It was almost midnight when Thomas and Marcus’s private jet landed at San Luis Obispo Airport in California. Thomas completed the paperwork and arranged their return to Rome. Their jet would be ready to take off from San Luis Obispo to Rome in three hours. The two Ars Pherians had exactly three hours to pack the prince in whatever way was necessary and get back to the airport. Nothing impossible for such a team of talented professionals.

  Marcus sat in the driver's seat of the black van, waiting for them. He had the comfort of knowing he had already done his homework. On the plane, he had checked the address of L’Ambert Vineyards on the satellite maps and virtually walked around the surroundings, memorizing every building, road, and even the trees. He had studied the house and the interior design of the ranch-style home. He also arranged the infrared vision drone he had brought with him.

  The drive from the airport to Paso Robles didn’t take long. Soon, they arrived at L’Ambert Vineyards. Marcus switched off the van's headlights as they entered the property. In the darkness of the night, he parked the black van in a corner, as close as possible to the house, and took out the drone.

  “I assume the Emperor knows how far we’re going tonight,” Thomas said hesitantly. The situation felt extremely uncomfortable for him, but all the answer he could receive from Marcus was a stern look.

  Marcus scanned the area around the house with the drone. No one was outdoors. He then moved to the windows, inspecting each one carefully. Eventually, he located the bedroom where the prince and his Earthian lady friend were sleeping.

  “You’ll stay at the wheel,” Marcus instructed Thomas. “When I call, drive the van to the house’s driveway and come inside to help me.”

  “What if something goes wrong?” Thomas asked, his voice tinged with concern.

  “Nothing will go wrong,” Marcus reassured him. “But if it does, make sure the prince is safe and convince him to return to Ars Pheria as soon as possible.”

  “Marcus, with all due respect, why don’t we just talk to him first?”

  “Thomas,” Marcus’s sharp facial features surprisingly softened to a powdery softness as he slightly smiled in understanding and lowered his head to meet Thomas’s gaze, as if he were talking to a child. “The prince is impaired. I can’t take risks. Please trust me in this.”

  Thomas would have argued, but what he’d learned about the prince the day Marcus arrived stopped him. The maids had been terrified by the sight of the warzone-like living room. Alessandro had smashed his precious cello against the walls. Marcus was right. Alessandro hadn’t been acting like an Ars Pherian lately. His rational thinking was impaired.

  Marcus powered down the drone and stowed it back in its bag. He opened another black bag, retrieving a gun. With precision, he inserted a blue colored liquid into its reservoir. Pulling his ski mask down, he swiftly exited the van.

  His shadowy figure glided gracefully through the main door of the ranch house. With skillful hands, he unlocked the old-fashioned wooden door and slipped inside, quietly closing it behind him. He moved swiftly past the entrance, entered the living room, and surveyed his surroundings. Grapes and wine bottles were scattered everywhere, on the walls as paintings of vine-covered landscapes, and on the shelves as statues crafted from green and purple marble. The rest of the room resembled an ordinary American-style living room, like something Marcus had seen in movies. Except for the lace bra left casually on the couch.

  He moved through the kitchen and ascended the stairs. The first room on the left should be the bedroom they were in. The door was ajar. He peeked inside. The woman, likely Ava L’Ambert, was sleeping alone on the bed. Marcus quickly retreated, but it was too late, he got hit by a hard object on the side of his head right under his hairline. Luckily for Marcus, his head was as tough as the object, so he didn't lose consciousness. Thanks to his left hand holding the gun, he could take a shot Alessandro on his right arm. Alessandro instantly lost consciousness and collapsed on Marcus, dropping paper weight on his hand to fall on Marcus’s foot. It was painted red with Marcus’s blood from his head.

  Marcus felt a surge of satisfaction and pride in his quick recovery, even as sharp pain throbbed in his foot. He took a few slow, steady breaths, carefully extricating himself from beneath Alessandro’s limp form. He glanced toward Ava, checking once more to see if she was still asleep. Relieved, he slipped in the bedroom and gently shot her from behind her shoulder. As Ava slipped into a deeper sleep, Marcus quietly took out his phone and dialed Thomas.

  “It’s clear. You can come for help.”

  When Thomas saw the prince lying in the corridor right next to the stairs, he wasn’t sure whether it was Alessandro or Marcus who wasn’t acting like an Ars-Pherian.

  “What have you done, Marcus?” he asked coldly.

  “He’s just sleeping, unharmed,” Marcus replied, removing his mask and holding up a black bag. “We need to change him, quickly,” he threw the bag over to Thomas.

  “Did he resist?” Thomas asked.

  “He tried to kill me with a paper weight,” said Marcus with a tint of amusement in his tone.

  While Thomas changed Alessandro into hospital clothes, Marcus cleaned the paperweight and checked the room for any traces of blood. He placed a pre-prepared letter under the paperweight on the bedside table beside Ava. After collecting Alessandro’s belongings, Marcus helped Thomas carry him to the van.

  “Do you need stitches?” Thomas asked, noticing the drop of blood trickling down from Marcus' head bump, visible even in the moonlight.

  “It’s fine. It’ll stop bleeding soon,” Marcus replied, wiping the blood from his head as if he were cleaning his mouth after a messy burger.

  They left the winery as quietly as they had arrived, with their prince lying in the backseat under a blanket, peacefully asleep in his comfortable hospital gown.

  After a while of driving, Marcus pulled over to an empty rest area along the highway, dimly illuminated by the flickering glow of an old streetlamp. The night air was thick with silence, broken only by the distant hum of the highway and the occasional rustle of wind through the sparse trees. Off in the far corner of the lot, a tiny gas station sat like an old neon light of a beverage fridge.

  In the farthest corner of the parking lot, just behind the dimly lit restrooms, an unmarked private ambulance waited. The soft, almost ghostly light from the streetlamp cast long shadows over the vehicle.

  Marcus navigated the van over to the ambulance with precision, parking it nearby but not too close, he needed just enough space to unload Alessandro without drawing attention. The vehicle’s headlights cut through the dark as he parked, briefly illuminating the worn-out tires of the ambulance. The young driver of the ambulance, a man likely in his twenties, was waiting leaning against the vehicle his hands in his pockets. He straightened as Marcus and Thomas approached, taking his hands off his pockets.

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  Without hesitation, Thomas reached into his jacket and handed the driver a generous cash payment, an amount far above what was necessary, but Thomas preferred to ensure that his dealings went smoothly and without complications. The driver pocketed the money with a quick nod of appreciation before heading back to the ambulance’s driver’s seat.

  Thomas and Marcus then moved swiftly. They carefully transferred the prince’s unconscious form onto the medical bed inside the ambulance, securing him with thick straps to ensure that he wouldn’t move during transport. His arms were gently placed by his sides, his body fully supported by the sturdy, professional-grade medical bed.

  The ambulance doors closed with a soft hiss of hydraulics, sealing Alessandro inside. The tires of the ambulance began to roll away from the rest area, carrying its precious cargo to its next destination.

  The ambulance driver took the Ars Pherian trio to San Luis Obispo airport, parking right next to their private jet. They swiftly unloaded Alessandro, his unconscious form still carefully secured on the gurney, and moved him towards the awaiting plane.

  As they reached the plane, an older airport officer, an elderly man with a white beard and a balding head, approached them. His uniform looked well-worn, though his posture was still sharp, and he seemed to be a familiar face around the airport. He took their paperwork and passports without saying much, his eyes narrowing slightly as he glanced over the documents. The officer wasn’t surprised to see such high-profile travelers, though he couldn’t hide a look of concern when he saw the young prince being transferred onto the plane.

  "Poor kid," the officer muttered, shaking his head as he watched Alessandro’s fragile form being carefully maneuvered into the plane. "He’s so young. I hope he recovers." There was genuine sympathy in his voice, though it didn’t mask the weary fatigue of a man who had seen many things in his long career.

  Then, with a slight sigh, the officer glanced down at the hospital paperwork, his eyebrows furrowing as he read it more closely. "Cerebral thrombosis," he murmured slowly, as if trying to make sense of the medical term. "What does that mean?"

  Dr. Thomas De Rosa, the patient's doctor, was ready with an answer. “He has a genetic predisposition to high blood pressure, and unfortunately, he forgot to take his medication. The high blood pressure caused a clot in his brain, which led to a coma,” Thomas explained. “We don’t know if he will ever wake up,” he added, feigning a sorrowful expression. “I’ve seen cases where patients woke up perfectly normal, but I’ve also seen others who, sadly, didn’t fare as well.”

  “Your brother?” asked the officer. “He’s lucky to have a doctor in the family.”

  “Our cousin,” Thomas replied. “Our uncle is devastated, and I feel guilty for letting him come to California despite his condition. How could I have known he’d forget his meds?”

  “You never know what God has in store,” said the officer. “He may wake up. Don’t lose hope, son!”

  Marcus thanked the officer and informed him that the jet was ready to take off. The officer took one last look at Alessandro’s peacefully sleeping face and allowed them to take off. Later, he would tell all his friends and family to take medication seriously.

  “Look what happened to that young Italian lad,” he would mutter. “He may never wake up. All his rich father’s money is useless now. He can only pray to God.”

  Soon, the jet was in the sky. Marcus removed his hat, and Doctor Thomas carefully cleaned his wound and applied a dressing. Marcus then injected another dose of sleep medication into Alessandro's arm. He felt a pang of sympathy for the kindhearted prince, the same one he'd once taught fencing and chess. If Alessandro weren’t asleep, he'd be non-stop complaining about jet pollution on Earth.

  Marcus recalled a time when Alessandro, just a teenager learning chess, had asked him, “Why doesn’t Ars Pheria take control of Earth and make it a better place for all humankind?”

  Whatever was wrong with the prince, Marcus thought, it likely began long before even maybe when he was a child.

  “I really liked California,” Thomas said, breaking the silence that had settled over the engine’s hum in the private jet.

  “Sure, that was a great vacation,” Marcus replied sarcastically.

  The Ars Pherian trio spent the remainder of the journey in silence. The jet touched down in Rome, where they transferred Alessandro to another ambulance. Flying to Cappadocia on a private jet with a comatose passenger would raise too many questions. The rest of the journey would involve discreetly transporting the prince. Thomas had prepared the certified Italian translations of the American hospital records during the flight. Once they were clear of the airport, the rest would be straightforward.

  Thomas presented the hospital and American police documents from California, which helped clear their path to Italy. The Italian police didn’t scrutinize the paperwork as closely as expected; instead, they seemed more focused on the identity of the patient. They asked Thomas to remain with the patient while they processed the clearance.

  From a distance, Thomas noticed one of the officers making a phone call. He tried to read the officer's lips, catching the repeated mention of the name Alessandro De Rosa. Then, the officer seemed to say something along the lines of not having a reason to detain him.

  "Someone is on our tail," Thomas said quietly. "I don’t know who yet, but Alessandro might have something to do with it. His name is under investigation." He nodded toward the officer. "Look at him, his aura is all purple fumes from the stress. Poor guy."

  "Why didn’t you tell me before?" Marcus asked, his voice tight. "Can they find anything?" he added, his eyes scanning the scene.

  "Not possible," Thomas replied with his usual calm confidence.

  The officer called for Thomas and Marcus.

  "Sir, you are all clear. Welcome home," he said. "A police car will accompany the ambulance to Rome University Hospital."

  "Thank you, officer," Thomas replied, hiding the panic creeping in. Their destination might be listed as the hospital on paper, but the Ars Pherian trio's carefully crafted scam didn’t involve any actual admittance. The Italian police were now an unexpected complication, threatening to unravel their plan.

  Thomas glanced at Marcus, who was already recalculating their strategy.

  "Very kind of you," Thomas added, masking his anxiety. "Good to be home."

  They quietly boarded the ambulance and began their journey toward the city center, where the hospital was located. Once they were alone again, Thomas spoke.

  “We have about half an hour's drive to the hospital,” he said. “We need to get rid of the police escort before we reach the hospital.”

  “We can’t just ditch him in traffic; he’ll get suspicious,” Marcus replied. “Find out who the officer is and where he lives. Do it fast.”

  Thomas buried his head in his computer and began hacking into the police files. Within five minutes, he had all the information they needed.

  “He has a teenage son,” Thomas reported, “Seems to be a troublemaker. Arrested a few times, got suspended from school for drugs. He’s divorced, and his ex-wife works at a restaurant.”

  “Find a co-worker from the restaurant she works at,” Marcus instructed. Thomas immediately understood where this was headed.

  “Maybe her boss will be more convincing,” he said. “She’s at work right now. If we’re lucky, she won’t answer her phone.”

  Thomas scanned through the information and dialed the officer’s phone number, the one in the police car trailing the ambulance.

  “Hello, is this Officer Riccardo?” Thomas asked, altering his voice.

  “Yes, who is this?”

  “I’m Marco, the owner of the restaurant where your ex-wife, Sofia, works.”

  “Yes, why are you calling me?”

  “Listen, I thought you should know. I’m a father myself, and I’d want to be informed. Sofia just left the restaurant and mentioned that your son is in trouble at home. You might want to check on him. I have a feeling this could be related to his drug issues.”

  “Okay, thank you. I’ll check on him,” said the officer, signaling for the ambulance to pull over to the side of the highway.

  Thomas was confident the officer would be too panicked about his son to waste time, and would rush to check on him immediately. He walked to the ambulance and explained to Marcus that they needed to go in a different direction. Moments later, the police car sped off with sirens blaring, leaving the ambulance behind.

  “We’ve got some time now,” Thomas said. “Take the E80, if we can avoid the city center, it should save us at least half an hour.”

  An hour later, the ambulance arrived at Ostia, the Port of Rome, where their yacht was waiting for them. The seventy-five-foot vessel was fully stocked and ready to sail to Turkey. Marcus, instead of Alessandro, was the captain.

  The white yacht's engine hummed to life, cutting through the blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea under the warm sun. Thomas watched the white foam trail behind them as the port shrank into the distance. Soon, the prince would wake up, and he would be far from pleased.

  Thomas carefully changed Alessandro from his hospital clothes into a beige linen suit and a crisp white shirt. Once dressed, he secured the prince's hands and feet with bindings.