Three days after the hospital told me my newborn son was dead, I gathered my family to name my younger brother as heir to everything I owned. Before I could sign the papers, the maid’s eight-year-old daughter walked into the room carrying a crying baby—and the number on his hospital bracelet matched the child I had supposedly buried.

Before dawn broke, the rain intensified, turning the estate’s outer gardens into a mud pit. Inside my office, the atmosphere was tactical.

I had summoned my three most loyal lieutenants: Lorenzo, Marco (who ran our legal and financial operations), and Dominic (the head of our security network). On the desk lay maps of the city, bank statements, and the forged documents Matteo had prepared.

“Don Carmine’s group has taken control of Pier 14,” Marco reported, sliding a tablet toward me showing security footage. “They claim Matteo authorized the transfer of the shipping permits yesterday afternoon.”

“Carmine was waiting for the ink to dry on the heir papers,” Dominic added. “He thought you’d be too paralyzed by grief to fight back.”

“Carmine made a mistake,” I said, closing the tablet. “He assumed my son was dead.”

Suddenly, the house alarm blared. Red emergency lights began flashing across the ceiling panels.

Dominic pulled his weapon instantly, checking his tactical radio. “Security detail on the North Gate is down! We have multiple vehicles breaching the perimeter!”

“Matteo’s outside allies,” Lorenzo muttered, racking his slide. “They’re coming to finish what he started.”

“They think they can catch us unprepared,” I said calmly, reaching into my desk drawer and pulling out my customized Kimber .45 pistol. “Dominic, get Dr. Evans, Teresa, Sophia, and my son into the panic room beneath the library. Lorenzo, take six men to the main hall. We don't let a single enemy cross the threshold.”

I headed straight for the grand staircase.

Outside, heavy SUV headlights cut through the torrential rain. Automatic gunfire shattered the high glass windows of the front entrance, sending sharp shards raining down onto the marble floor.

Rival mercenaries in black tactical gear surged into the foyer, fire flashing from their barrels. But they hadn't expected a fully prepared defense.

Lorenzo’s men opened fire from the upper mezzanine, catching the invaders in a crossfire. The deafening roar of gunshots filled the mansion.

I leaned over the stone balustrade, firing three precise shots that took down the lead mercenary attempting to reach the cellar stairs. They were going for Matteo and Valentina—either to free them or silence them before they could talk.

“Hold the stairs!” I shouted over the noise.

A heavy grenade bounced across the floor, exploding near the entrance archway and throwing dust and debris everywhere. Through the smoke, I saw a tall man wearing a dark trench coat step inside—Don Carmine’s right-hand man, Viktor.

“Moretti!” Viktor bellowed, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. “Give us Matteo and the girl, and we leave the house standing! Carmine only wants the contracts!”

“Tell Carmine he can have his answer in lead!” I yelled back, stepping down the stairs into the open.

Viktor raised his submachine gun, but I was faster. Two rounds caught him in the chest before he could pull the trigger. He crashed backward through the double wooden doors into the muddy driveway.

With their leader down, the remaining mercenaries began to panic. My security team pushed forward, driving them back into the storm. Within ten minutes, the gunfire died down, leaving only the sound of rain and the heavy breathing of my men.

Lorenzo walked over, checking Viktor’s pulse with his boot before looking up at me. “Clear, Boss. They were Carmine’s elite crew.”

“They were desperate,” I corrected him, wiping a smear of soot from my forehead. “Carmine knows if Matteo falls, his leverage over the Moretti family dies with him. He tried to force a takeover tonight.”

“What about the prisoners downstairs?” Lorenzo asked.

“Check on them,” I ordered. “Then prepare the armored cars. We’re going to St. Helena Hospital before Dr. Mercer realizes his hit squad failed.”

I walked up to the panic room. The heavy steel door slid open to reveal Teresa holding my son, wrapped safely in a warm blanket, while little Sophia sat beside them holding a small wooden cross.

My baby boy was fast asleep, completely undisturbed by the battle that had raged above him.

I knelt down beside Sophia and touched her wet hair gently. “You’re safe now, little one. Both of you.”