Down in his study, the fragile peace of the estate shattered.

Silas tossed a burner phone onto Dante's mahogany desk. "Victor Vance," Silas said grimly. "He found the box we sent. He knows Eleanor is dead."

Dante poured himself a glass of bourbon, his face an impassive mask. "And?"

"He's calling in his favors with the Colombians. He’s putting a ten-million-dollar bounty on your head, Dante. And a five-million-dollar bounty on the woman who 'asNextlted' his daughter."

Dante’s hand stopped mid-pour. The glass clinked sharply against the crystal decanter. "He put a hit on Clara."

"She was the excuse Eleanor used. Victor wants blood."

Dante drank the bourbon in one smooth motion, setting the glass down so hard it fractured. The thought of a cartel assassin coming anywhere near Clara made a feral, violent rage rise in his chest.

"Double the perimeter guard," Dante ordered. "No one gets in. And Silas? Find out where Victor sleeps. It's time to burn his empire to the ground."