At my husband's birthday party, he had me hung from a ceiling beam and whipped 30 times for staining his mistress's $30,000 dress. His family laughed and filmed my humiliation, never imagining that one phone call to my five feared brothers would put their entire empire in danger.

The private estate had three layers of security: reinforced motorized gates, a biometric checkpoint, and an eight-foot wrought-iron perimeter fence.

None of it mattered.

A heavy, matte-black armored vehicle smashed directly through the center of the outer gates without slowing down. It was followed by five identical black SUVs, their engines humming with low, terrifying horsepower.

The security guards hired by Adrian did not draw their batons. They stood by the edge of the manicured lawn, their hands raised openly above their heads, tossing their radios onto the grass. They were professionals; they knew the insignias painted on the sides of the lead vehicle. It was the crest of *Aegis-Moretti Security*, the largest private defense contractor in the Northeast corridor.

The front doors of Vale Manor were not knocked on.

They were kicked open with a single, thunderous crash that shattered the lock casing, sending oak splinters flying across the foyer.

Vanessa shrieked, ducking behind Adrian. Marcus shrank into the corner of the sofa, clutching his tablet like a shield. Adrian pulled a silver decorative pistol from the drawer of the sideboard, his hand shaking so violently the barrel tapped against the mahogany.

"Stand back!" Adrian yelled toward the hallway. "I have a right to defend my home! I will shoot!"

Matteo Moretti stepped into the conservatory first.

He didn't bother drawing a weapon. He wore a fitted tactical vest over a black sweater, his shoulders filling the doorway. Behind him walked Marco, rolling up the sleeves of his blue dress shirt, followed by Leo, who was calmly tucking a gold fountain pen into his coat pocket.

And behind them came Luca.

Luca did not look at Adrian. He did not look at the gun pointed at his chest. His eyes swept across the room until they landed on me.

He saw the pale cast of my skin, the stiffness in my shoulders, and the faint dark outline where blood had seeped through the back of my black turtleneck.

His eyes darkened into a shade of black that chilled the entire room.

"Anna," Luca said gently.

"I'm here, Luca," I replied.

"Did you take your medication this morning?"

"I didn't have any."

Luca nodded once to Marco. "Take our sister to the medical transport. Dr. Rossi is waiting in the third vehicle."

Marco stepped forward immediately, placing a warm, protective arm around my waist, guiding me away from the table. As I passed him, his jaw was clenched so hard the muscles in his cheek twitched.

"Don't touch her!" Adrian shouted, aiming the silver pistol directly at Marco’s head. "She's my wife! This is my estate!"

Matteo closed the distance in two strides.

He didn't fire a shot. With a motion so fast it looked like a blur, Matteo caught Adrian’s wrist, twisted it inward until the bone audibly cracked, and stripped the pistol from his fingers. Adrian dropped to his knees with a high-pitched scream of agony, clutching his shattered wrist against his chest.

Matteo tossed the pistol onto the breakfast table, where it landed directly in Vanessa’s bowl of strawberries.