Raven let out a low whistle. "Which blind son of a bitch has the guts to mess with your woman? Boss, you want me to fly back with you and crack some skulls?"
Andres's gaze was a silent death warrant. "I'm taking Murray and Hans with me. You keep digging for leads on the Shadow Healer. Three days. I want good news."
Raven snapped a sloppy, half-mocking salute. "Yes, sir. Won't let you down."
With that, Andres didn't waste another second. He and a handful of bodyguards moved fast—straight for the airport.
The White family had their own private jet. Whether they were leaving the country or coming back, their flight plans were always filed in advance. All they had to do was get to the runway, and clearance could be requested immediately.
They rushed through the handoff paperwork.
They'd barely started toward the tarmac when an explosion tore through the air. In the distance, a fireball mushroomed upward.
Panic hit the terminal like a wave.
Murray and the other guards reacted on instinct, closing ranks around Andres and pulling him into a protective pocket.
Hans grabbed a sprinting airport employee by the arm. "What happened?"
The worker took one look at their formation, their posture, the way everyone shielded the man in the middle—and immediately understood these weren't ordinary travelers.
"Heat-related accident," he said quickly. "Some flammable materials stored on-site ignited."
That was the difference, Andres had always thought, between airports that treated safety like a priority and airports that treated it like an expense.
Murray's expression stayed tight. "Mr. Andres… I don't think it's that simple."
Hans released the employee, then added, "Your trip was kept quiet. Even people close to you don't know your exact route."
"If someone wanted to stage an assassination, the odds still feel low. This is practically your backyard."
Trying to murder Andres on his own turf was a good way to die young.

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