My mother-in-law and her younger daughter be@t my wife, dr//agged her barefoot into the snow, and left her there to freeze because she refused to sign away the estate her late father had left her. They thought I was nothing more than Claire’s quiet, harmless husband, but by sunrise, they would discover their son-in-law was the secret mafia boss known as the Ghost King, a name feared across three continents.

The next morning, the sun broke over Lake Placid in a brilliant display of gold and amber light.

I walked out onto the high stone terrace overlooking the frozen lake, holding a cup of black coffee in my hand. The morning air was crisp and cold, smelling of fresh pine and ozone.

Gabriel stepped out onto the terrace behind me, holding a encrypted leather terminal under his arm.

“My Lord,” Gabriel bowed respectfully. “The transition of Vance International is one hundred percent complete. Global markets have stabilized, and Lady Elena’s new foundation has seen an influx of forty million dollars in private international donations over the last forty-eight hours.”

“Good,” I said, taking a sip of coffee. “And the perimeter security for the estate?”

“A permanent garrison of twelve elite operatives has been stationed disguised as estate staff,” Gabriel reported. “The biometric perimeter fencing is operational. A fly can't cross the property line without our command center knowing its wing-speed.”

I turned my head, looking back through the floor-to-ceiling glass doors into the warm dining room. Elena was sitting at the wooden table, laughing as she fed a piece of bacon to our newly adopted golden retriever puppy—a stray she had rescued from the local shelter two days ago.

She looked happy. She looked safe. The shadow of fear that had hung over her eyes for two years had completely vanished.

“Gabriel,” I said quietly.

“Yes, My Lord?”

“Notify the high council in Zurich,” I ordered. “The Ghost King is permanently relocating his primary seat of power to Lake Placid.”

Gabriel’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, but he quickly bowed his head. “Understood, My Lord. Should we transfer the central servers and the black-budget reserves?”

“Transfer everything,” I commanded. “Build a subterranean vault beneath the mountain. If the world needs the Ghost King, they can come to the snow to find him. But my life... my home... stays right here beside my wife.”