The moment I tapped four times against the marble floor, New York’s most feared mafia boss ordered his men to lock down the ballroom.

“They’re heading for the subterranean server room,” Dante said, his voice dropping into an icy command tone as he drew his Sig Sauer pistol with practiced fluidity. He turned to his chief of security. “Seal all internal blast doors. Route power to sector four and cut the ventilation shafts. Let’s smoke them out.”

“Dante, Danny and Luca are still in the medical wing,” I said, panic flaring in my chest as I grabbed his sleeve. “If they cut the ventilation—”

“Sector four is isolated from the medical wing by three feet of reinforced concrete,” Dante interrupted, placing a firm, reassuring hand on my shoulder. “They won't reach the children. But I need you to stay in this room, Sophie. Lock the blast door behind me.”

“No,” I said, stepping back and squaring my shoulders. I remembered the cold gravel of the rail yard, the terrifying moments at the Pierre Hotel, and the resilience that had kept my brother alive through years of darkness. “I’m not hiding anymore, Dante. My father’s work is on those servers. My family’s name is tied to this mess. I’m going with you.”

Dante stared at me for a long, silent moment. A flicker of hesitation crossed his stern features, quickly replaced by a grim, fierce respect. He nodded once.

“Stay directly behind my right shoulder,” he ordered. “If I tell you to drop, you drop.”

We moved out into the dim, amber-lit corridors of the estate. The automated emergency lighting cast long, dancing shadows across the stone walls as the distant hum of the estate’s secondary generators vibrated beneath our feet. Every footstep echoed with the crisp tension of impending violence.

As we reached the intersection leading down to the subterranean server room, the lights flickered and died completely. Total darkness enveloped us for two agonizing seconds before the emergency red backup strips illuminated the floor with a crimson glow.

*Bang.*

A silenced gunshot cracked through the stairwell ahead, sending a lead slug ricocheting off the stone wall inches from Dante’s head.

Dante didn’t hesitate. He pivoted around the corner, his pistol raised, firing two rapid shots into the shadows below. A heavy thud echoed up the concrete steps as an operative in black tactical gear tumbled backward, his weapon clattering against the steps.

“Two more ahead!” a voice shouted from the darkness near the server room doors.

Dante pulled me down behind a thick marble pillar just as a volley of automatic gunfire chewed into the stone facade, sending white dust and marble chips raining down over our hair and shoulders.

“Sophie, listen to me,” Dante whispered fiercely, his face inches from mine in the crimson emergency light. “When I count to three, I’m going to draw their fire to the left corridor. You take the service bypass key from my coat pocket and unlock the server room override panel. If they wipe those drives, your father’s truth dies with them.”

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I looked at his steady, unyielding eyes, and all my fear melted away into absolute resolve.

“One,” Dante whispered.

My hand slipped into his heavy coat pocket, my fingers brushing against the cold steel key.

“Two.”

Dante shifted his weight, his finger tightening on the trigger of his pistol.