The cold steel of Rocco Marchetti’s Beretta pressed hard against Arya Vance’s left temple, but her pulse remained remarkably slow.

Three days later, the historic Palazzo Taverna in the heart of Rome was illuminated by thousands of golden lights. The grand courtyard was filled with Europe’s elite—corrupt politicians, corporate titans, international diplomats, and senior figures from the Mediterranean underworld, all gathered for the annual Mediterranean Logistics Gala.

Arthur Vance walked through the arched marble entrance, wearing a five-thousand-dollar tailored tuxedo, an arrogant smile on his silver-haired face. Beside him walked Don Moretti, an elderly, sinister man who ruled the Northern Italian crime syndicates.

"Are you certain Marchetti is contained?" Vance whispered to Moretti as a waiter offered them crystal flutes of champagne. "My sources in Amalfi said his estate has been completely locked down since Tuesday."

"Rocco is broken," Don Moretti chuckled quietly, sipping his wine. "The paramedics reported that the baby died in the nursery. Rocco has been locked in his villa drinking himself to death. He hasn't left the property in seventy-two hours. Tonight, we sign the port authority transfers with the minister, and by tomorrow morning, the Marchetti empire is ours."

Vance smiled, raising his glass. "To progress, Don Moretti. And to incompetent doctors who make our jobs easier."

Suddenly, the grand orchestra in the ballroom stopped playing.

The heavy oak doors at the top of the grand double staircase swung open.

A hush fell over the four hundred guests in the courtyard.

Standing at the top of the stairs was Rocco Marchetti. He wore a flawless black tuxedo, looking powerful, imposing, and completely unharmed. His dark eyes scanned the crowd below like a eagle watching its prey.

Beside him stood Arya Vance.

She was breathtaking. She wore an off-the-shoulder gown of emerald-green silk that clung to her sleek curves, a high-carat diamond necklace sparkling against her neck. Her hair was styled in intricate dark waves, her makeup flawless, her posture radiating absolute, aristocratic authority.

And carried in Rocco’s left arm was five-month-old little Leo, dressed in a tiny white linen suit, breathing comfortably, his blue eyes wide and bright as he looked down at the glittering crowd.

Arthur Vance’s champagne glass slipped from his fingers, shattering against the marble floor with a sharp, terrifying CLINK!

"Impossible..." Vance gasped, his face turning the color of ash. "That's... that's impossible!"

"Is that... Vance’s disgraced surgeon?" Don Moretti stammered, stepping back in horror. "And the baby... the baby is alive!"

Rocco slowly descended the marble stairs, holding his son securely, with Arya walking gracefully by his side. The crowd parted instantly, whispering in shock and awe as the crime lord and his stunning companion approached the center of the room.

Vanessa, who had been sitting near the fountain drinking heavily, gasped and shrank back into the shadows, realizing that her time in Rocco’s house was officially over.

Rocco stopped five feet away from Arthur Vance.

"Arthur," Rocco said smoothly, his voice echoing through the silent courtyard. "You look surprised to see my family."

Vance swallowed hard, sweating profusely under his tuxedo collar. "Rocco! I... I heard rumors... tragic rumors about the child... I came to offer my condolences—"

"My son is in perfect health," Rocco interrupted, his voice like cold steel. "Thanks to the brilliant intervention of my chief medical officer—Dr. Arya Vance."

The crowd gasped. Several international journalists in the gallery began snapping photos frantically.

"Dr. Arya Vance?" a senior Italian government official stepped forward, frowning. "The American surgeon involved in the Johns Hopkins scandal?"

"The very same," Arya spoke up, her clear, powerful voice cutting through the hall. She stepped forward, standing face-to-face with Arthur Vance, looking down at the terrified lawyer with absolute disdain. "The same surgeon whom Mr. Vance framed three years ago to cover up his illegal narcotics distribution network inside American university hospitals."

"This is slander!" Vance shrieked, backing away toward Don Moretti’s armed bodyguards. "She’s a convicted medical fraud! Security, arrest this woman!"

"Nobody moves," Rocco said low.

Instantly, thirty heavily armed Moretti enforcers—dressed in crisp suits—stepped out from every exit, drawing suppressed pistols and aiming them directly at Don Moretti’s men and Vance’s security detail.

The crowd screamed, dropping to the floor in panic as Rocco’s men disarmed Vance’s guards within five seconds.

"You see, Arthur," Arya said, pulling a glowing encrypted flash drive from her silk clutch. "When you paid Dr. Miller to poison little Leo, you made a fatal error. Miller kept digital backups of every text message, every bank transfer, and every audio recording of your instructions—including your explicit orders to murder Senator Sterling’s son three years ago when the boy accidentally overheard your narcotics deal in the hospital suite."

Vance’s eyes bulged in pure terror. "No... no, Miller wouldn't..."

"Miller is dead," Rocco whispered, stepping closer to Vance, his dark eyes void of all mercy. "And his confession, along with all the encrypted files on this drive, was transmitted to the United States Department of Justice and Interpol twenty minutes ago."

Outside the palazzo, sudden loud sirens echoed through the streets of Rome. Red and blue lights flashed against the stained-glass windows of the courtyard as dozens of Italian Federal Police officers and Interpol agents breached the front gates, weapons drawn.

"Arthur Vance! Don Moretti!" the Interpol commander shouted, marching into the courtyard with a dozen armed agents. "You are under arrest for international extortion, attempted murder, conspiracy to commit treason, and racketeering!"

As the police slammed Vance down onto the marble floor, forcing his arms behind his back and snapping heavy steel handcuffs onto his wrists, the disgraced lawyer looked up at Arya, his face twisted in desperate rage.

"You!" Vance spat, blood dripping from his lip onto his expensive collar. "You were supposed to be scrubbing floors! You were nothing! A nobody!"