Linda pulled a blanket over Emily’s bruised arms to conceal the abuse

"What are you going to do to them, Dad?" Emily asked, pulling a small duffel bag from the closet. She kept her eyes averted from the hallway, focusing entirely on folding her maternity clothes.

"I am going to ask them a few more questions," James replied, standing in the doorway of the bedroom, his broad shoulders shielding her from the sight of her bleeding husband. "And then my men will ensure they never have the opportunity to answer questions for anyone else."

Ryan, his mind finally clearing through the haze of a severe concussion, heard the words. The sheer, absolute finality in the Mafia boss's voice cut through his arrogance.

"James, wait," Ryan rasped, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. "You can't just make us disappear. The Volkovs know we are here. If we don't check in by five o'clock, they will know you found the room. They will trigger the assault on your compound tonight!"

James stopped. He turned slowly, walking back toward the two captive Coles. He pulled a heavy, wooden chair from the dining table and sat backward on it, resting his arms over the backrest. He stared at his son-in-law.

"What assault?" James asked, dead calm.

"The hit," Ryan choked out, pulling against the zip-ties binding his wrists. "Volkov isn't waiting for the baby anymore. He got impatient. He moved the timeline up. He has a strike team of thirty men armed with automatic weapons sitting in box trucks three miles from your estate. If I don't send the signal that your security is changing shifts at five, they’re going to breach the gates anyway."

"You're lying," the lead bodyguard snapped, drawing his weapon. "Nobody moves thirty men into our territory without us hearing about it."

"They came in through the commercial shipping ports!" Linda cried out, nodding frantically. "Ryan authorized the container shipments through his import company! They are already here!"

James checked the silver wristwatch on his arm. The bright, cinematic sunlight was beginning to shift, casting longer shadows across the apartment floor. It was four-thirty in the afternoon.

"Thirty men," James mused quietly, his mind rapidly calculating the tactical logistics. He looked at Ryan, a cold, terrifying smile touching the corners of his mouth. "And you have the phone that sends the all-clear signal?"

"Yes," Ryan breathed, a flicker of desperate hope igniting in his eyes. "It’s in my pocket. If I don't send the text, they attack. But if I tell them the shift change is delayed, they will hold their position. I can buy you time, James. I can save your life. Just... just promise you'll let me and my mother walk away."