The most feared mafia king had survived countless wars.

In the adjoining room, the atmosphere was warm and filled with the gentle crackle of a stone fireplace. Lily sat cross-legged on a plush velvet sofa that swallowed her small frame, wrapped in a thick wool blanket that smelled faintly of cedar and lavender. Elena, a former intelligence analyst with a remarkably calming presence, sat on the coffee table in front of her, holding a ceramic mug decorated with painted blue robins.

"They taste like marshmallows," Lily murmured softly, her fingers tracing the rim of the mug. Her eyes were no longer red-rimmed from crying; the sheer terror of the afternoon had settled into a quiet, watchful stillness that broke Elena’s heart.

"Extra marshmallows, just the way you like them," Elena said with a reassuring smile, tucking a stray lock of messy brown hair behind the little girl’s ear. "You know, Lily, you were exceptionally brave today. Not many grown-ups could have stayed as calm as you did while the house was falling apart."

"Was my mommy brave?" Lily asked, her gaze lifting to meet Elena’s eyes with startling maturity.

"The bravest person I’ve ever met," Elena answered honestly. "She stood up to some very bad men because she wanted to make sure nobody else got hurt. And because of that, we’re all going to be safe here for a while. This house has a lot of rooms, and outside there are big trees to climb once your mom feels better."

Through the half-open door connecting the medical bay to the sitting room, Julian watched the interaction in silence. He felt a familiar, uncomfortable tightening in his chest. Protecting people was his profession, but intimacy—even the protective warmth of a family unit—was something Julian had excised from his life decades ago, after a similar tragedy took everything he held dear. He had spent his adult life wandering through the debris of other people’s broken lives, acting as the instrument of retribution without ever allowing himself to belong.

Samuel walked up behind him, wiping his hands with a sterile towel. "She’s stable, Julian. Clara’s resilient. But you know as well as I do that Viktor was just a foot soldier. The man who actually ordered the hit is Arthur Sterling. And Sterling doesn't leave loose ends."

"Sterling’s bank accounts are frozen as of twenty minutes ago," Julian replied coldly, not turning around. "Without liquidity, his network will tear itself apart within forty-eight hours. He won’t have the resources to send another hit squad."