The name Celeste echoed through the vaulted, high-ceilinged bedroom like a pistol shot.

The peace we had fought so hard to build, however, was about to face its ultimate test.

It happened three nights later.

Gabriel had been called out unexpectedly to deal with a crisis at the Brooklyn shipping terminals—a rival syndicate trying to muscle in on our import routes while everyone assumed the Varrick organization was distracted by family drama.

I was in the kitchen making a cup of chamomile tea when the penthouse security lights outside suddenly flickered and died.

Every hair on the back of my neck stood up.

I set the mug down so hard it cracked. The automated backup generators usually kicked in within three seconds.

Three seconds passed. Five. Ten.

Total darkness.

The penthouse was plunged into an eerie, suffocating silence, broken only by the howling wind outside against the glass.

“Marcus?” I called out toward the hallway, reaching for my phone on the island.

My phone had no signal. Zero bars. A localized cell jammer was active inside the building.

Panic, cold and sharp, flooded my veins. I wasn't just a nanny anymore; I knew what a targeted strike looked like. I remembered the sound of gunfire echoing through the estate gates three months ago.

I bolted from the kitchen, sprinting down the darkened hallway toward the private elevator lobby. The elevator doors were locked, flashing a red error code. Someone had overridden the security grid from the basement control room.

Upstairs. I had to get to Lily.

I turned and raced up the grand mahogany staircase, taking the steps two at a time in total darkness, my heart hammering against my ribs like a sledgehammer.

When I reached the nursery landing, the door to Lily’s room was standing wide open.

“Lily!” I cried out, bursting into the room.

The bed was empty. The pink duvet was tossed aside.

A cold wave of absolute horror crashed over me. Someone had breached the penthouse while Gabriel was away, bypassed the elite security detail, and taken a four-year-old child right out of her bed.

Before I could turn to run, a heavy arm wrapped around my throat from behind, cutting off my breath, while a gloved hand clamped tightly over my mouth.

I thrashed wildly, driving my elbow backward into my attacker’s ribs, but the man was built like a tank. He grunted in pain, tightening his grip until my vision began to tunnel with black spots.

“Quiet, little bird,” a gravelly, unfamiliar voice hissed in my ear. “One sound and the girl goes over the balcony.”

My struggles stopped instantly.

The attacker dragged me backward into the shadows of the hallway, pushing me hard against the wood-paneled wall. As my eyes adjusted to the dim moonlight filtering through the high windows, I saw him—a scarred, heavy-set man in a black tactical vest holding a silenced pistol in his right hand.

And standing a few feet away, near the top of the stairs, was someone I never expected to see again.