Seven months pregnant, exhausted, and hiding from the most dangerous man I had ever loved, I thought I had finally disappeared from Dante Moretti’s world. Then the mafia boss walked into the small diner where I worked, saw my swollen belly, and realized the secret I had spent seven months protecting was no longer hidden.

The gunfire started at three in the morning.

It began not outside the estate, but within the walls.

The muffled pop-pop-pop of suppressed weapons echoed up the marble stairwell, followed by the shattering of glass in the downstairs conservatory. The heavy emergency lights throughout the estate flickered to life, bathing the master suite in an eerie, pulsing crimson glow.

I bolted upright in bed, my heart slamming violently against my ribs.

The heavy oak doors swung open, and Marco entered, an automatic rifle gripped in his hands, blood splattered across his cheek.

“Mrs. Moretti! Out of bed, now!” he barked, his eyes darting toward the hallway.

“What’s happening? Where is Dante?” I cried, struggling to untangle myself from the sheets, my swollen belly making fast movements agonizing.

“The docks were a diversion!” Marco cursed, rushing across the room to grab an emergency coat from the closet, throwing it over my shoulders. “Matteo paid off two of our interior security team. They disabled the motion sensors in the east garden. His strike team is inside the house!”

A loud explosion rocked the lower floor, sending plaster raining from the ornate ceiling. The concussive blast rattled the windowpanes.

“We need to get you to the panic room in the sub-basement,” Marco said, gripping my arm and hauling me toward the service corridor behind the closet.

Every step sent shooting pains through my lower back. My water hadn't broken, but the sheer panic surging through my veins had triggered intense, rhythmic contractions. I doubled over, gasping for air, clutching the wall.

“Sophia, you have to move!” Marco urged, his weapon raised, sweeping the dark narrow staircase leading down to the foundation.

We made it down two flights before the steel door at the base of the stairs blew inward with a deafening roar.

The shockwave knocked Marco off his feet, sending him crashing against the concrete wall. Through the smoke and dust stepped three men in black tactical gear, followed by a man wearing an expensive camel-hair coat over an open silk shirt.

Matteo Moretti.

His handsome face was twisted into a triumphant, psychotic grin as he stepped over the twisted metal door.

“Well, well,” Matteo sneered, drawing a silver revolver from his waistband. “Look what the cat dragged down to the basement. The little runaway waitress.”

Marco groaned on the floor, trying to bring his rifle up, but Matteo didn't even look at him. He pulled the trigger twice with casual precision.

The gunshots in the enclosed stairwell were deafening. Marco’s body jerked and fell still.

“No!” I screamed, pressing my back against the cold concrete, my hands shielding my stomach. “Marco!”

“Don’t worry about him, sweetheart,” Matteo laughed, stepping forward, his shoes splashing through Marco’s blood. He reached out, his leather-gloved fingers wrapping around my hair, wrenching my head back so I was forced to look into his dead, soulless eyes. “You’ve caused a lot of trouble, Sophia. Dante spent eighty million dollars looking for you. He burned down three of my shell companies trying to keep your little secret safe.”

He raised the barrel of the revolver, pressing the freezing steel directly against my temple.

“Where is he?” I spat, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me beg. “He’s coming for you. And he will tear your skin from your bones.”

Matteo’s grin faltered, replaced by an ugly scowl. “Dante is twenty miles away, chasing shadows at the harbor. By the time he gets back, I’ll be running the commission. And you...” His gaze dropped down to my belly, his eyes narrowing with pure malice. “You and Dante’s bastard will be floating in the river.”

A sharp, searing pain tore through my pelvic floor. I gasped, dropping to my knees as fluid suddenly gushed down my legs, soaking my slippers.

My water had broken.

Matteo scoffed, raising his boot to kick me. “Disgusting.”

He never finished the movement.

A single, thunderous gunshot roared through the corridor. The side of Matteo’s neck exploded in a fountain of crimson.

His eyes bugged out in shock. He dropped the gun, his hands clutching desperately at the ruined artery in his throat as he stumbled backward, gurgling on his own blood.