My name is Dominic Romano. In New York, men knew better than to make me repeat myself.

"How long do we have?" I asked Lev, my hand tightening on the phone.

"Ten minutes. Maybe twelve," Lev replied. "I'm driving back with four men, but we won't get through their perimeter blockade in time. You need to evacuate through the south woods now."

"No," I said, looking down the dark corridor toward the vault where my daughters were resting. "If I keep running, they'll hunt us forever. My girls will never have a life. This ends tonight."

"Dominic, you can't fight fifty men alone!" Lev argued.

"I'm not alone," I said, glancing at Grace. "Call the secondary units in Queens. Tell them to cut off the main highway behind the Council's convoy. Lock them in the driveway."

I hung up the phone and turned to Grace. "The remaining Council families are coming here. Right now."

Grace didn't panic. Instead, her jaw hardened, her posture shifting from a quiet housemaid to a tactical asset. "What's the plan?"

"The vault is bomb-proof, but if they bring heavy breaching thermite, they can cook anyone inside alive," I explained quickly. "I need to lure their main breach team into the center courtyard while you stay in the security loft above the foyer with a sniper rifle."

Grace nodded without hesitation. "Show me where the armory is."

Five minutes later, Grace was standing in my private weapons room, adjusting a silenced Remington .308 sniper rifle across her shoulder, tactical magazines clipped to her belt.

I knelt down in front of Olivia, Sophie, and Nora inside the vault. They were huddled together on the leather couch, watching me with wide, anxious eyes.

"Listen to me," I said, my voice gentle despite the heavy armor vest I was pulling over my chest. "Daddy has to finish a job tonight. Miss Grace is going to help me. I need you three to lock this steel door from the inside and press the green button on the console. Do not open it for anyone until you hear my voice on the intercom."

Olivia stood up, stepping forward, and wrapped her small arms around my neck. "Daddy... don't go."

"I have to, baby," I whispered, kissing her cheek. "I promised I'd protect you. And after tonight, nobody will ever scare you again."

"I love you, Daddy," Sophie said softly, coming over to join the hug. Nora ran over too, burying her face into my waist.

Hearing those words—after fourteen months of dead silence—filled me with an unstoppable, terrifying fury. I was no longer just a mob boss defending territory. I was a father fighting for his children's future.

I stepped out of the vault, locked the heavy steel door, and heard the internal pneumatic seals hiss shut.

Grace took her position in the high, hidden security loft above the main foyer, aiming her rifle through a narrow slit in the dark wooden paneling that overlooked the driveway and entrance.

I stood in the center of the grand marble foyer, right beneath the massive crystal chandelier, holding two automatic shotguns.

Outside, the storm of heavy engines roared up the long asphalt driveway. Headlights cut through the dark windows, casting long, menacing shadows across the walls. Doors slammed open. Dozens of boots crunched on the gravel.

BOOM!

The massive oak front doors were blown inward by a breacher charge, splintering into thousands of sharp wood fragments.

Dark figures clad in heavy tactical gear poured through the smoking entrance, weapons raised, led by Don Moretti—the ruthless new spokesman for the surviving Council families.

"ROMANO!" Moretti roared, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. "Your empire dies tonight! Hand over the kids, and we might let you die quickly!"

I stood alone in the dim light, a dark smile spreading across my face.