I walked into my mafia boss husband’s penthouse with our baby’s first ultrasound, only to find him kissing his secretary—and eleven days later, he discovered the one secret that could destroy his entire empire.

The clock on the cedar mantel chimed 3:00 AM.

The cabin had grown cold. I had built up the fire in the hearth, and Lorenzo was asleep on the sofa, covered by a thick wool quilt. The heavy dose of antibiotics and pain medication I had given him had finally dragged him into an exhausted slumber, though his brow remained furrowed, his hand instinctively resting over the ultrasound tucked securely inside his breast pocket.

I sat in the armchair across from him, holding a fresh mug of chamomile tea, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest.

For the first time, I allowed myself to see him not as an untouchable titan or a cruel betrayer, but as a wounded man fighting for his soul. Perhaps, in time, when the babies grew old enough to ask about their father, there would be a real family waiting for them. Not an empire. Just a family.

Suddenly, a tiny red dot appeared on the whitewashed wall behind Lorenzo’s head.

My breath froze in my throat.

The laser dot danced across the plaster, drifted down the curve of the armchair, and settled directly over Lorenzo’s bandaged chest.

A sniper.

Before I could scream, the living room window exploded into a million shards of glittering glass.

"Lorenzo! Down!" I shrieked, dropping my mug and lunging forward.

Lorenzo’s eyes snapped open with unnatural speed. In a fraction of a second, his survival instincts took over. He didn't reach for a gun; he reached for me. He threw his entire weight across my body, pulling me down behind the thick fieldstone hearth just as a high-caliber round tore through the sofa where his head had rested seconds earlier.

The deafening crack of a sniper rifle echoed across the bay, followed immediately by the roar of heavy V8 engines tearing up the gravel driveway outside.

Tires screeched. Men were shouting in rapid Italian—accents that didn't belong to New York, and didn't belong to the Marcones.

"The Camorra," Lorenzo snarled against my hair, his voice laced with pure fury and horror. "The Naples syndicate. Salvatore had an insurance policy with the Old World."

Outside, a grenade bounced off the wooden porch deck.

*Clink. Clink. Roll.*

Lorenzo looked at me, his eyes burning with an incandescent, terrifying devotion. "Isabella... whatever happens next, remember that I love you. Protect our children."

"Lorenzo, no!" I screamed.

He didn't listen. Lorenzo lunged outward, kicking the burning cedar coffee table over the threshold to block the blast just as the explosive detonated, turning the entire front of the cabin into a blinding wall of fire and flying timber.

Through the smoke and ringing silence, the heavy wooden back door was kicked off its hinges.

Three silhouettes in black tactical gear emerged through the haze, their laser sights cutting through the smoke directly toward where I lay trapped beneath the burning timbers.