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.

The lights in the main hallway flickered once and died.

Instantly, the estate’s automated backup generators kicked in with a low, distant hum, bathing the grand corridors in a dim, amber emergency glow.

“Stay behind me,” Dante ordered, his hand gripping my wrist with a strength that brooked no argument. He pushed me into a reinforced panic alcove hidden behind a sliding mahogany bookshelf in the study, positioning himself directly in the doorway with his weapon raised.

“What about Luca?” I gasped, panic clawing at my throat.

“Already secured in the subterranean safe room with two of my best men,” Dante replied without taking his eyes off the dark hallway. “Nobody gets to him without going through me first.”

Outside, the heavy thud of an explosion echoed through the stone walls, followed by the shattering of reinforced glass from the ground-floor conservatory. The crisp sound of silenced gunfire cracked through the estate, sharp and terrifyingly close.

I pressed my back against the cold steel wall of the alcove, my hands trembling. This wasn’t just a corporate rivalry or a petty neighborhood dispute. This was an all-out assassination squad sent by Victor Bellucci to wipe out everything connected to the ledger—including me.

“Dante,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the hum of the electronics.

“Quiet,” he hissed back, his finger resting lightly on the trigger of his pistol.

Heavy footfalls echoed on the marble staircase just outside the study. Two men in tactical black gear, their faces obscured by night-vision goggles and balaclavas, rounded the corner. They moved with military precision, weapons raised.

They didn’t even see Dante until it was too late.

Two muffled shots echoed in rapid succession. Both operatives crumpled silently to the floor, motionless.

Dante didn’t hesitate. He stepped out of the alcove, knelt beside one of the fallen men, and stripped a encrypted radio comms unit from his tactical vest, pressing it to his ear.

“Clean up sector four,” Dante spoke into the device, his voice cold and absolute. “Leave one alive for questioning.”

He turned back toward me, stepping over the threshold of the study. His black shirt was dusted with plaster, and a faint streak of blood stained his forearm—not his own, thankfully.

“Are you hit?” I asked, rushing forward before I could stop myself.

Dante looked down at his arm, then back at me. A strange, fleeting softness crossed his fierce features. “It’s just a graze. I’ve had worse from paper cuts.”

“This is insane,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “They tracked us here within twelve hours of the gala. That means someone inside your inner circle tipped them off.”

Dante’s eyes darkened into an abyss. “I know.”

“Who?”

“We’ll find out as soon as my interrogation team finishes with the prisoner downstairs,” Dante said, sliding his pistol back into its holster. He reached out, gently placing a hand on my shoulder. “You saved my son’s life yesterday, Sophie. Now let me protect yours.”

Before I could answer, the security guard rushed back into the study, holding a shattered encrypted drive recovered from the dead operative’s tactical vest.

“Boss,” the guard panted. “We decrypted their comms traffic just as they breached the perimeter. They weren't just looking for the ledger.”

Dante stepped closer. “What were they looking for?”

“A secondary file,” the guard replied, holding out the broken drive. “Stored on a physical drive hidden inside the locket around Miss Vance’s neck.”

I froze. My hand instinctively flew to the small, silver locket resting against my collarbone—a cheap piece of brass my mother had left behind before she disappeared, containing a tiny, faded photograph of Danny and me when we were kids.