“You have five minutes to leave before he wakes up.” The warning came from a man with a broken nose, a tailored black suit, and one hand resting under his jacket.

At eight-forty-five the following morning, the top floor of the Moretti Tower in downtown Chicago was bustling with high-ranking executives, corporate attorneys, and major shareholders.

At the head of the seventy-foot mahogany conference table sat Vincent Moretti.

He was thirty-two, sleek, handsome, wearing an Italian suit that cost five figures, with perfectly slicked-back hair and an expression of carefully curated grief on his face.

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice," Vincent announced, wiping his eyes with a silk handkerchief. "As you know... my cousin Gabriel's condition took a tragic turn early this morning. His private medical team informed me at four a.m. that he has slipped into an irreversible state. The doctors say there is no hope of recovery."

Gasps and hushed whispers broke out among the twenty board members.

"This is devastating news," one elderly director said. "Gabriel was the heart of this firm. But with the international shipping contracts expiring at noon, we cannot leave the executive seat vacant. What do you propose, Vincent?"

Vincent leaned forward, placing both hands on the table, trying desperately to suppress the victorious grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"I propose an immediate vote to transfer Gabriel's voting proxies to me as acting chairman," Vincent declared smoothly. "I have the legal documents prepared by Dr. Vale confirming Gabriel's permanent incapacity."

He motioned to his secretary, who began distributing thick blue folders to each board member.

"Sign on page twelve," Vincent urged, his heart pounding with ecstatic triumph. "And we can preserve my cousin's legacy together."

Outside the heavy frosted-glass doors of the boardroom, two private security guards stood guard.

Suddenly, the elevator chimed behind them.

The doors slid open.

Out walked Luca Ferraro, dressed in his black suit, flanked by two armed security men.

"Ferraro?" one of the guards frowned, reaching for his radio. "Vincent said you were dismissed from the penthouse—"

Luca didn't answer with words. He stepped forward, grabbed the first guard by his collar, and slammed his head violently against the wall, dropping him instantly. The second guard reached for his sidearm, but Luca's men grabbed him, disarming him in seconds and pinning him against the carpet.

Behind Luca walked Nora Bennett, wearing her clean, dark navy scrubs, holding a secure medical tablet in her hands.

And beside Nora walked Gabriel Moretti.

He was dressed in a bespoke charcoal three-piece suit that hid the bandage on his lower back. He walked with a slight, almost imperceptible tilt, leaning subtly on a heavy black cane with a silver handle—a cane he gripped tightly, using every ounce of his legendary iron willpower to mask the residual soreness in his legs.

His posture was straight as a sword. His eyes were cold steel.

Gabriel looked at Nora. "Ready, Nurse Bennett?"

"Your heart rate is one-ten, Mr. Moretti," Nora noted calmly, checking her tablet screen. "Keep it under control. You're supposed to be making an entrance, not having a stroke."

Gabriel let out a short, quiet laugh. "You really have no fear, do you?"

"I've seen people die of far worse things than corporate arrogance," Nora answered softly. "Go tear him apart."

Gabriel stepped up to the massive double doors of the boardroom.