The champagne tray hit the marble and shattered, and in the silence that followed, Adrienne Sterling rose from his booth to kill the woman who had dropped it.

The grand foyer of the Sterling estate became a warzone.

Glass shattered, priceless oil paintings were shredded by automatic fire, and the smell of gunpowder filled the air. Adrienne moved through his home like a phantom, taking down Moretti's mercenaries with cold, calculated lethality.

Behind him, Vance and four elite guards held the central staircase, laying down suppressive fire.

"They came in three armored trucks, Boss!" Vance yelled over the deafening noise. "Victor Moretti is leading them himself!"

Through the smoke swirling in the courtyard outside, a tall, broad-shouldered man in a heavy coat stepped through the ruined front doors, flanked by four heavily armed bodyguards. He had a deep, jagged scar cutting through his left eyebrow.

Victor Moretti.

"Adrienne!" Victor called out, his crude laugh echoing off the marble pillars. "I see you found my little project! I must admit, I was disappointed when she dropped that tray tonight—I wanted to deliver her to you on your birthday!"

Adrienne stepped out from behind a concrete pillar on the upper balcony, aiming his sidearm directly at Victor's forehead.

"You touched my wife, Victor," Adrienne said, his voice terrifyingly calm amid the destruction. "You kept her in the dark. You made my sons grow up without a mother."

"I saved her life!" Victor sneered, stepping behind one of his bodyguards. "She was supposed to die in that car! But when I saw her breathing in the ditch, I realized she was worth far more alive! She was the leash I kept around your neck, Sterling! And now, I'm taking her back!"

"You're not leaving this house alive," Adrienne declared.

Adrienne signaled his snipers stationed on the roof.

THWIP. THWIP.

Two suppressed rounds took down Victor’s front bodyguards instantly.

A chaotic gunfight erupted in the foyer. Adrienne vaulted over the balcony railing, landing on the marble floor below, his weapons blazing as he advanced directly on Victor Moretti.

Meanwhile, in the subterranean bunker beneath the boathouse, Clara sat in the dim light with Arthur and her three boys.

The heavy steel door rattled as explosions shook the ground above. The boys were crying now, clinging to Clara's dress.

"Is Daddy going to be okay?" Leo whispered, looking up at Clara with his stormy gray eyes.

Clara looked at her three sons. Memory after memory was crashing back into her mind like a dam breaking open—the night they were born, the sound of Adrienne’s soft laughter as he held all three of them in his arms, the promise they had made under the stars on their wedding night.

She remembered everything. She was Clara Sterling. And she was done being a victim.

"Stay here with Arthur," Clara said firmly, standing up and grabbing a heavy steel crowbar from the emergency kit on the wall.