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CHAPTER NINE: THE ZERO-HOUR PROTOCOL
publish date:
2026-03-13 00:55:00
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The Alpha’s Runaway Prize: Bound by the Billionaire’s Blood CHAPTER THIRTEEN: THE HOMECOMING
The hum of the Vane medical transport was the only sound in the sterile, pressurized cabin as it cut through the dawn over the Atlantic. Below them, the South Pacific—and the remains of Aethelgard Island—had been swallowed by the deep, leaving no trace of the "Project" or the betrayal of Isabella Moretti.Sabizina lay in the specialized recovery berth, her eyes fixed on the two reinforced pods secured beside her. Leo was a quiet weight, his chest rising and falling in a perfect, rhythmic slumber, while Luna seemed to watch the shadows of the cabin with a precocious intensity that mirrored her father’ss.Rage sat on a low stool between the pods and Sabizina’s berth. He had refused to change out of his salt-stained, blood-flecked shirt. His hands, usually busy with a tablet or a weapon, were rested palms-up on the edge of the infants' carriers. He looked like a man who had finally found something he couldn't quantify with a spreadsheet."We’re crossing into U.S. airspace in twenty minut
The Alpha’s Runaway Prize: Bound by the Billionaire’s Blood CHAPTER TWELVE: THE BATTLEFIELD DELIVERY
The medical suite of Aethelgard Villa was a masterpiece of clinical glass and reinforced carbon fiber, hanging precariously over the churning white foam of the South Pacific. Usually, it was a place of serene preparation, but now, under the pulsing rhythmic throb of red emergency lights, it felt like the belly of a dying beastt.Outside the reinforced double doors, the muffled thwip-thwip of suppressed gunfire echoed through the corridors. Marcus’s Sentinels were holding the line, but the island’s internal defenses—the very ones Rage had bragged were unhackable—were turning against them."The secondary pilings are retracting!" Marcus’s voice crackled over the intercom, punctuated by the roar of an explosion nearby. "Boss, the medical wing is tilting. If we don't get the Queen out in twenty minutes, the ocean is going to claim this entire floor!"Rage didn't answer. He couldn't.He had dropped his rifle on the sterile tile, his designer suit jacket discarded in a corner. He was on his
The Alpha’s Runaway Prize: Bound by the Billionaire’s Blood CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE HORIZON OF GLASS
The transition from the concrete jungle of Manhattan to the private sanctuary of Aethelgard Island was executed with the surgical precision of a military extraction.At 4:00 AM, three identical black Gulfstream jets departed from Teterboro Airport. Only one carried the Alpha and his Queen. The other two were decoys, filled with thermal mannequins and electronic signatures designed to lead the Russo Syndicate’s satellites on a wild goose chase toward the Swiss Alps and the coast of Brazil.Sabizina sat in the cabin of the real jet, her eyes fixed on the clouds below. She felt the steady, low-frequency hum of the engines—a sound that usually soothed her—but today, her skin felt too tight. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the white silk baby shoes.See you in the delivery room."Drink this," Rage said, his voice cutting through her spiraling thoughts. He handed her a glass of chilled pomegranate juice, fortified with the nutrients Dr. Aris had prescribed.Rage hadn't slept. He sa
The Alpha’s Runaway Prize: Bound by the Billionaire’s Blood CHAPTER TEN: THE SOVEREIGN VOW
The morning after the Zero-Hour Protocol didn't bring the sound of sirens or the smell of smoke. It brought a silence so profound it felt heavy, like the atmosphere of a planet finally finding its orbitt.The Vane Tower had been scrubbed. The glass had been replaced, the marble polished, and the three mercenaries Sabizina had electrified in the bunker had been "removed" by Marcus’s team with the quiet efficiency of a delete key.In the master suite, the curtains were drawn, letting in only a sliver of Manhattan gold. Sabizina was tucked into the center of the massive bed, swallowed by silk sheets and the heavy, comforting weight of Rage’s arm draped over her waist. For the first time in six months, she wasn't listening for the sound of a door opening. She was listening to the steady, rhythmic thrum of Rage’s heart against her back.He was awake. She knew by the way his breathing shifted the moment she opened her eyes."Stay still," Rage murmured, his voice a low, gravelly vibration th
The Alpha’s Runaway Prize: Bound by the Billionaire’s Blood CHAPTER NINE: THE ZERO-HOUR PROTOCOL
The air in the bunker was growing thin, or perhaps it was just the panic clawing at Sabizina’s throat. Outside the six-inch reinforced steel door, the thermite hissed—a predatory, white-hot sound that signaled the end of her sanctuary.On her primary monitor, the progress bar for the spoofing sequence mocked her: 68% COMPLETE."Sabizina!" Lorenzo’s voice boomed through the intercom, distorted by the heat of the charges. "The Russo King is not a patient man. If that door doesn't open in three minutes, he’ll drop the rod. Manhattan will have a new crater, and I’ll be the only one left to tell the story of the tragic Vane explosion."Sabizina’s fingers danced across the secondary terminal. She wasn't just spoofing Viktor's pulse anymore; she was rerouting the building’s internal power gridd."You always were a bad businessman, Father," she muttered, her eyes glowing with a cold, digital light. "You never account for the hidden costs."Thirty miles away, in a sprawling, derelict warehou
The Alpha’s Runaway Prize: Bound by the Billionaire’s Blood CHAPTER EIGHT: THE RUSSO KING
The euphoria of the gala vanished before the Maybach even cleared the underground garage of the Vane Tower. The text message from Lorenzo Moretti sat on Sabizina’s screen like a digital venom, turning her blood to icee.See you at the delivery, Sabizina.Rage felt the shift in her immediately. The man was a human lie detector, a master of micro-expressions, and right now, he was reading a level of terror in Sabizina that she hadn't shown even when the assassins were in the vents."Give me the phone," Rage commanded, his voice dropping an octave.Sabizina handed it over, her fingers trembling. Rage read the message once. His photographic memory etched the characters into his brain, analyzing the syntax, the timestamp, and the origin."Marcus," Rage barked into the car’s intercom. "Scrub the perimeter of the tower. I want a 10-mile dead zone. No drones, no unrecognized signatures. And get the lead tech on the line. I want to know how a restricted Russo-encrypted line hit my wife’s priva
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