Part 2: I never told my Mafia ex-husband about my triplets. Then one of my sons pointed at him across a Manhattan ballroom and asked, “Is that our dad?”

The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly.

The vulnerability on Gabriel’s face vanished, replaced by the lethal, calculating predator that ruled New York's underworld.

“Lock down the service elevators,” Gabriel ordered into his lapel mic. “Prepare the tactical route through the sub-basement. No one leaves this penthouse alive if they don't have our crest on their collar.”

He turned back to us. My heart was in my throat. “Gabriel... who is Vincente Rossi?”

“Serena’s father. The head of the rival faction I crushed three years ago,” Gabriel said calmly, walking to an ornate wooden panel on the wall. He pressed his thumb against a concealed scanner. The wall parted, revealing a fortified gun safe. He pulled out a black semi-automatic pistol, checked the chamber with practiced efficiency, and clicked the safety off.

Liam gasped. “Mommy, that man has a toy!”

“It’s not a toy, Liam,” Gabriel said, his voice dropping into an impossibly soft, gentle cadence as he turned back to the boys. He slid the weapon into the shoulder holster beneath his vest and buttoned his jacket over it.

He walked over to the couch, kneeling once more before his sons.

“Listen to me, little men,” Gabriel said, looking directly into Liam’s eyes, then Noah’s, then Caleb’s. “Some noisy neighbors are coming upstairs to make a mess. I need you to be brave soldiers. Can you do that for your mom?”

Noah puffed out his tiny chest. “I’m five. I’m big.”

“You are very big,” Gabriel smiled softly, brushing a stray lock of dark hair from Noah’s forehead. “And you have my jawline, kiddo. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the penthouse shuddered under a tremendous impact.

*BANG.*

The glass windows overlooking Manhattan rattled in their frames. Caleb let out a terrified shriek and buried his head in my lap.

“Claire, take them behind the panic wall. Now!” Gabriel commanded, pointing toward a reinforced steel doorway behind his bookshelf.

“Gabriel, what about you?” I cried out, terror gripping me. Five years of anger had evaporated in thirty minutes, leaving only the horrifying realization that the father of my children was about to engage in a war right before my eyes.

Gabriel grabbed my face between his large, calloused hands. His thumb wiped away a tear on my cheek, and for a fleeting, breathless second, he pressed his lips against mine.

It was fire and memory, pain and promise, all colliding in an instant.

“I didn't lose you five years ago just to let you die tonight,” he whispered against my lips. “Get inside. I’ll come back for you.”