Julian worked as an electrician, wiring up commercial kitchens, high-rise office spaces, and old apartment complexes downtown. Clara used to help her grandmother at a cozy floral shop in Lincoln Park, where she knew every regular by their favorite blooms and always came home smelling of damp earth and fresh eucalyptus.

Ding.

The freight elevator shuddered to a halt on the 45th floor. The heavy metal grate slowly slid open.

Victor Vargas stepped out. He looked completely out of place in a construction site, immaculate and composed, flanked by his two largest bodyguards. He looked past Julian, his dark eyes locking onto Clara in the shadows.

“Sofia, mi amor,” Victor purred, his voice dripping with venom. “You’ve gained weight. But I suppose a mother’s glow suits you. Did you really think a few sparks and wires could keep me away from what belongs to me?”

“She belongs to no one,” Julian snarled, gripping his wrench.

Victor finally looked at Julian, a patronizing smile crossing his face. “You must be the handyman. I applaud your traps. Very clever. But you are out of tricks, and I am out of patience.”

Victor snapped his fingers. The two massive bodyguards raised their assault rifles, aiming directly at Julian’s chest.

“Wait!” Clara screamed, struggling to stand, dropping her hammer. “Victor, stop! I’ll go with you! Just let him live!”

“No!” Julian yelled.

“Oh, Sofia,” Victor chuckled, stepping forward. “I’m taking you. And the child. But the electrician has to die. It’s the principle of the thing.”

The guards’ fingers tightened on their triggers.

Julian didn't flinch. He just smiled. A cold, ruthless smile that made Victor hesitate.

“You’re standing on a radiant heating grid, Victor,” Julian said casually. “It’s designed to melt snow on the luxury balconies. It takes a lot of power. And I didn't ground it.”