Venessa lounged in the villa, sipping her drink, the Mediterranean sun warm on the terrace.

She had moved quickly after Spain, confident that Roman hadn’t traced her. Every burner phone, every fake ID, every small detail had been accounted for.

She smiled faintly, thinking of how clever she was and how soon she would have the Blackwoods scrambling again.

Her phone buzzed.

A message from an unknown number:

“Time’s running out. Watch closely.”

She frowned.

Whoever it was couldn’t know her location.

Or could they?

Before she could dwell on it, the soft crunch of gravel on the driveway made her pause.

Her instincts screamed.

She set her glass down...