"Every afternoon at four, the most feared man in the house walked the same hallway like he was following a coffin. Nobody dared interrupt him—until my three-year-old daughter started mimicking his every step, looked up into his cold eyes, and said four forbidden words."

The heavy calm of the study evaporated, replaced instantly by the raw, kinetic violence of an underworld war zone.

“Get down!” Dante roared.

Before I could even process the command, Dante lunged across the room, grabbing Sophia out of the armchair and dragging her behind the heavy mahogany barrier of his reinforced desk. At the same time, he shoved me hard behind a massive marble pillar near the fireplace, keeping us completely out of the line of fire from the shattered doorway.

“Marcus! Who’s at the gate?!” Dante barked, his voice dropping into the cold, lethal cadence of a general commanding troops in the field.

“It’s the Moretti syndicate!” Marcus yelled, firing two rapid shots out into the hallway before ducking back inside. “They bypassed the electronic locks! They have thermal breaching charges! They know you’re in this wing!”

Moretti. The name alone made my blood run cold. Salvatore Moretti was Dante’s most vicious rival—a bloodthirsty maniac who wanted nothing more than to wipe the Falcone family off the map and take control of every shipping lane from here to Montreal.

Outside in the grand hallway, the terrifying sound of a muffled explosion echoed through the stone walls.

BOOM.

Dust and plaster rained down from the ceiling. Shouting, the sharp crack of automatic gunfire, and the heavy thud of combat boots filled the air.

“Mama!” Sophia cried out in terror from behind the desk, her small voice piercing my heart like a dagger.

“Sophia! Stay down! Keep your head down!” I screamed back, tears springing to my eyes as I clawed desperately at the marble floor, looking for anything—a heavy book, a metal fire poker—to use as a weapon.

Dante didn't panic. In the crucible of violence, the icy, terrifying persona of the underworld king took complete control. He pulled a heavy, matte-black Sig Sauer pistol from a concealed magnetic holster beneath his desk, checked the chamber with a crisp, fluid shing, and turned to Marcus.

“Fall back to the panic room behind the library,” Dante ordered calmly. “Get Miss Bennett and her daughter inside.”

“Boss, what about you?!” Marcus protested, reloading his weapon.

“I’m going to clear the hallway,” Dante said, his gray eyes flashing with cold, murderous intent. “Moretti thinks he can walk into my house and slaughter my family? I’m going to show him what happens when you wake a sleeping bear.”

“No!” I cried out, popping my head out from behind the pillar. “Mr. Falcone, you can’t go out there alone—!”

Dante stopped. He looked back at me, his gaze softening for just a fraction of a second amidst the chaos.

“Take care of her,” he commanded, his voice dropping into an absolute, irrevocable promise. Then, with terrifying speed, he rolled out from behind the desk and charged straight out into the blazing corridor.

The sound of gunfire immediately escalated into a deafening roar. Bullets chewed through the mahogany doorframe, wood splinters flying everywhere. Shouts, grunts, and the distinct, terrifying pop of suppressed pistols echoed through the hall.

Marcus grabbed my arm, yanking me out from behind the pillar. “Move! Now!”

He scooped Sophia up into his arms—she was sobbing hysterically now, burying her face in his tactical vest—and dragged me toward a hidden panel behind one of the massive bookshelves. Marcus punched a rapid sequence into a digital keypad, and a heavy steel door slid open, revealing a dimly lit, concrete-reinforced bunker filled with medical supplies, communications arrays, and emergency rations.