Julian knew Ethan would follow him.

That was why he left three false trails.

The first pointed toward Long Island.

The second toward Mason’s garage.

The third suggested he had crossed into New Jersey.

Then Julian drove north.

The warehouse outside Yonkers had belonged to a Cross shell company twenty years ago.

According to Mason’s research, Kane Strategic had rented it six months earlier.

Julian parked half a mile away.

He entered through the roof.

No guards.

Too easy.

He knew it immediately.

Still, he continued.

Rows of abandoned industrial equipment filled the warehouse.

A light burned inside an office below.

Julian descended the metal stairs.

Inside, he found photographs.

Dozens.

Ethan entering Blackwood headquarters.

Julian racing in Red Hook.

Richard Blackwood.

Marcus Cross.

Adrian Vale.

Mason.

Then Julian found photographs of himself and Ethan together.

The gala.

The club.

Tribeca.

One photograph showed Ethan touching Julian’s back.

Another showed Julian asleep against the passenger window of Ethan’s car.

Someone had been watching them from the beginning.

A voice came from behind him.

“You’re easier to manipulate than your father was.”

Julian turned.

Four men stood in the doorway.

He recognized none of them.

“Let me guess.”

Julian slowly removed his jacket.

“Kane?”

One man smiled.

“Mr. Kane sends his regards.”

Julian hit him first.

---

Ethan found the warehouse because Julian had made one mistake.

He used the same fake plate twice.

Ethan noticed patterns.

It was what made him dangerous.

He entered through a side loading dock.

A man appeared.

Ethan struck him before he could raise his weapon.

Another came from the right.

Ethan took him down.

Then he heard Julian.

“Little busy!”

Ethan rounded the corner.

Julian was fighting two men at once.

His lip was bleeding.

His shirt was torn.

He looked furious.

Ethan shot the light above them.

Darkness swallowed the room.

Three seconds later, emergency lights activated.

One attacker was unconscious.

The other had Ethan’s gun against his throat.

Julian stared.

“You followed me.”

“You told me not to.”

“That usually means don’t.”

“I interpreted it differently.”

Julian punched the remaining attacker.

“Of course you did.”

They stood back to back as more footsteps approached.

Julian breathed hard.

“How many guns?”

“Two.”

“Give me one.”

Ethan hesitated.

Julian looked at him.

“Seriously?”

Ethan handed it over.

Julian checked the weapon with practiced speed.

Ethan watched.

“Interesting.”

Julian smiled.

“Board meetings.”

Despite everything, Ethan almost laughed.

---

They escaped through the rear loading dock.

Julian pressed Ethan against a brick wall.

“Now.”

“What?”

“No more lies.”

Ethan looked at him.

Julian held the gun at his side.

“Who are you?”

“You already know.”

“No. I know Ethan Blackwood, CEO.”

Julian stepped closer.

“I know the man who drinks black coffee and alphabetizes his shirts.”

“I don’t alphabetize—”

“Not the point.”

Julian’s voice hardened.

“I’ve watched you shoot, fight, track me across New York and walk into a warehouse alone.”

He stared into Ethan’s eyes.

“So take off the damn mask.”

Ethan was silent.

Then he reached inside his shirt.

He pulled out a chain.

A black signet ring hung from it.

Julian recognized the symbol.

Blackwood Command.

Not family membership.

Operational authority.

Julian stared.

“You run their enforcement division.”

“I oversee it.”

“You’re an assassin?”

“No.”

“That distinction feels thin.”

“I prevent wars.”

Julian laughed bitterly.

“Excellent job.”

Ethan’s expression hardened.

“My turn.”

Julian knew what was coming.

“Alexander Cross wasn’t your uncle.”

“No.”

“He was your father.”

“Yes.”

“You’re the designated Cross successor.”

“Yes.”

Ethan stepped closer.

“You let me think you were nobody.”

Julian’s eyes flashed.

“Nobody?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I know exactly what you mean, billionaire.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Sure.”

Headlights suddenly swept across the loading yard.

One car.

Then five.

Then ten.

Julian turned.

Vehicles blocked both exits.

Blackwood SUVs from the north.

Cross vehicles from the south.

“Oh,” Julian said.

“That’s bad.”

Men stepped out.

Richard Blackwood emerged from one side.

Marcus Cross from the other.

Ethan stared at his father.

Julian looked at his uncle.

Richard’s voice carried across the yard.

“Ethan. Step away from him.”

Marcus raised his weapon.

“Julian. Come here.”

Neither moved.

Richard looked at Ethan.

“The Cross heir stole Blackwood intelligence.”

Julian laughed.

“Your intelligence was planted on Ethan’s computer.”

Marcus shouted.

“Blackwood ordered your execution!”

Ethan turned toward Julian.

Julian looked back.

Everything had led here.

Both families.

Both lies.

Both weapons.

“Drop the gun,” Richard ordered.

Marcus raised his own.

“Julian!”

Men on both sides aimed.

Ethan slowly lifted his handgun.

Julian did the same.

The barrels pointed directly at each other.

Silence.

Ethan stared down Julian’s weapon.

Julian stared down his.

Months ago, Julian would have pulled the trigger without hesitation.

Now he remembered Ethan’s trembling hand against his wound.

Ethan remembered Julian standing between him and a knife.

Julian smiled faintly.

“You first, sweetheart.”

Ethan’s mouth twitched.

“Not a chance.”

Their eyes held.

Then both men turned at the same time.

Julian aimed at the Cross gunman behind Ethan.

Ethan aimed at the Blackwood guard behind Julian.

Every person in the yard froze.

Richard’s face went white with rage.

“What are you doing?”

Ethan stepped beside Julian.

For the first time, not opposite him.

Beside him.

“Choosing.”