The heavy oak doors of Lorenzo’s study clicked shut behind Mason, his head of security. Mason was a broad-shouldered man with two decades of military intelligence experience, whose face rarely betrayed a single emotion.

Before Lorenzo could bridge the twenty paces separating them, a low, guttural growl sounded from the shadows of the warehouse doorway. A large black dog stepped into view, his ribs showing through his thin coat, his ears perked with fierce protection. Around his neck hung a battered brown leather collar with a bent iron leash ring shaped like a hook.

"Bruno..." Lorenzo breathed.

The dog froze, his tail giving a hesitant, single thump against the rotting wood paneling as he recognized his master's voice.

"Lorenzo, stay back!" Isabella gasped, her hands held up to stop his advance. "You shouldn't have come! They know I'm here! They've been watching the perimeter!"

"Who is 'they'?" Lorenzo demanded, closing the distance despite her warning, reaching out to pull her into his arms. The moment his chest hit hers, the reality of her warmth crushed the two months of grief that had paralyzed his soul. He buried his face in her hair, feeling her frail body shaking against his. "You're alive... God help me, you're alive."

"I had to run, Lorenzo," she sobbed into his lapel, her fingers clutching his coat with terrifying strength. "If I stayed... if I told you... they were going to kill you."

"Nobody touches me, Isabella," Lorenzo said coldly, pulling back to look into her face. "Who did this to you? Who put that body in your car?"

Isabella’s breath hitched. "It was... it was a setup from inside your inner circle, Lorenzo. The car crash wasn't an accident. My brakes failed on the highway, but when the car went off the road, I was thrown clear into the brush before it hit the rocks at the bottom."

"And the body in the driver's seat?"

"There was another car waiting at the bottom of the ravine," Isabella whispered, horror filling her eyes at the memory. "Two men. They brought a body out of a van—a homeless woman from the city—and placed her in the driver's seat with my jewelry before setting the gas tank on fire. I watched it burn from the trees, Lorenzo! I saw them! And then I heard them talking on the radio..."

"What did they say?" Lorenzo asked, his grip on her shoulders tightening.

"They said... 'Tell Victor the package is disposed of. Now we move on the syndicate's accounts.'"

Lorenzo’s blood ran cold.

Victor Vance. His chief financial officer and lifelong advisor. The man who sat at his right hand during every board meeting and knew every offshore account the DeLuca family operated.

Before Lorenzo could speak, the sharp, unmistakable crack of a sniper rifle echoed across the freight yard.