shoulder height, empty of weapons.

Instantly, four red laser beams snapped onto his chest from different perimeters of the catwalk.

Out from the gloom of the blast furnace stepped Lucian Vance, clad in charcoal tactical body armor, flanked by four heavily armed mercenaries carrying automatic rifles. Lucian held an ivory-handled combat knife in his right hand, twirling it with casual cruelty.

"Where is it, Moretti?" Lucian sneered, coming to a halt twenty yards away. "The vault entrance is beneath the cooling pit, but the seismic lock requires a biometric frequency. Don't play dumb. Your father used his own DNA or yours."

Vincent tilted his head. "My father was smarter than you, Lucian. He didn't use DNA. DNA can be extracted from a corpse."

Lucian’s eyes narrowed. "What did he use?"

"A trigger," Vincent said.