After four years behind bars, I came home hoping for nothing more than to hug my father, but my stepmother opened the front door and said, “He passed away eight months ago. This property belongs to me now.” I silently walked to the graveyard with an old key in my pocket, completely unaware that the caretaker was about to whisper something that would shatter my reality.

I slipped out the terrace doors and into the cool night air, heading down the service stairs toward the alleyway. The plan had worked flawlessly.

But I had underestimated Preston’s paranoia.

As I pushed the heavy metal exit door open, two massive men in dark suits stepped out of the shadows, blocking my path. One of them had a cauliflower ear; the other casually pulled a telescopic steel baton from his jacket.

"Evelyn said she saw a ghost," the larger man growled. "Turns out it’s just the jailbird stepson."

"Move," I said, my voice dangerously calm. Four years in a maximum-security yard had beaten the fear of wealthy thugs out of me a long time ago.

The man with the baton swung at my head.

I ducked under the heavy steel, stepping into his guard. I drove my elbow into his ribs with a sickening crack, grabbing his wrist and twisting until he dropped the weapon. The second man lunged, grabbing me by the lapels and slamming me against the brick wall.

The breath left my lungs, but survival instinct took over. I brought my knee up violently, striking his solar plexus. As he doubled over, I grabbed him by the back of the neck and drove his face into the unforgiving brick.

They were both groaning on the wet asphalt in less than thirty seconds.

I straightened my tuxedo jacket, breathing heavily. I crouched down next to the larger man, grabbing him by the collar.

"Tell Evelyn," I whispered, "that the dead don't stay buried."

I left them in the alley and sprinted toward the extraction point where Sloane was waiting in a black sedan.

I threw the passenger door open and slid in.

"Drive," I commanded.

Sloane floored the accelerator, tearing into the city traffic. "You're bleeding," she noted, glancing at my split lip.

"They sent muscle," I wiped the blood away with the back of my hand. "Evelyn is panicking. What’s our next move?"