By midnight, the blizzard had reached its catastrophic zenith. Wind speeds exceeded sixty miles per hour, rattling the bulletproof glass of the fortress like machine-gun fire.

In the master suite, Nora was resting peacefully, wrapped in cashmere blankets, when the power cut out completely. Even the backup generators went dead with a muffled thump that vibrated through the floorboards.

Red emergency strobe lights bathed the corridor in bloody, pulsing illumination.

Gunfire erupted below.

Crack-crack-crack!

The sharp, unmistakable sound of automatic weapons fire tore through the lower levels. Nora bolted upright, gasping as a sharp pain lanced through her lower stomach.

The bedroom door burst open. Giovanni Moretti stepped in, carrying a vintage nickel-plated Colt .45 in his right hand. He was wearing an embroidered silk robe, his eyes gleaming with the predatory focus of a wartime commander.

"John!" Nora cried out. "What's happening?"

"A rival crew from New Jersey," Giovanni said calmly, racking the slide of the pistol with a crisp, fluid motion. "They’ve been waiting for Lorenzo to be isolated upstate during a storm. Gable must have leaked our location before she froze to death."

The old man walked over to the bed, gripping Nora’s hand with astonishing strength. "Get up, little girl. We move to the vault room behind the chapel."

Before they could reach the door, heavy footsteps pounded up the private stairwell. Two men in tactical vests, their faces covered in black ski masks, kicked open the mahogany double doors, automatic submachine guns raised.

"Drop the iron, old man!" the lead gunman barked. "Where is Lorenzo?"

Giovanni didn't drop the gun. Instead, he stepped directly in front of Nora, shielding her swollen belly with his own chest.

"You want my son, you gutter scum?" Giovanni spat. "You'll have to crawl over my dead body."

The gunman chuckled, raising his barrel toward Giovanni’s forehead. "Gladly, Don Gio—"

A shadow exploded through the shattered balcony window behind them.

Lorenzo hit the room like an avalanche of pure muscle and fury. He caught the first gunman by the throat, driving a heavy combat knife beneath the man's ribcage with sickening force. Before the second shooter could pivot, Lorenzo grabbed the barrel of the rifle, twisted the man's wrist until the bone snapped, and slammed him face-first into the marble fireplace hearth.

The second intruder went limp, blood pooling on the white stone.

Lorenzo stood in the firelight, his shirt torn, chest heaving, his face spattered with rain and crimson drops. He looked across the room, his eyes scanning wildly until they landed on Nora.

"Are you hurt?" Lorenzo roared, dropping the weapon and crossing the floor in two massive strides.

"I'm okay... I'm okay," Nora sobbed, falling into his arms.

Lorenzo pulled her against his chest, burying his face in her hair, his massive body trembling with an emotion that had nothing to do with adrenaline. "I will burn this entire city to ash before I let anyone touch you," he whispered fiercely against her ear. "Do you hear me? You are safe now."

Over Lorenzo’s shoulder, Giovanni looked at the two of them. A slow, knowing smile touched the old Don’s lips as he lowered the hammer of his revolver.