She Thought I Was Nobody at Her Charity Gala—Then One Folder From Her Grandmother Made Her Face Turn Pale.

The standoff on the bright tarmac felt like a scene pulled straight from a war zone. The heavy wind whipped across the concrete, but neither side flinched. Sylvester stood at the front of his group, his muscular frame shielding Vivienne and her father. Julian flanked him, his suppressed weapon raised and ready.

"Your property?" Sylvester yelled back, his voice cutting through the roar of the idling jet engines. "He's your son, Eleanor. And she is your granddaughter."

Eleanor laughed slowly, a dry, cold sound that sent shivers down Vivienne’s spine. "Family is an illusion, Mr. Stallone. Blood is just another currency. And right now, you are holding the only currency I care about."

Eleanor pointed a manicured finger directly at Vivienne’s father. "Bring him back to his vault, and I will let you and the girl leave this runway alive. Refuse, and my men will turn this plane into a bonfire."

Vivienne’s father stepped forward, gently pushing past Sylvester. His fair skin was pale, but his eyes were resolute. "I'm not going back in the box, Mother. I've spent twenty years paying for a sin I didn't commit."

"You are weak!" Eleanor snapped, dropping the megaphone and stepping closer to the armed line. "You were going to hand the family business over to the authorities! You were going to ruin everything we built!"

"I was going to legitimize it!" her father argued.

Sylvester didn't have time for a family debate. He subtly tapped his fingers against his leg—a tactical signal. Julian saw it and instantly dropped to one knee, firing three rapid, suppressed shots. The bright spotlight blinding them shattered into a million pieces, plunging the tarmac into heavy, chaotic shadows.

"Move! To the plane!" Sylvester roared.

Gunfire erupted. Bright muzzle flashes illuminated the darkness like violent lightning. The crisp American shouts of the mercenaries were drowned out by the deafening sound of automatic rifles.

Sylvester grabbed Vivienne by the waist of her ruined crimson gown, physically hurling her up the metal stairs of the jet. Her father scrambled up right behind her. Bullets pinged against the heavy armor of the aircraft, sparking brightly against the metal.

Sylvester stood at the base of the stairs, providing heavy cover fire with a weapon Julian had tossed him. His rugged face was calm, his movements terrifyingly precise. He dropped three mercenaries before turning and taking the stairs two at a time.

"Julian, fall back!" Sylvester ordered.

The young proxy sprinted across the concrete, diving into the jet just as Sylvester hit the heavy hydraulic button to seal the door. The massive steel door closed with a loud hiss, cutting off the deafening noise of the gunfire outside.

"Go! Get us in the air!" Sylvester yelled toward the cockpit.

The jet lurched forward violently. Vivienne strapped herself into a plush leather seat, her chest heaving as she watched the mercenaries shrinking in the window. The plane accelerated rapidly down the runway, lifting off just before the mercenary trucks could ram into their landing gear.

They were in the air, flying high above the bright lights of the city.

Vivienne looked around the luxurious cabin. Her father was sitting quietly, holding his head in his hands. Julian was reloading his magazines in the back. Sylvester walked down the aisle and sat across from her. He looked completely unbothered, as if they had just left a casual dinner party.

"You saved us," Vivienne said, her voice filled with genuine shock. "You actually saved us."

"Don't thank me yet," Sylvester said, pouring a glass of water and sliding it across the table to her. "Eleanor won't stop. She knows that if your father talks to the federal authorities, her entire empire goes to prison. She will hunt this plane to the ends of the earth."

"Then where are we going?" Vivienne asked, taking a shaky sip of the water.