The Janitor Who Owned the Casino: Nobody Kneels in My Building

The penthouse suite was a world away from the marble floors and brass balustrades of the casino below. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the glittering Mediterranean, the sunset painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson.

Sophie sat cross-legged on the enormous leather sofa, a slice of pizza in each hand, while Viktor watched her from the window. He'd changed out of the coveralls into a tailored navy suit, but he still looked like the same man who had knelt on the cold stone floor.

"Grandpa," Sophie said through a mouthful of pepperoni, "were you really a janitor? Or was that just a disguise?"

Viktor turned, a sad smile on his face. "It was both, sweetheart. I started this casino forty years ago with nothing but a mop and a dream. I cleaned every floor myself before I had enough money to hire anyone else. So yes, I was a janitor. I just never stopped being one."

Sophie frowned. "But why did you let that mean man push you around?"

"Because I needed to find out who was behind the kidnapping ring," Viktor said, sitting down beside her. "Your father vanished five years ago, Sophie. I've been hunting the people who took him ever since. I had to get close to the corruption, and that meant pretending to be weak."

Sophie's eyes widened. "Did you find him?"

Viktor took her hand. "We found the men who took him. They were using the casino's private gaming room to launder money for human traffickers. Julian was their inside man. And now, thanks to you, we have them all."

"Thanks to me?"

"You ran to protect me," Viktor said, his voice thick with emotion. "You showed them that I had someone worth fighting for. That gave me the strength to stand up."

Sophie put down her pizza and hugged him tightly. "I'll always protect you, Grandpa."

"I know you will."

A knock at the door interrupted the moment. Captain Thorne stepped in, his expression unreadable.

"Chairman," he said, "we have a situation. One of the guards found this in Julian's office."

He held out a photograph. Viktor took it, his hands trembling.

It was a picture of his son—Sophie's father—alive, standing in front of a small café in Barcelona. The date stamp showed it was taken three months ago.

Sophie gasped. "Daddy!"

Viktor looked at Thorne, fire in his eyes. "Book me a flight to Barcelona. Tonight."

"And the casino?"

"The casino can wait," Viktor said, pulling Sophie close. "Family comes first."

He looked down at the photograph, a tear rolling down his cheek. For the first time in five years, he allowed himself to hope.

"Hold on, son," he whispered. "Papa's coming."