1The man in seat 2A had less than a minute to breathe, and Evelyn Foster was the only person on the plane who noticed.

The damp, Atlantic cold of Shannon, Ireland, cut through Evelyn’s thin uniform coat the moment she stepped onto the tarmac. It was nearly 3:00 a.m. local time. The Boeing 777 sat silent under the harsh yellow floodlights of a remote parking stand, flanked by flashing blue lights from Irish Garda cruisers and two ambulances.

Evelyn walked into the private terminal lounge behind her flight crew. The other crew members were exhausted, whispering about flight delays and union rest mandates. But Evelyn couldn't shake the memory of Antonio Vitelli’s eyes. He hadn't looked like a victim; he had looked like a man who knew exactly who had put a hit out on him.

"Miss Foster?"

A man in a sharp black overcoat stepped out from the shadows near the terminal exit. It was Marco Bellini. His hands were tucked inside his pockets, his posture immaculate, his expression completely unreadable.

"Mr. Bellini," Evelyn said, stopping short. Her senior purser, Sarah, grabbed her arm nervously.

"Your airline’s local manager has been notified," Marco said smoothly in heavy, accent-thickened English. "A private transport is waiting outside for you. You will not be staying at the airport Radisson with the rest of the crew."

"Excuse me?" Sarah interrupted, stepping forward with her clipboard. "Flight crew stays together. That’s FAA regulations and company protocol. She’s not going anywhere with private security."

Marco didn't even look at Sarah. His dark eyes remained locked on Evelyn. "Three hours ago, someone attempted to assassinate the head of the Vitelli syndicate at thirty-seven thousand feet. The poison used was a synthetic neurotoxin disguised inside an epinephrine auto-injector in Mr. Vitelli's personal medical case."

Evelyn felt the blood drain from her face. "The black case in the overhead bin..."

"Yes," Marco confirmed softly. "Someone swapped his genuine asthma and allergy kit with a tampered one before we left JFK. The moment he felt chest tightness from the altitude and instructed me to hand him his kit, he would have injected himself with lethal cardiac toxin. You prevented him from using it, Miss Foster. You gave him oxygen and insisted on the onboard emergency kit instead."

"So he’s alive," Evelyn whispered.

"He is alive at a regional hospital twenty miles from here, under heavy guard," Marco said. "Which means whoever paid for that switch now knows that a flight attendant ruined their plan. The men who orchestrated this do not leave loose ends. If you stay at an unsecured hotel, you will not survive until your morning debrief."

Sarah looked terrified, glancing between Evelyn and Marco. "Evelyn, we should call the embassy. We should call the police."

"The local Garda are currently securing the hospital perimeter," Marco replied coldly. "But money opens doors, even in Ireland. My instructions from Mr. Vitelli are absolute: protect Dr. Foster."

"I'm not a doctor," Evelyn said quietly. "I'm a flight attendant."

"To Mr. Vitelli, you are the only person between him and a coffin," Marco said, holding open the door to a black, armored Range Rover idling in the rain. "Choose now, Miss Foster. Stay with your crew and trust a hotel door lock, or come with us."

Evelyn looked back at her fellow crew members. They were good people, but they were civilian airline staff. If hitmen came looking for her, anyone near her would be collateral damage.

"I'm coming," Evelyn said, stepping past Sarah's gasp. "On one condition."

"You are in no position to set conditions," Marco noted.