HE SLAPPED HIS SIX-YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER TO PROTECT HIS BEAUTIFUL PREGNANT BRIDE…

The gunshot inside the glass lantern room was deafening.

The muzzle flash lit the circular chamber in a split-second of blinding, terrifying white.

Richard didn't flinch. He didn't dive for cover. He threw his entire body forward, using his own torso as a human shield to block the trajectory of the bullet from reaching the pedestal where Emily sat.

The round tore through Richard’s left shoulder, the impact spinning him halfway around. A searing, white-hot agony exploded through his chest and back. Blood instantly soaked through his torn white shirt, splashing across the iron floorboards.

"DADDY!"

Emily’s scream was piercing, primal, and full of terror.

Richard dropped to one knee, gasping for air, his vision swimming with gray spots. But he didn't fall completely. He planted the iron pry bar against the floor, forcing himself to stay upright, keeping his body positioned between the gun and his child.

Julian stepped closer, his face twisted in manic triumph, leveling the barrel at Richard’s forehead.

"You see, Emily?" Julian sneered, without taking his eyes off Richard. "Your father is weak. He couldn't save his company from me. He couldn't save his wedding. And now he can't save himself. Look at him. Look at your protector."

Richard looked up through the haze of blood and pain. He saw Julian's finger beginning to squeeze the trigger a second time.

He knew he couldn't lift the iron bar in time.

This was the end.

*Clara, forgive me,* Richard thought. *I tried.*

Suddenly, an unexpected shadow lunged through the stair hatch behind Julian.

It wasn't a police officer. It wasn't Marcus.

It was Vanessa.

Her gray prison jumpsuit was soaked in mud and blood. Her hands were still bound together by a foot-long link of iron chain from the broken cuffs she had somehow snapped or pried loose. Her eyes were wide with wild, unhinged fury.

"Julian!" she shrieked.

Julian whipped around in shock. "What the—"

Vanessa didn't use a weapon. She threw the entire weight of her body against Julian, wrapping the steel chain between her wrists around his neck, dragging him backward toward the shattered glass window overlooking the abyss.

"You lied to me!" she screamed into his ear, her fingernails clawing at his face. "You told me our father was innocent! You made me a monster! You ruined my life!"

Julian gagged, dropping his pistol as he fought frantically against the chain choking his windpipe. "Get off me, you stupid bitch!"

The two mercenaries on the stairs hesitated, unable to fire into the tangled, thrashing mass without hitting Julian.

Julian, purely running on violent instinct, drove his elbow hard into Vanessa’s ribs. She gasped, her grip slipping, but she held on just long enough.

Richard saw the dropped silver pistol skittering across the wet iron floor, coming to rest near the base of the pedestal.

"Emily..." Richard wheezed, blood bubbling on his lips. "Emily... the gun. Kick it. Kick it to Daddy."

Emily didn't hesitate. She didn't cry. With a sudden burst of courage, the six-year-old girl darted from behind the pedestal, kicked the heavy weapon across the slick floor straight into Richard's working right hand, and scrambled behind him, grabbing onto his bloody jacket.

Richard grabbed the pistol.

He didn't want to kill. He had spent his life fighting with contracts, stocks, and hostile takeovers. But as Julian threw Vanessa to the floor and drew a combat knife from his tactical vest, turning toward Richard with murder in his eyes, Richard didn't hesitate.

*BANG! BANG!*

Two rounds struck Julian Thorne—one in the right knee, the other in the right shoulder.

The young man shrieked in agony as his leg folded beneath him. The knife clattered from his hand. He collapsed onto the iron floor, clutching his shattered kneecap, writhing in the pooling rainwater and blood.

Below, the night suddenly exploded with the wail of dozens of sirens.

Blinding searchlights from state police helicopters swept across the lighthouse windows, bathing the lantern room in brilliant white light. A megaphone boomed from below:

"STATE POLICE! DROP YOUR WEAPONS! THE BUILDING IS SURROUNDED!"

The two mercenaries on the stairs raised their hands immediately, dropping their weapons down the shaft and falling to their knees.

Julian lay on his back, gasping, staring up at the glass ceiling as rain dripped through the bullet holes onto his face. The charming, brilliant mastermind was gone; in his place was a broken, bleeding young man whose lifelong vengeance had collapsed into ruins.

Richard lowered the gun.

The adrenaline that had kept him upright drained away in an instant. The room spun violently. His knees gave out completely, and he collapsed onto his side, his breath rattling in his chest.

"Daddy!"

Emily was there instantly, dropping to her knees beside him, pressing her tiny hands against the wound on his shoulder, trying desperately to stop the bleeding just as she had seen in movies. Her face was drenched in tears, mixing with his blood.

"Daddy, stay! Please stay! I love you! Daddy, I love you!"

Richard looked up at her through his fading vision. He raised his bloody, trembling right hand—the hand that had caused so much pain at the wedding—and gently cupped her cheek.