My Housekeeper’s Three-Year-Old Daughter Brought Me a Birthday Cake—Then My Housekeeper Went Completely Pale.

Victor Vance stood in the center of the ruined foyer, stepping over fallen plaster and shattered glass. His dark wool coat was immaculate, his leather gloves polished. He held an antique silver cane in his right hand.

"Gabriel Valenti!" Vance’s smooth, cultured European accent echoed up toward the grand balcony. "Thirty years of managing this crude American syndicate, and you still fight like a street thug!"

Gabriel stood behind the heavy marble balustrade, reloading his fresh magazine with a sharp metallic clatter. "You chose the wrong house to break into, Vance."

Vance let out a dry, musical laugh. "I didn't break into your house, Gabriel. I came to collect what belongs to the Vanguard Crown. Your father stole our European distribution rights thirty years ago. Your brother tried to keep the ledger. And now, you hide behind a three-year-old child!"

"My brother died because of your greed," Gabriel said, his voice dropping to an ice-cold register that cut through the sound of crackling fires outside.

"Your brother died because he was foolish enough to believe in honor!" Vance sneered. "Just like you! Hand over the silver locket and the master charter key, Gabriel, and I will let you walk away from Chicago alive."

"You aren't leaving Chicago alive, Vance," Gabriel replied softly.

Gabriel reached into his vest, pulled out a small remote detonator, and pressed the red button.

A series of controlled tactical charges embedded in the high arches of the foyer ceiling detonate with a blinding flash and a deafening roar. Massive concrete beams crashed down directly between Vance and the front entrance, sealing the front foyer in a mountain of rubble and trapping Vance's assault team inside the mansion.

Panic erupted among Vance's surviving bodyguards as the dust billowed through the grand hall.

"Flank the balcony!" Vance screamed, his arrogant composure finally shattering into desperate rage. "Kill him!"

Gabriel moved instantly. He vaulted over the marble railing, dropping fifteen feet to the main floor with lethal grace. He cleared the distance in three bounds, disarming Vance's lead bodyguard with a brutal strike to the jaw and taking down the second shooter with two precise close-range shots.

Within thirty seconds, Vance's personal detail was completely eliminated.

Vance stumbled backward against the collapsed marble pillar, his silver cane dropping to the floor, his face drained of all color as he looked up into the barrel of Gabriel’s heavy pistol.

"Gabriel... wait!" Vance gasped, raising his gloved hands in surrender. "We can make a deal! The Vanguard Crown has fifty million dollars in Zurich! I can transfer it all to your account tonight!"

Gabriel stepped closer, pressing the cold steel barrel directly against Vance's forehead.

"Where is the master charter copy for the European ports?" Gabriel demanded.

Vance swallowed hard, cold sweat dripping down his temple. "It... it's in a private safety deposit box at the Federal Bank of Chicago! I have the key in my coat!"

Gabriel reached into Vance's coat, pulled out a heavy brass bank key stamped with the number 704, and slid it into his pocket.