He is a Sterling?

Robert's fist connected with the wall, sending a dull thud through the silent villa. His knuckles split open, the sting of pain a welcome distraction from the frustration boiling within him. Blood oozed from his hand, dripping onto the dusty floor. He barely registered it, his mind too consumed with thoughts of Alexander and the maddening realization that they were still one step behind Sam. The soldiers nearby rushed over, concern etched on their faces.

"Sir, are you alright?" one of them asked, his voice tinged with worry as he reached out to examine Robert's bleeding hand.

Robert shook him off, his jaw clenched tight. "I'm fine," he snapped, though the fury in his eyes told a different story. "Just leave it."