The recovery room erupted into motion.
Security alarms screamed through the clinic corridors. Red emergency lights flashed across polished walls. Staff ran in controlled panic.
Oliver was already out the door before anyone else moved.
Anna followed immediately.
"Oliver!"
He didn't slow.
"North wing," he ordered into his phone. "Seal elevators. Lock perimeter roads. No one leaves alive if they're armed."
The last line was delivered with terrifying calm.
Anna caught up beside him.
"Useful phrasing."
"He had one guarded room and still escaped."
"Then someone helped him."
"I know."
His voice had become ice again.
Dangerous.
Focused.
Lethal.
They reached Adrian's holding suite.
Empty.
One guard unconscious. Another bleeding but alive. Window shattered outward.
Oliver took in the room once.
Then everything.
Zip ties cut cleanly.
Security camera wires severed.
A medical cart overturned.
"Inside assistance," Anna said.
"Yes."
He crouched near the broken window, touched the frame.
"Glass broken after exit."
She frowned.
"Staged."
He stood.
"He left through the hall."
One of the security chiefs arrived breathless.
"Sir, roof cameras glitched for ninety seconds—"
"Meaningless," Oliver snapped. "Check basement service tunnel."
The man froze.
Then ran.
Anna looked at Oliver.
"How did you know?"
"Because if I wanted us looking up, I'd go down."
Her pulse jumped despite herself.
"You're alarming."
"I'm efficient."
"Still annoying."
Minutes later, they were in the underground service level.
Concrete tunnels. Utility pipes. Delivery access. Poor lighting.
Perfect for escape.
A black SUV had been abandoned near an open gate.
Oliver inspected the back seat.
"Blood."
"Adrian's?"
"No."
He looked at her.
"Veronica's."
Anna straightened.
"So he took her."
"No," Oliver said quietly. "He used her."
A phone rang from inside the SUV.
Old-fashioned burner.
Oliver answered on speaker.
Adrian's smooth voice filled the tunnel.
"Oliver. You always did arrive one step late."
"Enjoy the head start."
A soft laugh.
"You sound like your father when cornered."
Anna stepped closer.
"What do you want?"
A pause.
"Ah. My future niece by marriage."
Oliver's face darkened instantly.
"Choose your next words carefully."
Adrian ignored him.
"I want what belongs to the family."
"It belongs to no one if I bury it first," Oliver said.
Another amused pause.
"That temper is why she should negotiate for you."
Anna smiled coldly.
"You ran from a clinic."
"I repositioned."
"You bled your allies dry."
"I invested."
"You're old and tiresome."
Silence.
Then Adrian laughed genuinely.
"I see why he married you."
Oliver glanced at her once.
Wrong time for satisfaction.
Adrian continued.
"Midnight. Teatro Belladonna. Come with the access codes, or Veronica dies."
The line clicked dead.
Anna folded her arms.
"He's dramatic."
"He's desperate," Oliver corrected.
"Will you go?"
"Yes."
"Will you bring codes?"
"No."
A beat.
"Do you even have them?"
He looked at her.
"Yes."
That changed things.
Back upstairs, Oliver transformed the clinic conference room into a war table.
Maps of Milan.
Building schematics of the old theater.
Entry points.
Sniper angles.
Hidden tunnels.
Anna noticed thirty people taking orders simultaneously.
No hesitation.
No wasted breath.
Oliver pointed to the screen.
"Adrian expects rage. Give him silence."
He pointed again.
"Public police stay away. Private teams only."
Another screen.
"Cyber division freezes every asset linked to him at midnight."
Anna leaned beside him.
"You're attacking while negotiating."
"I'm multitasking."
She lowered her voice.
"You really have the codes?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
He met her eyes.
"In my head."
For once, she had no reply.
Later, as the room emptied, Anna found him alone near the windows.
City lights below.
War above.
"You're carrying too much alone again," she said.
"I'm carrying what only I can."
"That sounds noble."
"It's practical."
She stepped in front of him.
"No disappearing tonight."
"No."
"No sacrificing yourself to save everyone."
"I dislike martyrdom."
"No shutting me out in the final minute."
His jaw tightened slightly.
"Anna—"
She touched his tie, straightening it slowly.
"Say yes."
He looked down at her fingers, then back at her.
"Yes."
The word was quieter than the others.
More real.
She rose onto her toes and kissed him once.
Slow.
Certain.
When she pulled back, his hand caught her waist.
"That felt strategic," he murmured.
"It was."
"Good."
His eyes darkened.
"I prefer war with benefits."
She almost laughed.
Then the screen behind them flashed.
MIDNIGHT: 2 HOURS
The hunt had begun.
And this time, Oliver wasn't reacting.
He was setting the trap.