Eleanor Vance coldly snatched three-year-old Zariah’s dinner plate away before violently kicking the heavy chair right out from under the little girl

Three miles away, in the VIP lounge of a high-end dockside club, Marcus Vance sat across from a terrified Russian underboss. The music was loud, but Marcus’s phone vibrating on the glass table commanded all of his attention.

He glanced at the screen. It was an automated alert from the estate's internal security matrix. Critical Breach: Sector 4. Safe Room Compromised.

Marcus didn't blink. He didn't gasp. The cold, intimidating eyes simply went completely dark.

"We are done here," Marcus said slowly, standing up.

"Wait, Marcus, we haven't discussed the trade routes!" the Russian pleaded.

Marcus pulled his suppressed pistol from his shoulder holster and shot the man directly in the kneecap without breaking stride. As the man screamed, Marcus walked out of the VIP room, his bodyguards falling into formation behind him.

"Silas," Marcus said into his earpiece as he walked through the crowded, neon-lit club. "Report."

"Boss, it's a massive hit," Silas’s voice crackled, breathless and frantic. "They cut the hardlines. We have heavy casualties on the second floor. They're at the safe room."

Marcus pushed through the exit doors into the cool night air, stepping toward his armored SUV. "I am four minutes away. If my daughter, my grandson, or my granddaughter are harmed, I will personally burn this city to the ground."

"We are fighting our way up, Boss, but they have heavy armor!"

Marcus climbed into the back of the SUV. "Tell the driver to hit the highway. Do not stop for anything."

The heavy vehicle roared to life, tires squealing against the asphalt as it tore through the city streets. Marcus sat in the back, his jaw clenched so tight the muscles twitched. He pulled up his sleeves, revealing the intricate, sharp tattoos on his forearms. He checked his weapons methodically. One by one, he loaded specialized armor-piercing rounds into his magazines.