For three years, a notorious mafia boss sent back every single meal untouched—until a quiet waitress served him a humble dish that unlocked a scent from a past he thought was long gone.

The estate had turned into a war zone.

Gunfire echoed off the high limestone walls, accompanied by the shattering of glass, the barking of guard dogs, and the frantic shouts of armed men.

Sarah ran through the west wing hallway, her heart hammering against her ribs. She found Toby and Leo hiding in the library. Toby was holding a heavy bronze candlestick, standing bravely in front of six-year-old Leo, who was crying under a heavy oak desk.

"Toby! Leo! With me!" Sarah shouted.

She led them quickly through the hidden door behind Enzo’s mahogany bookshelf, leading down a short flight of concrete stairs into a reinforced steel safe room.

Inside, the room was equipped with private security monitors, emergency medical supplies, water, and a direct satellite phone link to the police department.

"Stay inside, both of you," Sarah ordered, pushing them through the door.

"Sarah, where are you going?!" Toby yelled, grabbing her arm. "You can't go back out there!"

"The security monitors in this room are dark," Sarah said, pointing to the blank screens. "The power line to the safe room was cut during the explosion. I need to flip the manual generator switch in the hallway, or we won't know if Enzo wins or loses!"

"Sarah, no!"

"Lock the door behind me!" Sarah commanded, stepping out into the hallway and pulling the steel door shut until it clicked locked.

The hallway was filled with drifting tear gas and gun smoke. Sarah covered her mouth with the sleeve of her wool sweater, staying low as she crept toward the electrical breaker box at the end of the hall.

Suddenly, a heavy hand grabbed her hair from behind, throwing her brutally against the wall.

Sarah gasped as her back slammed into the plaster.

Standing before her was Don Carmine Marcone himself.

He was a heavy, ruthless man in his late fifties, wearing a blood-stained trench coat. In his right hand, he held a heavy chrome revolver. Behind him stood two muscular hitmen holding tactical shotguns.

"Well, well," Marcone sneered, his yellowed teeth showing in a bitter grin. "The hero server. The fake bride."

Sarah glared at him, refusing to show fear even as her body shook. "Your hitman failed, Marcone. And so will you."

"My hitman failed because of you," Marcone growled, raising his revolver and pressing the cold steel barrel directly against Sarah’s forehead. "Caruso destroyed my empire because of a minimum-wage girl who couldn't mind her own business. But it ends tonight. I'll kill you first, then I'll drag Caruso’s kid out of that safe room."

Sarah closed her eyes, bracing for the gunshot.

BANG!

A shot rang out through the corridor.

Marcone’s eyes widened in sudden, shock-filled agony. A small red hole appeared in the center of his throat. He dropped his gun, clutching his neck as he collapsed backward onto the carpet, coughing blood before going completely still.

Behind him, the two hitmen turned their shotguns, but before they could fire, three rapid shots tore through the smoke.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Both hitmen fell to the floor, dead before they hit the carpet.

Enzo Caruso stepped through the drifting smoke.

His suit coat was gone, his white shirt torn and stained with blood and gunpowder, his face covered in dark soot. He dropped his empty magazine, slapped a fresh one into his pistol with a crisp click, and rushed to Sarah’s side.

He dropped to his knees, grabbing her face in his hands, checking her frantically for wounds.

"Sarah! Are you shot?! Did he hurt you?!" Enzo shouted, his voice cracking with sheer desperation.

"I'm... I'm okay," Sarah sobbed, tears spilling over her eyelashes as she threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. "I'm okay, Enzo... I'm okay."