“Mommy, it’s dark,” Mia whispered, her small fingers tightening around the hem of my shirt.

I knelt down, pulling her into a tight embrace, keeping the Glock concealed behind my back. “I know, sweetie. Just stay right here behind this desk, keep your eyes closed, and count to one hundred. Don't open them until I tell you to. Understand?”

Mia nodded bravely, squeezing her eyes shut.

On the central monitor, the live camera feed showed the east courtyard bathed in the harsh glare of security floodlights. Six men dressed in tactical black gear, faces covered in balaclavas and carrying suppressed submachine guns, were moving methodically toward the French doors of the ground-floor parlor.

And standing right in the center of the courtyard, alone and unarmed in appearance, was Adrian Kane.

He didn't wear his suit jacket anymore; he wore a dark charcoal vest over a fitted black shirt, his sleeves rolled up, looking every bit the ruthless mob capo who had conquered the five families before he turned thirty.

“Mr. Kane!” one of the intruders shouted in broken English, stepping forward with his rifle raised. “The boss sends his regards! Hand over the girl and the woman, and we leave your mansion standing!”

Adrian stood casually with his hands resting in his pockets, his posture completely relaxed.

“Viktor always sends his errand boys when he’s too cowardly to do his own dirty work,” Adrian’s voice carried clearly through the intercom speaker in the bunker. “Tell me, does he still hide behind his bodyguards in Brighton Beach, or did he finally grow a spine?”

The lead gunman raised his weapon, furious. “Kill him! Tear the place apart!”

What happened next was a blur of lethal, calculated violence.

Before the first gunman could squeeze his trigger, Adrian moved with terrifying speed. He drew his Sig Nexter, firing twice with deadly precision. The lead gunman dropped instantly.

At the same time, Marcus and three of Adrian’s elite enforcers burst from the shadows of the side colonnade, returning heavy suppressing fire. Glass shattered, plaster flew, and the courtyard erupted into the deafening roar of automatic gunfire.

I watched the monitors, my heart in my throat, my finger resting nervously against the trigger of the Glock.

Two intruders managed to breach the glass doors, slipping inside the ground-floor parlor—directly on the path toward the private study staircase leading down to the bunker.

Clack.

The sound of heavy boots echoing on the marble floor outside the bunker’s hidden entrance made my blood run cold.

They were outside.

“Mia,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “Stay down.”

I crept away from the desk, pressing my back against the reinforced concrete wall beside the hidden bookshelf door. My palms were slick with sweat. The footsteps grew louder—heavy, purposeful, coming straight for the wall panel.

The bookshelf clicked and swung inward.

A man in black tactical gear stepped into the dim light of the bunker, his rifle raised and scanning the room.

My breath caught. My training took over.

Before he could spot Mia huddled behind the desk, I stepped out from the shadows, leveled the Glock with both hands, and pulled the trigger.

Bang.

The deafening report of the gun inside the small steel room made my ears ring. The intruder staggered backward, dropping his rifle, and collapsed onto the floor.

I stood there, trembling violently, the smoking weapon heavy in my hand.

A small, terrified gasp came from behind the desk.

“Mommy?” Mia whimpered, peeking out with wide, tear-filled eyes.

I dropped the gun, rushed over, and swept her into my arms, burying my face in her hair. “I’m here, baby. I’m right here. You’re safe.”

The heavy steel door of the bunker swung wide open a moment later.

Adrian strode in, his gun still drawn, his chest heaving slightly from adrenaline. His eyes scanned the room instantly, landing on the fallen intruder, then on me, and finally on Mia sobbing softly in my arms.

In two long strides, he crossed the room. He holstered his weapon, knelt beside us, and gently placed a warm, steady hand on my shoulder.

“Are you hurt?” Adrian demanded, his voice thick with an urgency I had never heard before.

“No,” I choked out, a sob breaking free. “I... I had to shoot him, Adrian. He was coming toward her.”

Adrian didn't look at the body. He looked directly into my eyes, his expression softening into something raw, fierce, and entirely devoted. He reached out, his thumb gently wiping away a streak of soot and a tear from my cheek.

“You protected my family,” Adrian murmured, the words wrapping around my shattered nerves like a warm blanket.

My family.

Before I could process the intoxicating weight of those two words, Marcus appeared in the doorway, his face grim.

“Boss,” Marcus reported. “We cleared the courtyard. Four captured, two neutralized. But we intercepted a radio transmission from Viktor Ivanov himself. He says if we don't hand over Elena and Mia by midnight at City Hall Plaza, he’s going to release every compromising financial document the syndicate has on federal prosecutors across the state—and blow up our primary shipping terminal.”

Adrian stood up slowly. The gentle warmth in his eyes evaporated instantly, replaced by a cold, murderous fury that burned brighter than a blowtorch.

“Tell Viktor,” Adrian whispered, his voice dropping into a register of pure, unadulterated death, “that I’m coming for him. And I’m bringing my new family with me.”