Glass shattered across the hardwood floor as three men in tactical black gear and face masks burst into the living room, automatic submachine guns raised.

"ALESSANDRO MORETTI!" a loud voice shouted through the dust.

In less than half a second, Alessandro’s gentle demeanor vanished, replaced by the terrifying, lethal speed of a seasoned predator.

He grabbed Elena around the waist, throwing her down behind the heavy marble kitchen island just as a hail of bullets tore through the dining table, shattering plates and wall mirrors into thousands of flying shards.

"STAY DOWN!" Alessandro roared, pulling his dark steel pistol from his shoulder holster under his navy suit jacket.

From the hallway, the sound of Alessandro’s two personal guards firing back echoed through the apartment, followed by shouts, heavy thuds, and the unmistakable sound of men falling.

"New York," Alessandro spat, his eyes burning with lethal fury as he checked his magazine. "Marco’s allies coming to finish his contract."

Elena lay flat against the marble tile, her heart hammering wildly, her thoughts instantly turning to her daughter sleeping in the back bedroom. "MILA!"

"I've got you," Alessandro said, leaning over the island and firing three quick, precise shots.

A scream echoed from the living room as one of the masked gunmen dropped to the floor, his weapon clattering across the wood.

Alessandro didn't wait. He moved around the marble counter like a ghost, his gun barking two more times. A second gunman collapsed into the hallway wall, dead before he hit the rug.

The third gunman, realizing he was outmatched, threw a heavy flashbang grenade into the kitchen before diving out toward the stairwell door.

BANG!

A blinding white light and a deafening explosion ripped through the room.

Elena gasped, her ears ringing violently, her vision swimming in white spots.

When the smoke cleared ten seconds later, Alessandro was standing over the stairwell door, his pistol pointed down into the dark, his suit covered in white drywall dust.

He turned back to the kitchen, his dark gray eyes searching frantically until they locked onto Elena.

"Elena!" he yelled, dropping to his knees beside her, taking her face in his trembling hands. "Are you hit? Look at me! Are you hurt?"

"Mila..." Elena choked out, pushing herself up despite the dizzying ringing in her ears.

They rushed down the hallway together into the back bedroom.

Mila was sitting in the center of her small bed, clutching her music box to her chest, her eyes wide with terror, but completely unhurt. The heavy oak door had blocked the stray bullets and blast wave.

"Mama!" Mila sobbed, reaching out her small arms.

Elena threw herself onto the bed, wrapping her daughter in a tight, desperate embrace, tears pouring down her cheeks. "I’m here, sweetie. I’m here. You're safe."

Alessandro stood in the doorway, watching them. His face was a terrifying mask of absolute, unyielding rage.

He looked down at his gun, then at the blood-stained hallway, and finally at the terrified mother and child huddled on the bed.

He knew that as long as New York believed they could strike at him, Elena and Mila would never be truly safe.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, dialing Matteo.

"Matteo," Alessandro said, his voice flat, emotionless, and colder than ice. "Mobilize the entire North End. Call my brother in Chicago. Tell him to bring sixty men."

Alessandro looked at Elena, his gray eyes burning with a fierce, absolute promise.

"We are going to New York."