Part 2: “SHE TRIED TO KILL MY FIANCÉ!” the Mafia boss’s beautiful bride screamed as his 25-year-old maid lay bleeding beside his shattered wheelchair—but one terrified little girl suddenly shouted six words that exposed a horrifying betrayal...

Bottles of rare wine shattered into thousands of explosive shards, showering the floor in deep red liquid that looked horrifyingly like blood. The sharp, alcoholic tang of decades-old vintages mingled with the acrid stench of cordite.

Leo hit the ground, rolling behind an iron vat as bullets chipped chunks of stone from the pillar above his head. He returned fire with sharp, disciplined two-shot bursts, keeping the advancing gunmen pinned behind the iron gate of the secondary barrel vault.

"There are four of them!" Leo shouted over the gunfire. "Heavy body armor! They have the high angle near the loading dock!"

Dante didn't flinch. He crouched beside Elena, reaching into his pocket and pressing a heavy brass key into her trembling hand. "This opens the maintenance tunnel behind the third barrel on the left wall. It leads half a mile out into the drainage canal near the highway. You take Lily and you run."

"No," Elena said immediately, her fingers closing over his. Her knuckles were bruised, her dress stained with dirt and soot, but the fire in her hazel eyes burned brighter than the muzzle flashes. "You're still weak from months of poison, Dante! You took down those men upstairs, but you're running on adrenaline. You can't fight an entire army alone!"

Dante stared at her, caught completely off-guard by the fierce defiance in her voice. For years, people had bowed before him, whispered around him, or plotted in secret to destroy him. Nobody had ever stayed behind to worry about whether he lived or died.

"I am Dante Moretti," he whispered, his eyes blazing in the shadows. "This house is mine. This city is mine. I do not run from rats who scurry into my cellar."

He leaned in, his rough thumb wiping a streak of dust from Elena's cheekbone. His touch lingered for a heartbeat too long, electric and intoxicating amidst the chaos of battle. "Get to the tunnel entrance. Keep the door unlatched for me. If I don't join you in five minutes, seal it from the outside."

Before Elena could protest, Dante broke cover.

He moved with devastating speed, sliding across the slick stone floor wet with spilt wine and shattered glass. A hail of bullets traced his path, chewing into the brickwork behind him, but he was already gone. He vaulted onto the tops of the massive oak aging casks, disappearing into the darkness of the vaulted rafters.

"Where did he go?!" a Russian voice bellowed through the smoke. "Cover the flanks! Don't let him circle around!"

From the shadows above, Dante struck like a vengeance from heaven.

He dropped directly onto the point man, using his full body weight to slam the mercenary into the hard concrete. The man’s rifle flew from his grip as Dante drove an elbow into his temple, neutralizing him instantly. Before the other three could swing their barrels toward the center of the room, Dante grabbed the downed man's discarded assault rifle.

The cellar echoed with controlled, rhythmic thunder.

Dante advanced through the drifting cordite smoke like an unchained demon. Every shot was lethal, deliberate, and merciless. One mercenary collapsed against the brick wall, clutching his chest. Another attempted to retreat toward the loading ramp, but Dante intercepted him with a brutal kick that snapped the man's knee backward, followed by a point-blank round through his tactical plate.

The last surviving operator threw down his weapon, falling to his knees with his hands raised, his eyes wide with sheer, unadulterated terror. He looked at Dante standing in the mist of gunsmoke—tall, towering, drenched in wine that looked like spilled gore, his dark eyes radiating pure death.