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At the bottom, Roman raised two fingers—two guards were approaching.

I nodded and holstered my gun, switching to silent.

He grabbed the first guard and shoved him toward me while punching the second in the face. I caught the man in a chokehold and stabbed him in the ribs repeatedly until he went limp in my arms.

“This is Delta. All clear,” came the voice of the Delta team leader.

“This is Beta. Second-floor hallway clear. Room sweeps in progress,” Sasha followed.

Roman raised his weapon and advanced down the corridor.

“This is Alpha. Room sweeps in progress.”

I followed closely, ears tuned for any sound—any sign of my sons. My grip tightened on the pistol. I would find them. I had to.

We reached the first door. Roman took the left, I the right, and David stood center, weapon drawn. I reached for the handle, ready to breach, when static suddenly crackled in our earpieces.

“Evacuate the yacht immediately ! It’s a trap ! There’s a bomb ! The children and Antonio aren’t on board !”

A woman’s voice—unfamiliar, frantic—screamed through the interference.

I froze, trying to process her words, then turned to Roman for a decision. But he stood frozen, as if struck by lightning.

“You,” he whispered, bringing a finger to his earpiece.

“Leave the yacht immediately ! The bomb could go off any second ! You’re all going to die ! Roman !”

The same voice again—piercing, desperate. And it snapped my brother out of his trance. His wide eyes met mine just as he grabbed my arm.

“Evacuate ! Evacuate !” he shouted, dragging me toward the stairs. We climbed two at a time, hearts pounding. But everything felt slow—like time had bent around us.

My thoughts raced. Was it true ? Were the boys really not here ? Was I abandoning them when I’d been so close?

But even if I didn’t trust that woman, I trusted my brother. So I followed him without hesitation when he leapt into the water.

A searing blast scorched my back just as I hit the surface, and my thoughts immediately went to Sasha—he had been on the second floor, even farther from the exit than we were. His name tore from my throat the instant my head broke above the waves, but there was no response.

“Sasha !” I called again, straining to hear his voice amid the shouting of our men and the crackling splinters of burning wood.

My eyes scanned frantically for him, for any sign of his team. Nothing. “Sasha !” This time, Roman yelled too as he reached me, pulling me farther from the yacht.

“Here !” Finally, my younger brother’s voice cut through the chaos. He emerged from behind the smoking vessel, dragging one of our unconscious men to the surface.

A rush of relief surged through me as I swam toward them.

“You’re hurt,” I said, noticing the blood trickling from the side of his face.

“I hit the railing when I jumped. It’s nothing—just a cut on my brow,” he panted, barely out of breath, as two of our men took the unconscious soldier and hoisted him onto a floating plank.

“I called the pilot. He’s on his way,” Roman said, slipping his radio into the pocket of his jacket.

“What the hell was that ?” I demanded, looking between my brothers. But before either could respond, Roman signaled for us to remove our earpieces.

“David, take over communications,” he ordered. David nodded and moved off to relay the orders.

“Someone infiltrated our comms,” Roman said. “We might still be compromised.”

I nodded slowly, then turned to Sasha.