They told Dante Cavallaro that Sophie Miller had stolen one hundred thousand dollars from his private safe and disappeared with the one ledger capable of destroying his empire.

The hammer clicked.

Before Vane could pull the trigger, the heavy double doors of the master suite blew inward with a deafening crash.

Rocco didn't come out firing.

Sophie went.

She stood in the doorway, holding Dante's heavy Remington shotgun with both hands braced against her shoulder. Her face was pale, but her eyes were locked onto Silas Vane with the terrifying, cold clarity of a survivor who had nothing left to lose.

“Drop the gun, Vane,” Sophie's voice rang out, steady and clear across the smoke-filled hallway.

Vane modified back, startled. He let out a dry laugh. “Well, well. The little maid learned how to hold a weapon.”

“She's not a maid,” Dante growled from the floor, his muscles tensing for a strike.

Vane started to swing his pistol toward Sophie—

BOOM.

The shotgun blast echoed like thunder through the penthouse. The buckshot caught Vane square in the shoulder, spinning him around and shattering his arm against the marble pillar. His weapon flew from his shattered hand, clattering across the floor.

Vane screamed, collapsing against the wall, clutching his bloody arm as dark red blood poured through his fingers.

Rocco was on him in a second, kicking Vane's legs out from under him and slamming his face into the floor, pressing a heavy boot against his neck.

Dante pushed himself up from the floor, wiping blood from his lip. He walked over to Vane, looking down at the man who had orchestrated Sophie's torture for six months.

Vane coughed up blood, glaring up at Dante. “You think... you win? My men... my council... they'll tear your empire apart....”

“Your empire died the moment you stepped into my tower,” Dante said quietly.

He looked past Vane and saw Sophie standing in the doorway, lowering the heavy shotgun. Her hands were shaking slightly now that the adrenaline was fading, but she was standing tall.

Dante walked over to her. He gently took the shotgun from her hands and set it aside, then reached out, cupping her face in his palms.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice is softer than she had ever heard it.

Sophie shook her head, tears finally spilling over her lashes. “No. I... I couldn't let him kill you.”

Dante pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her honey-blond hair, holding her as if he would never let go.

Behind them, Rocco looked down at Vane. “What do we do with him, boss?”