The sleek black limousine pulled up to the curb in front of Ethan's house. Daisy and Ethan stepped out, the heavy door closing with a muted thud behind them.
"Thanks for the ride, Madison," Daisy said, offering a small wave.
"Yeah, thanks," Ethan added.
Madison leaned toward the window with a casual smile. "No worries. See you guys tomorrow."
The engine purred as the car sped away into the gathering twilight. Inside, the warmth of home hit them instantly.
"Welcome home!" their mother called out, beaming at them from the hallway.
"Mom, Madison gave us a lift today," Daisy said, kicking off her shoes.
"Wow! That Madison really is a sweetheart," her mother replied. Ethan just smiled, though his mind was already drifting.
As night fell, the family gathered around the dinner table. Between the laughter of his mother and the rambling stories of his grandpa, the atmosphere was peaceful. But later, as Ethan lay in the silence of his room, his thoughts returned to the letter. Who could have sent it?
"Whoever you are," Ethan whispered into the dark, "thank you."
The night passed without incident, but the morning brought a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. When Ethan woke, his eyes immediately locked onto the table.
There it was. A second letter, resting in the exact same spot at the exact same angle as the first.
Ethan's eyes narrowed. He crossed the room and snatched it up.
Enzo is furious that his thugs were humiliated. He's stopped playing games. Professional killers are on the way—not just for you, but for Henry, Madison, and Sophia.
Ethan's grip tightened, the paper crinkling in his fist. If this is true, then no one is safe. Not even that Sophia girl.
He threw on his uniform and hurried out. In the living room, Daisy was already tugging on her school shoes. "Daisy, wait!"
She looked up and nodded. "Okay, but eat breakfast first." She sighed, kicking her shoes back off and settling onto the sofa.
Ethan sat down, but his mind was racing. "Daisy? Can I borrow your phone? I need to make a quick call."
She handed it over without question. Ethan dialed Madison's number. She picked up on the third ring.
"Good morning, Daisy!" Madison's voice sounded bright—too bright for the news he was about to deliver.
"It's Ethan."
"Oh! Ethan. What's up?"
"Put Allen on. Now."
There was a brief pause, then the sound of a door opening. "Hello, Ethan?" Allen's voice was gruff and alert.
Ethan retreated into his room for privacy. "Allen, listen to me. Professional hitmen are moving on your position right now."
"Where are you getting this?" Allen demanded, his tone shifting instantly into combat mode.
"I've warned you. Just move," Ethan said, and he cut the line.
In the luxury apartment, Allen stared at the dead screen. Killers? Coming for Madison? How could that kid possibly know? He walked back to Madison's bedroom door and knocked. When she opened it, he simply handed the phone back.
"What did he want?" she asked, noticing the tension in Allen's shoulders.
"Nothing important," Allen lied, his eyes scanning the room. "Just get ready. I'll wait in the hall."
He stepped into the living room, his hand instinctively hovering near his holster. Suddenly, a flicker of movement caught his eye—a blur passing the window. Maybe Ethan wasn't joking.
He burst back into Madison's room. She was reaching for her bag near the window.
"Madison, get back!" Allen yelled.
It was too late. A series of micro-thin wires snapped taut across the room, and several high-velocity blades whistled toward Madison's throat. Allen lunged, tackling her to the floor just as the steel whistled through the air where her head had been a second before.
"Don't move!" Allen hissed. They had landed on a secondary web of tripwires. "If we shift our weight, the whole room blows."
"Run!" Allen commanded, bracing the wire with a gloved hand to create a gap. Madison scrambled toward the living room, but as she moved, the tension shifted. A hidden mechanism in the cupboard clicked.
A concealed firearm triggered, a round streaking toward Madison's back. Allen threw himself into the line of fire, pushing her clear. A sharp grunt escaped his lips as the bullet tore through his shoulder.
Suddenly, the windows didn't just break—they shattered inward in a wave of crystalline dust, blown apart by a high-frequency acoustic charge. Smoke grenades followed immediately, hissing as they filled the suite with thick, grey fog.
They used sound waves to breach the glass. This isn't a kidnapping; it's an execution, Allen realized, gritting his teeth against the pain in his shoulder.
"What is happening?!" Madison screamed, her voice trembling. She had been targeted for ransom before, but she had never felt this kind of cold, murderous intent.
Through the smoke, figures appeared—men in tactical gear wearing thermal goggles.
Allen knew every inch of the floor plan by heart. He grabbed Madison's hand, pulling her through the haze toward the exit. As they reached the main door, a gunman stepped into their path, leveling a submachine gun.
With a burst of adrenaline, Allen dived inside the man's reach. He delivered a brutal roundhouse kick to the man's temple, slamming his head into the doorframe. The gunman collapsed like a ragdoll.
They sprinted for the elevator. Madison was shaking so hard she could barely stand, her mind spiraling into dark thoughts. I wish I hadn't been born into this family. If I were anyone else, no one would be trying to kill me.
Allen slammed his thumb against the call button repeatedly. The doors slid open, and he shoved her inside, punching the button for the ground floor as the sounds of pursuit echoed down the hallway.