At 3:16 that Friday, I closed my laptop and reached for the worn leather bag beneath my desk.

By four in the morning, a blinding thunderstorm had rolled over Chicago. Heavy rain lashed against the windows of the armored SUV as Dante and I rode toward the city center, surrounded by a convoy of ten black vehicles.

The children had been placed in the estate’s underground panic room—a subterranean bunker built twenty feet below the concrete foundation, guarded by Silas and twenty elite operatives. Tommy was stable, resting comfortably under the care of Dr. Mercer.

I sat in the back seat beside Dante, wearing a dark tactical jacket he had given me. A sleek 9mm pistol rested in a holster at my hip—Dante had spent thirty minutes teaching me how to clear the safety and fire before we left the house.

“You didn't have to come, Olivia,” Dante said softly, looking at me through the dim interior light of the vehicle.

“Yes, I did,” I said, turning to meet his gaze. “Moretti killed my father. He hunted Ruth until she died. And he tried to poison Tommy. I’m not sitting in a bunker waiting to hear if you lived or died.”

Dante reached across the leather seat and took my hand. His large palm was warm, covering mine completely. The rough bandage on his skin served as a stark reminder of what he had done to protect us just hours ago.

“When this is over,” Dante murmured, his grey eyes searching my face, “you don't have to run at 3:17 anymore. You don't have to use a fake name. You can have a real life.”

“With the kids?” I asked, my voice trembling slightly.

“With the kids,” Dante agreed softly. “And with me. If you’ll let me stay.”

Tears welled in my eyes. I leaned over and pressed my forehead against his shoulder, feeling the solid, unyielding strength of the man who had turned his whole world upside down for six abandoned orphans and the girl who cared for them.

“Boss!” the driver interrupted, his voice tense as he looked at the navigation screen. “We’re two blocks from the West Side rail yards. Secondary sensors indicate multiple vehicles parked inside the main locomotive shed. Lorenzo and Moretti are already inside.”

“Do they know we’re here?” Dante asked, his voice returning to its hard, tactical focus.

“No, sir. We bypassed their outer lookouts using the alley tracks.”

Dante let go of my hand and pulled his heavy weapon from his shoulder harness. He checked the magazine with a sharp clack.

“Listen to me carefully, Olivia,” Dante said, locking his eyes on mine. “You stay in this vehicle with the rear guard until I clear the main building. If anything goes wrong—if you hear three rapid horn blasts from the lead truck—the driver takes you straight to the airport. There’s a private jet waiting with papers for you and the kids to go to Switzerland.”

“No,” I said firmly, grabbing his coat jacket. “I’m not leaving you behind, Dante!”

“You’re not leaving me behind,” Dante said softly, raising his uninjured hand to gently cup my jaw, his thumb brushing across my lip. “You’re protecting our future. Promise me, Olivia.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, nodding reluctantly. “I promise.”