The bitter wind whipping off the mountain ridge felt like a swarm of needles against my skin, but it was nothing compared to the dead, heavy chill radiating from Diego’s eyes.

Alvin Sterling was not a man given to panic, but when his encrypted satellite phone screamed with a high-priority biometric warning at 11:43 p.m., the heavy crystal glass in his hand shattered against the edge of his mahogany desk.

Red Alert: Patient E. Sterling. Core body temperature dropping rapidly. Fall detected. Elevated fetal distress parameters.

Alvin’s face drained of color, his silver hair catching the amber light of his private study. With trembling fingers, he tapped the master override on his tablet. The screen flickered, bypassing the mountain retreat’s local firewall, and immediately opened the live high-definition feed from the rear patio.

What he saw froze the blood in his veins.

His daughter—seven months pregnant with his only grandchild—lay crumpled on the wet stone beneath a roaring deluge of freezing water. Her lips were blue, her clothes soaked through, her hands curled into helpless fists against the frost.

And standing three feet away, watching her with casual detachment, was Diego.

Alvin’s breath hitched. For a terrifying second, the world went completely silent. Then, a primal, cold fury exploded behind his ribs—a rage far more dangerous than any corporate boardroom maneuver he had ever executed.

He didn't call the local police. In these isolated mountain counties, local sheriffs were easily bought, and jurisdiction was a maze of bureaucracy.

Instead, Alvin tapped a secondary icon on his encrypted interface—a direct satellite uplink to his personal private security and medical extraction team stationed at the Dallas airfield.

"Marcus," Alvin said, his voice dropping into a register so dark and lethal that the veteran commander on the other end of the line immediately sat up straight.

"Boss? What's the status?" Marcus asked, hearing the tremor of controlled violence in Alvin’s tone.

"Get the Gulfstream in the air right now. Coordinate with the state police helicopter out of Fort Worth—use emergency gubernatorial clearance if you have to," Alvin commanded, his eyes glued to the live feed where Diego was now checking his watch, stepping closer to kick my unresponsive leg with the toe of his shoe. "My daughter is at the pine ridge retreat. Diego is attempting to murder her and my grandchild. Breach the property. Lock down every exit. And if that bastard so much as touches a hair on her head before my wheels touch down..."