BENEATH THE MARBLE FLOOR

The safehouse was a forgotten woodworking shop on the industrial docks of Brooklyn, smelling of cedar shavings and motor oil. Adrian carried Mia inside while holding a half-conscious Elena, whose cracked ribs groaned under every shallow breath. He kicked the door shut, securing the heavy iron latch before gently laying Elena onto a canvas cot.

Mia sat huddled in an oversized wool blanket, her wide, hazel eyes scanning the dark room. Adrian retrieved an emergency trauma kit, cleaning the cuts along Elena’s cheek and wrapping her bruised torso with medical tape.

"You shouldn't have risked coming back for us," Elena whispered, her voice strained and raspy. "Victor has the police payroll, the port authorities, everything. He orchestrated the takeover the moment your father died."

"My father built a shipping empire, not a cartel," Adrian answered, cleaning a deep laceration on his own knuckles. "Julian wouldn't sign over the cargo manifests, would he?"

Elena closed her eyes, tears cutting through the dust on her pale skin. "Julian discovered what was inside the overseas containers. It wasn't luxury cars, Adrian. It was human cargo. Displaced families, children without papers. Victor is running an international trafficking ring out of the old North Harbor terminal."