"He claimed holding my hand was too dangerous—1 year later, I watched him hold his mistress’s hand on live TV." / Chapter 3 / 7

Chapter 3 - The Escape from the AlleySilvio’s warning hadn't even faded from the speaker when the quiet afternoon was shattered by the sharp sound of gunfire echoing up through the alleyway behind my building.

THWIP! THWIP!

Suppressed gunshots tore through the damp air below.

I dropped to the floorboards, crawling frantically into the bedroom, pulling eleven-month-old Leo and Sophia into my arms. Both infants woke up, letting out soft, frightened whimpers as I wrapped them in a thick fleece blanket, securing them against my chest inside a heavy twin travel carrier.

Down in the alley, the two Moretti guards from the black SUV were engaging four armed mercenaries wearing rain ponchos—Valentina Russo’s private hit squad, sent to execute Alessandro’s secret heirs before he could officially recognize them.

"Elena! Move to the service fire escape now!" Silvio’s voice barked over the speaker. "My personal driver is waiting at the end of the block in a blue sedan!"

I didn't hesitate. I grabbed my leather bag containing the birth certificates, the ultrasound records, and my passport, throwing open the narrow kitchen service door that led to the iron fire escape.

The cold autumn rain lashed against my face as I carried my twins down the metal steps, my feet moving with desperate, practiced speed.

Below me, a wounded Russo mercenary stumbled into the alleyway, reaching for his sidearm as he saw me descending the fire escape.

BOOM!

A heavy, unsuppressed gunshot echoed through the narrow brick corridor.

The mercenary collapsed flat onto his back. Standing at the mouth of the alley, wearing an immaculate charcoal coat over his dark suit, his storm-gray eyes holding a lethal, freezing fire, was Alessandro Moretti.

His private jet hadn't landed at 5:30 PM.

He had landed thirty minutes early.

Alessandro lowered his heavy sidearm, stepping over the fallen mercenary, his long, deliberate strides carrying him down the wet alleyway toward the iron ladder where I stood.

His dark hair was damp with rain, his severe jawline set like carved granite, his chest heaving with shallow, frantic breaths as his eyes locked onto the fleece blanket strapped against my chest.