The jet touched down just before midnight, wheels screeching against Incheon’s tarmac.

Inside, Alessandro didn’t stir. He sat in the leather seat like a carved idol, his tailored black suit still immaculate after eighteen hours of flight. One hand gripped a glass of whiskey, the other clenched around a photo of Eva and Sophia—creased, smudged, handled too often.

When the cabin lights dimmed, Jeremy leaned forward, arms crossed over his chest. “Boss. You realize you just announced ...