A wealthy mother-in-law brutally beat a bride on her wedding night to steal her condo, completely forgetting her father was Colonel Alexander Brooks.

Alexander wrapped his strong arms around his daughter, holding her close, feeling the violent tremors running through her small frame. He inhaled the scent of her hair, his eyes closing as he absorbed the reality of her pain.

"I'm here," Alexander whispered into her hair, his large hand gently cradling the back of her head. "I've got you. Nobody is going to touch you again."

He held her for two full minutes until her frantic weeping slowed to heavy, rhythmic gasps. Gently, he eased her back onto the couch cushion.

Alexander lowered his eyes, carefully inspecting her injuries. He looked at the purple handprints bruised into her forearms. He looked at her swollen eye. He touched the delicate lace of her torn wedding dress, seeing the red dirt stained into the white silk.

Slowly, Alexander stood up to his full height.

As he turned around to face Eleanor, every trace of warmth, grief, and vulnerability vanished from his face.

His features locked into an icy, expressionless mask of lethal absolute control. His gray eyes turned flat and dead—the look of a battlefield commander who had just identified an enemy force and made the decision to eliminate it.

The temperature in the living room seemed to drop ten degrees.

"Where is Javier?" Alexander asked, his voice entirely flat, carrying a cold, quiet threat that made Eleanor involuntarily take a step back.

"He's at the St. Regis," Eleanor answered rapidly, her voice trembling. "In the penthouse suite. His family owns the top two floors."

Alexander nodded once, a slow, methodical movement. He reached into his field jacket, checking his wrist watch, adjusting the leather strap over his thick wrist.

"Stay here," Alexander commanded, turning toward the foyer. "Keep the doors locked. I'll be back before sunrise."

"Alexander, wait!" Eleanor called out, rushing toward him. "What are you going to do?"