"The morning I collapsed beside Adrian Moretti’s grave at Saint Gabriel Cemetery, I pressed my hand against his name and finally whispered that I had loved him. My wedding dress dragged through the dirt as I begged a dead man to forgive me. Then I heard a shoe scrape against the stone behind the mausoleum. I turned, but whoever had been watching me disappeared before I could see his face. Hours later, I discovered something inside the flowers on Adrian’s grave that could only have come from him. And there would be no coming back from it.

The upper-floor grand courtroom of the federal courthouse was bathed in the harsh, blue-white light of emergency generators.

Daniel Hart stood behind the mahogany prosecutor's podium, looking down at Elena, who sat once again at the defense table, flanked by two armed guards. The courtroom doors were locked, and the building-wide lockdown alarm wailed in the background, signaling an active security breach.

“Your little rescue mission is falling apart, Elena,” Daniel said, glancing nervously toward the heavy oak double doors as the distant sound of muffled gunfire echoed up the stairwell. “Luca’s men are clearing the lower floors. If you sign this cooperation agreement right now attesting that Adrian forced you from the cathedral at gunpoint, I can guarantee your safety in witness protection before they reach this floor.”

Elena looked up at Daniel, her eyes blazing with an absolute, fearless contempt.

“You sold your badge to a monster, Daniel,” Elena said clearly. “And you think you’re going to walk away clean? Luca doesn't leave loose ends. The moment he takes this building, you’re just another body on his ledger.”

Before Daniel could answer, the massive oak doors of the courtroom didn't just open—they exploded inward.

Splintered wood and brass hinges flew across the carpeted aisle as a flashbang grenade detonated inside the chamber, filling the room with blinding white light and a deafening roar.

Guards shouted, scrambling for cover.

Through the thick, rolling smoke, three figures advanced.

At the lead was Adrian Moretti. He moved with terrifying, fluid speed, wearing a tactical vest over a dark shirt, his pistol raised and tracking every corner of the room. Behind him, Marcus and Silas covered the flanks, neutralizing the courthouse guards with non-lethal suppressive fire before they could raise their rifles.

Daniel panicked, scrambling backward away from the podium, his hand diving into his coat for a concealed sidearm. “Stay back! I’m a federal prosecutor! You can't—”

Adrian didn't hesitate. He crossed the courtroom in three long strides, slammed his hand against Daniel’s chest, and drove the prosecutor hard against the oak wall, pressing the cold barrel of his pistol directly beneath Daniel’s chin.

“You threatened the wrong woman, counselor,” Adrian whispered, his voice shaking with a rage so intense it made the air around them feel ice-cold.

“Adrian!” Elena cried out, rushing past the defense table and grabbing his arm. “Don't. Don’t stain your hands with him. It’s not worth it.”

Adrian looked down at Elena. The fierce, killing rage in his eyes softened the moment he saw her face—untouched, safe, and standing right beside him.

He lowered his weapon an inch, staring coldly at Daniel, who was gasping for air against the wood paneling.

“If I ever see you near her again,” Adrian hissed into Daniel’s ear, “court orders won't save you. Federal marshals won't save you. I will.”

He shoved Daniel away, sending the prosecutor collapsing onto the floor in a heap of pure terror.

Suddenly, the side doors leading to the judges' chambers burst open.

Luca Moretti stood in the doorway, flanked by two heavily armed mercenaries carrying assault rifles. Luca’s hair was disheveled, his eyes wild and desperate, a cruel grin twisting his features.

“Well, well, well,” Luca laughed, raising his rifle toward Adrian. “Family reunion in federal court. How poetic. Too bad only one of us gets to walk out of here alive, big brother.”

Adrian pushed Elena behind his shoulder, stepping out into the open aisle. He didn't flinch. He didn't raise his hands.

“You always did love a grand audience, Luca,” Adrian said smoothly. “Too bad you forgot to check your own rear flank.”

Luca’s smile faltered.

From the shadows of the jury box behind Luca, Silas stepped out silently, the barrel of a heavy-caliber shotgun pressed squarely against the back of Luca’s right shoulder.

“Drop the rifle, Luca,” Silas commanded, his voice cold as winter stone. “Or I scatter your spine across the jury benches.”