At 11:47 on the coldest night Chicago had seen in twelve years, Emily Parker found two little girls dying behind a dumpster—and twenty minutes later, she was on her knees with a gun pointed at her face.

"Get to the panic room!" Dominic ordered, his voice cutting through the blaring red emergency lights that had begun pulsing along the baseboards.

Tactical guards were sprint-running through the grand corridors, racking their submachine guns as heavy explosions rocked the courtyard outside.

BOOM!

The floor beneath their feet shook violently. Glass shattered on the lower level.

"What about Lily and Grace?!" Emily yelled over the roar of gunfire!

"Where do you think I'm taking you?!" Dominic barked.

They sprinted down the private service corridor toward the medical wing. Dominic kicked open the door to Grace’s room.

Lily and Grace were huddled under the bed, screaming in terror as the red lights flashed.

"Daddy!" Lily cried out.

Dominic pulled the heavy oak wardrobe away from the wall with effortless strength, revealing a solid steel door set into the reinforced concrete foundation. He tapped a complex eight-digit code into the biometric keypad and pressed his palm against the scanner.

The heavy steel door hissed open, revealing a luxurious, fully stocked underground bunker with private monitors, medical supplies, and independent air filtration systems.

"Inside! All three of you! Now!" Dominic commanded.

Emily grabbed the girls, pushing them inside the steel sanctuary. She turned back to look at Dominic, who was standing outside the door, racking the slide of his pistol.

"You’re not coming in?!" Emily gasped, grabbing the edge of the steel doorframe.

"My men are outnumbered, Emily," Dominic said coldly, his eyes locked on the smoke beginning to billow from the main staircase. "If Vance breaches this house, this steel door is your only protection. I am going to end this tonight."

"Dominic, wait!" Emily cried out, reaching for his arm. "They have heavy weapons! You could be killed!"

Dominic looked down at her hand clutching his sleeve. A strange, fierce warmth flashed across his eyes. He reached up, cupping the back of her neck, and pulled her toward him, pressing his lips firmly against hers in a brief, possessive, electrifying kiss.

Emily’s world tilted on its axis. The taste of him—bourbon, iron, and fire—sent a shockwave straight to her heart.

Dominic pulled back, his dark eyes burning into hers. "I don't die easily, sweetheart. Keep my girls safe."

He slammed the manual override button on the outside wall.

The heavy steel door began to slide shut.

"Dominic!" Emily screamed.

THUD.

The door locked with an airtight seal, cutting off all sound from the outside world.

Inside the bunker, the only light came from the surveillance monitors mounted along the wall. Emily ran over to the screens, her heart pounding in her throat.

The security cameras showed a nightmare unfolding on the levels above.

Dozens of heavily armed mercenaries dressed in black tactical gear were surging through the broken glass doors of the grand foyer. Smoke filled the air as flashbangs exploded.

Dominic’s private security team was fighting back fiercely, taking cover behind marble pillars and leather sofas. But the Vance syndicate had brought heavy firepower—automatic shotguns and military-grade rifles.

On the main monitor, Emily saw Dominic step out onto the grand floating staircase.

He moved like a phantom. Armed with two pistols, he moved down the stairs with devastating, mathematical precision. Every shot he fired dropped an attacker. He was an absolute force of nature, driving Vance’s men back toward the courtyard through sheer, unrelenting terror.

"Daddy is fighting the wolves," Lily whispered, standing beside Emily, holding her small hand.

"He’s going to win, Lily," Emily said, though her eyes were glued to the top corner of the monitor screen.

Something was wrong.

On the third camera feed—covering the secondary service entrance behind the garage—a single figure dressed in a tactical suit was moving silently through the shadows.

He wasn't joining the main battle in the foyer. He was carrying an electronic bypass device, heading directly down the basement corridor toward the panic room.

Emily zoomed in on the camera feed.

When the figure turned under the corridor light, her breath caught in her throat.

It was Marcus Reed.

He had a bloody bandage wrapped around his shoulder, his face twisted in a sneer of pure desperation. In his hand, he held a heavy military-grade thermal breaching charge—a device designed to burn through five inches of solid steel in less than sixty seconds.