They tortured me right in front of everyone, laughing as my blood dripped onto the cold concrete, never suspecting that the mere whisper of a single name held the power to reduce their entire empire to ashes.

The quiet lasted less than forty-eight hours.

It happened at three in the morning. A deafening roar shook the foundation of the lake house, blowing the heavy glass balcony doors inward in a shower of glittering crystalline shards.

The blast threw me off the bed and onto the Persian rug. The wail of estate alarms pierced the night, accompanied by the rapid-fire staccato of automatic weapons rattling across the front lawn.

"Breach! South perimeter!" Luca’s voice screamed over the intercom system. "They rammed the gates with a fuel tanker! RPGs on the main entrance!"

Before I could scramble to my feet, strong hands lifted me violently off the floor.

Dante was already fully dressed in tactical gear, an assault rifle slung across his chest and a combat knife sheathed at his hip. He threw an armored Kevlar vest over my head, cinching the velcro straps tight against my aching ribs.

"Ivanov?" I gasped, coughing through the plaster dust filling the bedroom air.

"Viktor sold out to a cartel crew," Dante snarled, checking the chamber of a black semi-automatic pistol before shoving it into my trembling hands. "He knew he was dead anyway. This isn't an extortion; it's a suicide run. He wants to take down the whole house."

"Dante—"

"Listen to me," he said, grabbing the back of my neck and pulling my forehead against his. His obsidian eyes were burning with lethal focus. "Safety is off. Keep your finger off the trigger until you see someone who isn't wearing a Moretti crest on their tactical vest. Aim for center mass. If anyone comes down the hall toward the safe room, you empty the magazine."

"Don't leave me," I pleaded, terror clawing at my throat as another explosion rattled the walls downstairs, followed by the screams of dying men.

"I am clearing the path to the bunker," he promised, kissing my lips hard and fast, tasting of smoke and steel. "Stay behind me. Never stop moving."

He kicked open the heavy oak bedroom door and stepped into the hallway.

Two heavily armed mercenaries in unmarked black combat uniforms rounded the corner at the end of the corridor, weapons raised.

Dante didn’t flinch. He raised his rifle and fired four controlled shots. Both men collapsed instantly, their blood painting the cream-colored wallpaper. Dante moved forward like an unstoppable engine of war, stepping over the bodies without breaking stride.

We reached the central staircase landing when the stained-glass skylight above us shattered.

Ropes dropped through the roof. Three commandos slid down directly into our path, submachine guns blazing. Dante shoved me hard into the alcove of a marble statue, taking two rounds directly to his chest plate. The kinetic force pushed him back, but the ceramic armor held.

He returned fire, dropping two of the invaders in a spray of brass and blood.

The third commando rolled across the hardwood floor, raising his barrel directly at Dante’s exposed neck.

My instincts overtook my fear.

I stepped out from behind the statue, raised the heavy pistol with both shaking hands, and pulled the trigger.

The recoil slammed through my sore wrists, but the bullet found its mark, tearing through the commando’s shoulder and throwing him off balance. That split second was all Dante needed. With a terrifying roar, he closed the distance, grabbed the man by the throat, and broke his neck against the banister.

Dante turned to me, chest heaving, his eyes wide with dark awe.