Sophia Sullivan sat in the plush first-class seat.
Her fingers gently combed through Emma Sullivan's hair.
The little girl was engrossed in playing with her clay doll.
Ethan Sullivan pulled his daughter closer.
His deep voice resonated through the cabin. "Ms. Sullivan, thank you for your help these past few days."
Sophia gave a slight nod.
She retrieved a small mirror from her bag, preparing to tie up her long hair.
The reflection revealed several foreign men seated behind her.
Her fingers stilled.
The men wore tailored suits and behaved normally.
But their eyes held something unsettling.
Sophia's instincts screamed at her.
It was the kind of recognition only those from the same world would understand.
She subtly adjusted the mirror's angle.
One of the men rolled up his sleeve, revealing crisscrossed scars on his forearm.
The well-defined muscles spoke of rigorous training.
Sophia's stomach dropped.
The plane ascended through turbulent clouds.
She stood and approached a flight attendant.
"May I have a blanket, please?"
While accepting the blanket, she quickly scanned her surroundings.
The men's seats formed a triangular formation.
Her own seat was at the center of that invisible perimeter.
Sophia returned calmly to her seat.
She handed the blanket to Ethan.
"Mr. Sullivan, Emma gets cold easily."
As she passed the blanket, her fingertips lightly brushed his hand.
Ethan's eyes flickered in understanding.
His phone screen lit up at that moment.
A single sentence appeared on the display.
Sophia was already standing again.
She intended to visit the restroom—and alert the captain.
But after two steps, cold metal pressed against the back of her skull.
"Don't move."
The man's voice was laced with lethal intent.
Chaos erupted in the cabin.
Screams filled the air.
"He has a gun!"
"Help us!"
The tattooed man fired two warning shots.
Bullets grazed a passenger's cheek.
Blood trickled down the wound.
Emma startled at the gunfire and burst into terrified sobs.
Ethan held his daughter tightly.
His gaze sharpened like a blade.
These assassins had a clear target.
"Ms. Sullivan, you're coming with us to Sicily."
The gunman spoke in Italian.
The barrel remained pressed against Sophia's skin.
"Who sent you?"
Her mind raced through possibilities.
The man smirked.
"You've angered the wrong people."
His finger hovered over the trigger.
"Cooperate, unless you want everyone on this plane to die with you."