The first thing Elena Castillo remembered was the smell of lemon polish on her hands.

Vincent panicked.

He didn't fire at Adrian. He knew Adrian’s reaction time. Instead, in a desperate bid for leverage, Vincent whipped his gun back toward the flour bins, aiming directly where Sophia was huddled.

"Adrian, don't move or I blow her head off!" Vincent shrieked.

He never got the chance to pull the trigger.

Elena screamed, throwing herself forward. She swung the heavy cast-iron skillet with everything she had, slamming it directly into Vincent’s injured shoulder.

Vincent roared in agony as the bone fractured anew. The gun fired wildly, the bullet ricocheting off the stainless-steel prep tables with a deafening screech. He stumbled backward, his free hand swinging out and striking Elena across the face, sending her sprawling across the tile floor.

"Mommy!" Sophia shrieked, darting out from behind the bins.

"Sophia, stay back!" Adrian roared.

Vincent raised his weapon once more, leveling it straight at Elena’s chest as she tried to push herself up from the floor. "Die, you miserable bitch—"

Adrian didn't hesitate. He threw his own body across the space, covering Elena with his torso just as Vincent fired.

The bullet grazed Adrian’s shoulder, tearing through the fine fabric of his suit and drawing a bright line of crimson, but the mafia boss didn't even flinch. He absorbed the impact, his jaw locked in cold fury, his dark eyes locking onto his cousin.

"Titan," Adrian commanded in a voice that was terrifyingly quiet. "Finish it."

The Cane Corso didn't bark. He moved like a shadow.

Titan closed the ten-foot gap in a fraction of a second. His jaws clamped around Vincent’s right wrist, crushing the bones with an audible, sickening crunch. Vincent screamed—a high, piercing wail of pure agony—as the gun fell harmlessly to the floor.

Titan drove his weight forward, slamming Vincent flat onto his back, his massive front paws pinning Vincent’s shoulders to the tiles. The dog lowered his dripping fangs to within an inch of Vincent’s throat, his eyes glowing with predatory malice.

"Adrian! Call him off! Please, God, Adrian, call him off!" Vincent wept, his body thrashing uselessly beneath the hundred-and-thirty-pound beast. "We're family! We're Morettis!"

Adrian stood up slowly, helping Elena to her feet with one arm while Sophia threw her small arms around his leg, burying her face into his slacks.

Adrian looked down at the man who shared his blood. There was no rage left in his face. Only complete, absolute disgust.

"A Moretti protects this house," Adrian said coldly. "You brought wolves to our doorstep. You poisoned my scotch. And you pointed a gun at an innocent child."

Adrian bent down, picked up Vincent’s dropped pistol from the floor, and ejected the magazine, pocketing the ammunition before tossing the empty weapon onto Vincent’s chest.

"Dante!" Adrian called out.

The kitchen doors swung open. Dante burst into the room, backed by four heavily armed loyalist guards. Dante took in the scene in half a second—Vincent pinned under the dog, Adrian bleeding from the shoulder, Elena clutching her bruised cheek, and Sophia clinging to Adrian’s leg.

"The perimeter is secure, boss," Dante reported, his chest heaving. "Six mercenaries down. Two captured alive in the courtyard. The New York syndicate backed off the moment the comms went dead."

"Take this trash to the cellar," Adrian said, gesturing toward Vincent. "Strip him of everything. Hand him over to the federal prosecutor on Monday morning with the full financial ledger. Let him spend the next forty years in a federal supermax eating out of a plastic tray."

Vincent’s jaw dropped. "Federal prison? You're giving me to the feds? You'll destroy the family business!"

"The business is changing, Vincent," Adrian said, turning his back on him. "And you won't be around to see it."

Dante grabbed Vincent by the hair, dragging him off the floor as two guards snapped zip-ties around his shattered wrists. Titan let out one final, contemptuous bark as the traitor was hauled out into the hallway, his screams fading down the corridor.

The kitchen fell quiet once more.

Adrian slowly dropped to one knee, ignoring the pain in his grazed shoulder. He looked at Elena, his thumb gently reaching out to touch the faint red bruise blooming across her cheekbone.

"Did he hurt you anywhere else?" Adrian asked, his voice softer than Dante had ever heard it.

"I’m fine," Elena whispered, her voice trembling with emotion as she held Sophia close. "Adrian... you took a bullet for me."

"I took a scratch," Adrian countered, a faint, tired smile touching his lips. "You took a skillet to an armed hitman. I’d say we’re even."

Sophia sniffled, stepping forward and reaching up to touch Adrian’s torn, bloodied sleeve. "You're bleeding, Adrian."

Adrian looked down at the little girl who had walked into his dark, violent life and rewritten every rule he had ever lived by. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the worn, broken blue crayon, and held it out to her.

"Do you think this will fix it?" he asked gently.

Sophia took the crayon, smiled through her tears, and wrapped her small arms tightly around the mafia boss’s neck. Adrian closed his eyes, his powerful arms wrapping around the child, holding her as if she were the only real thing in a world made of smoke and mirrors.