On Thanksgiving Day, my billionaire grandfather stood before the whole family with a bruise under his eye. Everyone thought he had had an accident, but when he clinked his glass and said, "I have something to confess," the silence became so heavy that no one looked at him the same way again.

The private doctor Ernesto kept on retainer worked quickly in the sterile medical room of our underground safehouse. The bullet had thankfully gone clean through Sofia's shoulder, missing the bone and vital arteries. But seeing her pale, blood-stained, and in pain ignited a level of unhinged rage inside me that I had never experienced.

"I am fine, Julian," Sofia whispered, reaching up to touch my face with her good hand. "You have to finish this. We have a name now. Viktor Vance."

Ernesto stood in the corner of the room, his face looking like carved granite. "Viktor Vance is not a ghost, Julian. He is a public figure. A billionaire philanthropist who uses his massive charity organization as a front for the Vanguard's global operations."

"Where is he tonight?" I demanded, loading a fresh magazine into my concealed handgun.

"He is hosting the Vanguard's annual masquerade gala at the Grand Solstice Hotel," Ernesto stated. "The entire city elite will be there. Politicians, judges, police commissioners. It is his fortress of public immunity."

I threw on a tailored black tuxedo and concealed the heavy pistol neatly at the small of my back. I grabbed a beautifully crafted Venetian silver mask from our safehouse armory.

"You cannot just walk into his gala and shoot him, Julian. You will be arrested or killed by his private security," Ernesto warned, grabbing my arm.

"I am not going to shoot him, Grandfather. I am going to look him in the eye and tell him that the Alvarez family is no longer his prey. I am going to make a highly public statement."

I drove the armored SUV into the heart of the city, pulling up to the glittering, red-carpeted entrance of the Grand Solstice Hotel. I bypassed the massive security checkpoint by slipping a corrupt police captain ten thousand dollars in cash.

The grand ballroom was a terrifying display of hidden power. Hundreds of the city's most powerful people danced and drank champagne, all hiding their faces behind elaborate masks. But I did not need to search hard to find the apex predator in the room.

Viktor Vance stood on a sweeping marble staircase, wearing a flawless white tuxedo and a golden lion mask. He looked down at the crowd with the absolute arrogance of a king. I walked straight up the stairs, shoving past heavily armed bodyguards in expensive suits, and stopped directly in front of him.