1.The heavy oak front doors of the Blackwood mansion did not slam open; they swung wide with a slow, deliberate weight that made the air in the foyer instantly drop by ten degrees.

By midnight, Ethan was out of surgery. His arm had been set in a tiny cast, and pain medication had finally allowed him to sleep deeply in a high-security private suite on the hospital’s top floor, guarded by four armed Blackwood operatives.

Victor stood in the dimly lit hallway outside the room, watching through the glass panel as Lily sat by the crib, her hand resting on Ethan’s chest to monitor his breathing.

Mikhail walked up beside Victor, holding an iPad.

"Boss," Mikhail reported in a low whisper. "We pulled the internal security feeds from the mansion. Serena thought she erased them from the main router, but our secondary server caught everything."

Mikhail handed the tablet to Victor.

The video played in high-definition digital clarity. It showed Serena pulling Ethan by his wrist when he refused to sit for a magazine promotion. It showed the moment his arm snapped with a terrifying pop. It showed Serena throwing the toddler to the floor, kicking Lily in the stomach when she intervened, and grinding her heel into the young woman's abdomen while laughing.

Victor stared at the screen. The air around him grew so thick and dangerous that even Mikhail stepped back half an inch.

"It gets worse, boss," Mikhail added grimly. "We tapped Serena’s phone before confiscating it. She wasn't just abusing the boy. She was feeding information about your shipping routes in the Port of Chicago to the Montigue family patriarch—her father, Julian Montigue."

Victor slowly tapped the screen, closing the video.

The Montigue family was the second largest syndicate in Illinois, an old-money crime family that had been trying to breach Blackwood's shipping dominance for a decade. The engagement between Victor and Serena had been arranged eight months ago as a political truce following the death of Victor’s late wife, Clara.

"So," Victor said, his tone dropping into icy darkness. "The engagement was never a truce. It was a Trojan horse."