Rain hammered the windows of my estate that night, but inside the West Wing, no one dared make a sound.

Two weeks passed.

The estate changed in ways that left my men utterly bewildered.

The terrifying silence that had once governed the halls of the Moretti mansion was frequently broken by the patter of tiny feet and the sound of children's songs coming from the sunroom. Mia had decided that my grand library was the best place for indoor hide-and-seek, and more than once, brutal syndicate captains arriving to deliver extortion kickbacks found Chicago’s supreme crime lord sitting on a velvet sofa while a toddler braided his hair with pink plastic clips.

None of them dared utter a single word.

As for Elena, the gaunt, hunted look in her face began to fade. Good food, peaceful sleep, and safety brought the roses back to her cheeks. She was stunning—not in the fake, manufactured way of the socialites who threw themselves at my feet at charity galas, but with a fierce, quiet grace that commanded respect.

Whenever I entered a room, she would offer a soft, genuine smile that hit my chest harder than any bullet ever had.

I was falling for her. A ruthless killer who had spent thirty-four years locked in an emotional freezer was thawing under the light of a runaway maid and her fearless little girl.

Then the storm broke.

It happened on a Tuesday night. I was in the middle of a phone call with the New York commission when the alarms began to howl.

*Red Protocol.*

Gunfire erupted from the southern gate—rapid, chaotic, the unmistakable sound of modified automatic rifles.

I slammed the phone down, pulled my custom Kimber .45 from the holster beneath my arm, and stormed out into the corridor.

"Salvatore!" I roared.

The butler appeared from around the corner, holding a Remington 12-gauge shotgun. "Sir! A convoy of three black SUVs just rammed through the outer perimeter checkpoint! They hit the guards with flashbangs!"

"Where are Elena and Mia?"

"In the conservatory! The guards are falling back to the inner foyer!"

I didn't wait for another word. I sprinted toward the conservatory, my heart hammering against my ribs with a ferocity I hadn't felt in a decade.

When I kicked open the heavy glass doors of the greenhouse, I found Elena huddled behind a stone planter, her body entirely draped over Mia. Mia was crying, terrified by the thunderous boom of explosions echoing from the courtyard.

Elena looked up, her face white as snow, clutching an iron garden trowel like a dagger. When she saw me, her breath gave out in a broken sob. "Adrien!"

"Stay down!" I commanded.

At that moment, the glass ceiling of the conservatory shattered.

Two men in black tactical gear dropped through the opening, landing hard on the tiled floor with ropes. They raised their submachine guns, sweeping the room.

Before the first gunman could acquire his target, I fired three rounds into his chest. The Kevlar stopped the first two, but the third ripped through his throat. He crumpled into the ferns, gargling blood.

The second man swung his weapon toward Elena.

I didn't think. I threw my entire body across the intervening space, tackling him to the floor just as a burst of 9mm rounds chewed through the stone planter where Elena was hiding.

We slammed into the marble edge of a fountain. He was heavy, smelling of sweat and stale smoke, but rage gave me inhuman strength. I grabbed his helmet, slammed his head against the stone edge until the visor cracked, then drove my combat knife deep into his shoulder, pinning him to the ground.

"Who sent you?" I hissed into his ear, my blade twisting just enough to make him scream.

"Vance!" the man spat, blood bubbling between his teeth. "Marcus sold the contract to the Castellanos! They helped us bypass your gate sensors! He’s coming for the bitch!"

I drew the knife back and struck his jaw with the heavy steel pommel, knocking him unconscious.

I rose, my hands and shirt drenched in crimson.

Elena was staring at me, shaking violently, her eyes huge. Mia was screaming in her arms.

I looked down at the blood on my hands, suddenly terrified. This was what I was. A monster. A dealer of gore and death. Now they were seeing the reality of Adrien Moretti, and the illusion of safety was gone.

"Elena," I panted, stepping back so my filth wouldn't touch her. "Get behind the safe room door. I will handle this."

Instead of cowering, instead of screaming in horror at the carnage I had wrought, Elena stood up.

She set Mia down behind the solid stone column, took three swift strides across the blood-splattered tiles, and threw her arms around my neck.

Her small body pressed against my chest. Her fingers tangled into my hair. She buried her face against my bloodstained collar, weeping with pure, unadulterated relief.

"You saved us," she whispered, her voice vibrating against my skin. "You came for us."

I stood paralyzed for one heartbeat, then two.

Then, slowly, my arms wrapped around her waist, holding her so tightly that not even the thunder of the ongoing gunfight outside could penetrate the space between us.