I woke after midnight and found my fiancée dragging our unconscious housekeeper through broken glass, leaving streaks of blood across the hallway. Vanessa claimed Maria had attacked her, but when the injured woman opened her eyes and whispered, “She knows about Noah,” I realized the woman I planned to marry was terrified of one name.

The federal extraction helicopter landed securely on the heavily fortified roof of the FBI field office in downtown Los Angeles. We were instantly surrounded by dozens of armed agents who escorted us into the most secure, deeply subterranean vault in the entire building.

For three days, we lived in total lockdown. Noah was completely safe, surrounded by impenetrable federal security, but the heavy, suffocating anxiety of the situation was tearing me apart.

I knew that Alejandro would never stop hunting us. He had the vast, endless resources of a global syndicate. We could not spend the rest of our lives hiding in shadows, constantly looking over our shoulders, waiting for the inevitable bullet. I had to end this war permanently, and I had to do it on my own terms.

I sat across from Maria and the regional director of the FBI in a sterile conference room. I placed the encrypted hard drives I had stolen from my father's mansion onto the metal table.

"These drives contain the routing numbers to a hidden, secondary offshore trust my father established decades ago," I explained coldly, staring directly at the director. "There are over two billion dollars of completely clean, untraceable assets locked in those accounts. Alejandro wants that money just as much as he wants my blood."

Maria looked at me with deep concern, knowing exactly what I was about to suggest.

I told the director that we were going to set the ultimate trap. We would publicly leak the information that I was attending a high-society charity masquerade gala at the Los Angeles Museum of Art to secretly finalize the transfer of those offshore funds to a European proxy.

Alejandro was a man driven by ego, greed, and a twisted sense of theatrical vengeance. He would not send a nameless hit squad to claim two billion dollars and kill his ultimate rival. He would come to the gala himself to look me in the eyes when he pulled the trigger.

The regional director heavily debated the severe risks of using a civilian as live bait, but Maria forcefully intervened. She argued that this was the only viable tactical opportunity to completely decapitate the cartel leadership in a single, coordinated strike.

The trap was officially set.

Two nights later, I stood in front of a massive, gilded mirror in a luxury hotel suite, adjusting the crisp bow tie of my tailored black tuxedo. I placed a sleek, stylized silver masquerade mask over my face, completely concealing my identity in the glamorous disguise.

Maria walked into the room wearing a stunning, floor-length crimson gown that perfectly hid the lethal ceramic body armor she wore beneath the silk. She looked absolutely breathtaking, a deadly, beautiful weapon walking gracefully in high heels.

She walked over and gently adjusted the lapels of my jacket, her eyes searching mine for any sign of hesitation.