"THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE STEPPED ASIDE AND LET HIM WALK TOWARD THE STAIRS HALF-BLIND—BUT THE 26-YEAR-OLD MAID WHO CAUGHT HIM HAD ALREADY SEEN WHO MOVED THE SAFETY RAIL.

The glass shattered in a deafening cascade.

The assassin kicked through the remaining shards of the French doors, raising his rifle to spray the room.

Marco didn't wait for him to acquire a target. Despite the flashing red emergency lights and the stinging pain in his left eye, Marco leaned around the corner of the desk and fired twice. Both rounds struck the intruder in the chest, dropping him instantly to the blood-splattered rug.

“Move!” Marco barked, pulling Sofia up by the arm.

They bolted into the private hallway connecting the master suite to the library. Gunfire crackled through the lower floors—sharp, rhythmic bursts that signaled an organized assault by professional mercenaries.

“They aren't here to negotiate,” Sofia said, her heart hammering against her ribs as she matched his stride. “They want you dead before dawn so the Morettis can claim the territory uncontested.”

“They won't get it,” Marco snarled.

They reached the library. The massive two-story room was lined with thousands of leather-bound volumes, featuring an iron spiral staircase leading to an upper mezzanine and a reinforced steel door leading to Marco’s personal vault.

As Marco reached for the keypad on the vault door, a quiet voice came from the shadows behind the towering bookshelves.

“I wouldn't touch that, cousin.”

Marco froze. Sofia stopped dead in her tracks.

Stepping into the red glow of the emergency lights was Dominic. He was dressed in dark tactical clothing, holding a Glock 17 leveled directly at Marco’s chest. Standing beside him was Vivian, her designer dress torn, holding a small silver briefcase.

“You’re looking surprisingly mobile, Marco,” Dominic sneered, his mouth curling into a smug, venomous grin. “I thought Vivian’s little nudge on the stairs would have left you paralyzed in the foyer.”

“You always were too cowardly to do your own dirty work, Dominic,” Marco said coldly, keeping his body positioned half an inch in front of Sofia. “You hire maids to spy, women to push, and mercenaries to take your beatings.”

“It worked, didn't it?” Dominic chuckled. “The Morettis offered me sixty percent of the cargo manifests if I wiped out your inner circle tonight. And Vivian? She gets twenty million in an offshore account in Zurich. Not bad for an evening’s work.”

Vivian looked at Marco, her eyes gleaming with greed and spite. “You were never going to marry me, Marco. You looked at me like I was a piece of decorative furniture. Dominic treats me like a partner.”

“Dominic will put a bullet in your head the second you board the plane,” Sofia spoke up, her voice cutting through the tension.

Vivian’s face contorted in rage. “Shut up, you little rat! You should have died in the servant quarters!”

Dominic raised his weapon slightly, shifting his aim toward Sofia. “She’s right, Vivian. Loose ends are messy. I’ll deal with the maid first.”

Before Dominic could pull the trigger, Marco moved.

He didn't draw his gun—Dominic already had him dead to rights. Instead, Marco grabbed the heavy crystal decanter of vintage scotch resting on the side table beside him and hurled it with pinpoint accuracy directly at Dominic’s face.

The heavy glass smashed into Dominic’s nose with a sickening crunch.

Dominic screamed, his weapon discharging wildly into the ceiling, sending plaster raining down.

Vivian dropped the silver briefcase and lunged for the fallen gun.

Sofia didn't hesitate. She threw herself forward, tackling Vivian around the waist. The two women crashed hard against the base of the bookshelf. Vivian scratched wildly at Sofia’s face, but Sofia pinned Vivian’s wrist against the floor, twisting until the woman shrieked in agony and let go of the weapon.

Meanwhile, Dominic, his face covered in blood, scrambled backward, trying to draw a combat knife from his tactical vest.

Marco stepped into him.

With blinding speed, Marco grabbed Dominic’s wrist, twisted it violently until the bone snapped, and drove his knee directly into Dominic’s solar plexus. Dominic collapsed to his knees, gasping for air like a dying fish.

Marco stood over his cousin, breathing hard, his injured eye burning like fire, but his expression carved from pure granite. He pressed the cold barrel of his Beretta right between Dominic’s eyes.

“Wait!” Dominic wheezed, blood pouring from his broken nose. “Marco… wait! We’re blood! You can’t kill family!”

“You stopped being family the day you blew up Crestview Motors,” Marco whispered, his voice carrying the finality of a funeral bell.

Dominic’s eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated terror. “How… how do you know about that?”

Marco glanced down at Sofia, who had successfully pinned Vivian to the floor, breathing hard, her hair disheveled, but her gaze resolute and unflinching.

“Because her father sent me the bill,” Marco said.

Marco pulled the trigger.

The gunshot echoed like thunder in the enclosed library. Dominic slumped forward, dead before he touched the carpet.

Vivian let out a piercing shriek of horror. Sofia scrambled back, her hands shaking, her chest heaving as she stared at Dominic’s lifeless body.

Marco lowered his weapon and turned to Vivian.

“Luca!” Marco called out.

The reinforced doors of the library burst open. Luca and four heavily armed Bellini soldiers rushed in, their rifles raised. When they saw Dominic on the floor and Vivian restrained, Luca lowered his weapon and let out a long breath.

“The perimeter is secured, Boss,” Luca reported. “The Moretti strike team has been eliminated. Three survivors in custody.”

Marco pointed his gun at Vivian, who was sobbing hysterically on the floor.

“Take her to the federal prosecutor’s office in Brooklyn,” Marco commanded coldly. “Drop her on the steps with the encrypted flash drives from the server room. Let the feds dismantle the Russo family piece by piece. She isn't worth my bullets.”

“Understood, Boss,” Luca said, hauling Vivian to her feet. She wept and begged, but the guards dragged her out into the corridor without a word.

The library fell silent once more.

Marco stood amidst the shattered glass, the scent of spilled scotch, and the smoke of gunfire. He swayed slightly, the adrenaline finally wearing off, his hand reaching for the bookshelf to steady himself.

Sofia rushed to his side, catching his arm.

“Mr. Bellini,” she said softly, supporting his weight. “Sit down. Please.”

Marco looked down at her. In the dim light, he saw the faint scratch on her cheek from Vivian’s nails, the dust on her uniform, and the fierce, unbreakable spirit in her dark eyes.

“You didn't run,” Marco murmured.

“Neither did you,” she replied with a faint, tired smile.

Marco allowed himself to lean against her as he sank into an armchair. He looked at the woman who had saved his life twice in a single night.

“Tomorrow, we meet the Council of Five,” Marco said quietly. “The Morettis think I’m blind, weak, and out of options. They think the Bellinis are finished.”