The lake wind bit into Marin’s soaked scrubs, but she barely felt it. The adrenaline coursing through her veins kept the hypothermia at bay, though her teeth chattered so violently her jaw ached.

Raphael threw the kitchen door open, sprinting into Filomena’s suite with Marin right at his heels.

The glass patio door leading to the balcony had been shattered. Cold wind and swirling snow blew into the bedroom, billowing the velvet curtains like dark ghosts.

Two men in black tactical gear and ski masks were inside the room. One was holding a damp cloth over Filomena’s face, while the other was ripping open the drawers of the mahogany desk, searching frantically for the leather notebook.

Filomena was feebly kicking her legs, her muffled gasps swallowed by the deafening roar of the fire alarm.

Raphael didn't hesitate. He moved with terrifying, predatory speed.

He closed the distance to the first intruder in three strides, grabbing the man by the throat and slamming him backward into the stone fireplace with enough force to crack the brickwork. The man dropped to the floor, unconscious before he hit the rug.

The second intruder—the one holding Filomena—pulled a silenced hand-gun from his jacket, turning the weapon toward Raphael.

“RAPHAEL!” Marin screamed.

Without thinking, Marin grabbed a heavy brass floor lamp from beside the armchair and swung it with everything she had, slamming the metal base directly into the back of the gunman’s knees.

The gunman stumbled forward, his shot going wild, the bullet tearing into the mahogany bedpost with a soft thwack.

Raphael didn't give him a second chance. He caught the man’s gun arm, twisted it until a sickening snap echoed through the room, disarmed him in a single fluid motion, and drove a crushing knee into the man’s ribs. The intruder collapsed onto the floor, groaning in agony.

Raphael kicked the weapon across the room, turned, and pulled Filomena into his arms.

“Nana! Nana, look at me!” he shouted over the alarm.

Filomena was gasping for air, her face pale, the chemical scent of chloroform lingering on her skin. She grabbed Raphael’s lapels, her eyes wide with terror. “The wolf… Raphael, the wolf is in the house!”

Marin dropped the lamp, rushing to Filomena’s side. She immediately checked her airway and pupils. “She inhaled chloroform, but she’s conscious. She needs oxygen now!”

Marin grabbed a portable oxygen cylinder from the corner stand, fitted the mask over Filomena’s face, and adjusted the flow valve.

Footsteps thundered down the hallway outside. Four of Raphael’s out-of-state tactical guards burst into the room with weapons drawn, taking control of the perimeter and securing the two unconscious intruders on the floor.

Marcus, Raphael’s chief of security, rushed in behind them, holding a tablet. “Raphael! Victor disabled the main power grid from the basement sub-station! He’s heading for the garage with three of his personal men!”

Raphael stood up slowly, smoothing his blood-stained suit jacket. The look on his face was no longer human; it was the face of a man who was about to tear a empire apart.

“Keep her safe,” Raphael said, looking at Marin. His dark eyes met hers in the red emergency light, carrying a silent, fierce trust that made her chest swell. “Do not leave this room until I come back for you.”

“Be careful, Raphael,” Marin pleaded, her fingers tightening around Filomena’s hand.