That was the first thing Alessandro Moretti noticed when he stepped into the pressing room and found a three-year-old girl standing on a plastic chair, both tiny hands wrapped around the handle of a steaming iron, desperately trying to flatten the sleeve of his white dress shirt.

The bullet missed Alessandro by a fraction of an inch, the kinetic heat burning the fabric of his shirt.

In a flash of pure, predatory reflex, Alessandro didn't flinch—he rolled out of his chair, hitting the hardwood floor, and fired two rapid shots upward through the mahogany desk.

Bang! Bang!

Wood splintered violently. A sharp gasp echoed from the other side of the desk, followed by the heavy thud of a body collapsing against the floorboards.

Alessandro scrambled to his feet, his gun raised, chest heaving.

Dante was slumped against the bookshelf, clutching his right shoulder. Blood poured rapidly between his fingers, staining his pristine charcoal suit a dark, glossy crimson. His pistol lay a few feet away, kicked out of his reach.

"You're... losing your edge, boss," Dante wheezed, coughing up a streak of red, though a twisted, manic grin still lingered on his lips. "You think... killing me solves anything? Marcus... Marcus already knows every security code in this estate. By dawn, his men will be through these gates."

Alessandro walked forward, his boots clicking rhythmically against the floor. He stood over Dante, pressing the barrel of his SIG Sauer coldly against the center of Dante's forehead.

"Let them come," Alessandro whispered. "They’ll find you waiting for them."

Before Dante could utter another word, Alessandro struck him hard across the temple with the heavy steel butt of the gun. Dante’s eyes rolled back, and he slumped sideways, unconscious.

Alessandro didn't waste a second. He pulled out his encrypted satellite phone and dialed a direct, secure line.

"Luca," Alessandro barked the moment the call connected.

"Boss? It's 2:00 AM. Is everything—"

"Wake the inner guard. Full lockdown of the estate. Not a mouse leaves the perimeter. Dante Vance is a traitor; he’s compromised our supply lines and leaked our positions to Marcus Vance."

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. "Dante? Jesus Christ... Understood, Boss. What do you want me to do with him?"

"Secure him in the lower holding cells. Put a double detail outside the door. Nobody talks to him, nobody gets near him. And Luca?"

"Yes, Boss?"

"Bring me the master key to the armory and double-check the perimeter sensors on the north gate. Marcus is going to make a move tonight. Let’s make sure he walks right into an open grave."

"Consider it done."

The line clicked dead.

Alessandro holstered his weapon, walking back to his desk to pick up the amber vial of thallium. He slipped it into an evidence pouch, his mind calculating every angle. Dante had been a trusted pillar of the organization for ten years, which meant he had undoubtedly planted secondary assets throughout the estate—guards, accountants, or logistics coordinators loyal to Dante rather than the Moretti name.

He couldn't trust the regular security roster entirely until he filtered out the rot.

Suddenly, a soft knock rattled the study door.

Alessandro’s hand instantly darted back to his gun. "Who is it?"

"Mr. Moretti?" A small, trembling voice echoed through the wood.

Alessandro’s tense shoulders dropped instantly. He walked over and unlocked the heavy door.

Standing in the hallway was Emma. She was wearing an oversized cotton t-shirt that hung down to her knees, rubbing her heavy eyes with the back of her small hand. Her brown curls were wild and messy.

"Emma? What are you doing out of bed?" Alessandro asked, his voice instinctively softening as he knelt down to her eye level.

"Mommy woke up," the little girl mumbled softly, her lower lip trembling slightly. "She said she needs to find her shoes so we can leave before the bad men get mad at us."

Alessandro felt a sharp pang in his chest. He gently placed his large hands on her tiny shoulders.

"Nobody is going anywhere, Emma. You and your mommy are safe here. I promise you."

Emma peered past him into the dimly lit study, noticing the splintered desk and the faint smell of gunpowder hanging heavy in the air. Her wide brown eyes looked up into his face with a piercing, intuitive wisdom that felt far too old for a three-year-old.