Part 2: The Maid Called the Mafia Boss and Whispered, “Come Home—Your Mother Is Being Hurt”… Then He Claimed Her Before the Entire City

At 2:15 AM, the storm hit.

Thunder shook the sky above the estate, masking the sound of approaching engines. Suddenly, the estate’s outer perimeter lights flickered and died, plunging the five-acre grounds into pitch darkness as the backup generators kicked in with a low, mechanical hum.

Inside the third-floor security hub, Naomi sat beside Isabella, holding the older woman’s hand while watching the mosaic of green-tinted night-vision monitors. Isabella was awake, calm and composed, holding an old silver rosary in her fingers. She had lived through syndicate wars before; she knew fear only served the enemy.

"Camera four is down," Naomi said into her radio headset, spotting a dead feed near the old greenhouse. "Marco, the greenhouse service door. The electric lock was tampered with from the inside—Vivian must have copied the maintenance master card!"

*“Copy that, Miss Carter!”* Marco’s voice crackled through the static. *“Delta team, move to the east wing! Intercept!”*

Muffled gunfire erupted outside, echoing through the heavy walls of the mansion.

Naomi’s heart leapt into her throat, but she kept her eyes glued to the remaining screens. On camera seven, near the grand foyer, Luca appeared on screen. He moved like a shadow—calm, deadly, and precise. With a silenced tactical rifle, he eliminated two heavily armored intruders who had breached the front terrace before they could even level their weapons.

Suddenly, a loud crash reverberated directly above them on the roof.

Isabella squeezed Naomi's hand tightly.

"Roof breach," Naomi whispered into the comms, horror creeping into her veins. "Marco, Luca—they're dropping through the skylight in the west gallery!"

Static hissed through the headset. *“Naomi! The primary stairwell is cut off!”* Luca’s voice broke through, panting slightly amidst the sound of automatic fire. *“Lock the panic room blast doors now! Do not open for anyone but my voice!”*

Before Naomi could hit the emergency lockdown console, the heavy oak doors of the upper hallway burst open.

A tall, broad-shouldered man wearing tactical gear and a ballistic mask strode into the hallway, holding a submachine gun. Behind him, limping and clutching a bruised jaw, was Vincente Valenti himself.

"Where is she?" Vincente roared, his eyes bloodshot and crazed with desperation. "Where is the old woman and her little whore?"

Naomi reacted on pure instinct. She slammed the secondary steel door lever, but Vincente’s mercenary jammed the muzzle of his rifle between the doorframe and the latch, preventing it from sealing completely.

"Back off!" Naomi shouted, drawing the small silver automatic pistol Marco had given her, aiming with both hands just as Luca had shown her in the courtyard earlier that evening.

Vincente laughed, a hollow, lunatic sound. "You think you can shoot me, little girl? Luca took my money, my name, my life! I'm taking his mother, and I'm taking you with me!"

The mercenary shoved the heavy door open with his shoulder, sending Naomi stumbling back. The man reached for Isabella’s wheelchair.

Isabella, with sudden, ferocious strength, grabbed the heavy marble lamp from the side table and smashed it across the mercenary’s face. The man cursed, staggering back as blood poured from his nose.

Vincente lunged forward to grab Isabella by the throat.

*Bang!*

The gunshot was deafening inside the enclosed room.

Naomi stood frozen, the pistol smoking in her trembling hands. The bullet had struck Vincente directly in his right shoulder, spinning him around with a cry of agony.

"You shot me!" Vincente screamed, falling to his knees.

The mercenary recovered and raised his weapon directly at Naomi’s chest. "Die, bitch."

Before he could pull the trigger, a hand like an iron vice reached through the doorway from behind the mercenary, grabbed the back of the man's tactical vest, and threw him twenty feet across the hall into the marble wall with bone-shattering force.

Luca stepped into the room.

His shirt was torn, specks of blood flecked his cheekbone, and his eyes were wild with incandescent fury.

He didn't say a word. He stepped on Vincente’s wounded shoulder, pinning the fallen mob boss to the floor with the heel of his boot. Vincente howled in agonizing pain.