"I Overheard a Mafia Boss’s Wife Plotting His Murder and Tried to Save Him. Then His Men Aimed Their Guns at Me."

Bang! Bang-bang!

Bullets chewed through the heavy oak door, sending splinters flying across the Persian rug. Shouts, heavy boots, and the smell of cordite filled the air.

"They're at the door!" Mateo shouted, taking cover behind a marble pillar, returning fire through the wooden panels.

"Cover the windows!" Dante ordered me, his eyes blazing with furious intensity.

I didn't hesitate. I dashed across the room, positioning myself beside the floor-to-ceiling glass wall overlooking the Chicago skyline. Sure enough, two black-clad operatives were rappelling down from the rooftop maintenance cradle, attempting to swing through the glass perimeter.

I raised my Glock, aligned the iron sights with steady, military-precision breathing—lessons Mateo had drilled into me for months—and squeezed the trigger.

Glass shattered.

The first operative dropped his rifle, tumbling backward into the dark abyss of the night sky as his harness severed. The second operative fired a wild burst through the window pane, glass spraying across my cheeks, drawing a thin line of red blood.

Without blinking, I fired a second shot.

Thud. The second attacker crumpled against the balcony railing.

Inside the office, the heavy door groaned under the weight of a breaching charge.

"Dante! Get down!" I screamed.

Dante and Mateo stepped back as a massive explosion blew the reinforced oak door completely off its hinges. Smoke billowed into the room, obscuring the hallway. Through the gray haze, three armed men charged in, weapons raised.

Dante’s Beretta barked twice—bang, bang—dropping the lead attacker instantly. Mateo took down the second with a rapid-fire burst to the chest.

The third man—a scarred, heavy-set enforcer from the New York Outfit named Sal—managed to duck behind the mahogany desk, raising his assault rifle straight toward Dante’s chest.

Dante’s gun clicked empty.

Sal grinned maliciously. "It's over, Moretti. Say goodbye to—"

Before he could finish the sentence, I stepped out from the shadows of the window alcove, leveled my Glock with both hands, and fired a single, clean shot directly into Sal’s shoulder.

The rifle dropped from his grasp with a heavy clatter. He collapsed to his knees, howling in pain, clutching his bleeding arm.

Silence descended upon the penthouse office, broken only by the distant wail of police sirens echoing up from the street far below—sirens that Dante’s bribed city officials would ensure never reached our gates.

Mateo kicked Sal’s weapon away across the floor, standing over him with a grim satisfaction. "Clean shot, boss," Mateo muttered, glancing over at me. "The girl's got ice in her veins."

Dante walked slowly across the debris-strewn rug, ignoring the smoke and the fallen enemies, until he was standing right in front of me.

He reached out, his warm thumb gently wiping the small drop of blood from my cheek where the glass had grazed me.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice softer than I had ever heard it.

"I'm fine," I whispered, lowering the safety on my Glock and letting out a long, shuddering breath. "Just a little glass."

Dante turned to Mateo. "Clean this up. Dump the bodies in the usual channel, and make sure the New York Outfit gets a very clear message: anyone who steps foot on Moretti property leaves in a pine box."

"Consider it done, boss," Mateo grunted, hauling the groaning Sal up by his collar and dragging him out of the ruined office.

As the heavy footsteps faded down the hallway, the penthouse grew quiet again. The Chicago skyline sparkled in the distance, indifferent to the violence that had just unfolded within its walls.

Dante pulled me close against his chest, wrapping his arms around my waist, burying his face in my hair.

"When I pulled you out of that ravine six months ago," Dante murmured against my ear, "I thought I was saving a waitress who happened to be in the wrong place at the right time."

I looked up into his gray eyes, a soft smile touching my lips as I rested my hand against his heart, feeling its steady, powerful beat.

"And what do you think now?" I asked.