My father groaned from the chair, his head rolling slowly to one side.

“Emily,” my father whispered, his voice cracked and dry.

I took a half-step toward him, but the sound of three rifles cocking above us stopped me instantly.

“The girl stays where she is,” Enzo said.

He walked down the wooden steps from the elevated platform, his leather shoes clicking rhythmically on the concrete.

Two armed men followed closely behind him, their pistols drawn.

“We know about the Swiss accounts, Matteo,” Enzo said, stopping ten feet away. “Your uncle’s private reserve.”

My heart hammered against my ribs, the small silver key in my pocket burning against my thigh.

“Those accounts are locked behind three layers of encryption,” Matteo said, his voice steady and calm. “You cannot touch a single euro without the physical key and the digital codes.”

Enzo smiled, showing a row of straight, white teeth.

“Which is why you are going to give them to me,” Enzo said.

He signaled to one of his men, who stepped toward my father and pulled a thick hunting knife from his belt.