“She Slapped a Pregnant Waitress—Then the Mafia Boss Saw His Dead Brother’s Watch on Her Wrist”

The darkness was instantly pierced by the harsh red flashing of emergency strobe lights and the blinding beams of tactical flashlights attached to weapons.

Gunfire echoed off the steel walls of the vault like thunder trapped in a box. High-caliber rounds chewed through the marble pillars outside, sending sharp stone shrapnel flying through the narrow doorway.

"Ambush!" Gabe shouted over the din, firing his sidearm four times into the hallway. "They were inside the building before we arrived! They came through the sub-basement utility tunnels!"

Damon was over me, his broad back blocking the open space beneath the mahogany table. He pulled two heavy handguns from his suit jacket, his dark face illuminated by the flashing red strobe light. He showed zero fear—only a terrifying, predatory calm.

"The bank manager," I gasped, pointing to the corner.

The manager was lying motionless near the steel gate, a dark pool of blood expanding beneath his chest. He had been cut down in the first second of the assault.

"Victor bought him," Damon said coldly, firing three rapid shots into the corridor. A man in a black tactical vest collapsed outside the door with a heavy thud. "The manager tipped off Marquetti’s hit squad as soon as I called the bank this morning."

"Damon!" Gabe yelled, crouching behind the heavy steel vault door as sparks flew from impacting bullets. "There are at least twelve of them! We're pinned in the lower level! We can't reach the main stairs!"

"We don't need the main stairs!" Damon barked back. "We take the vault's service elevator to the subterranean parking garage!"

"The elevator requires a key card from the bank manager!" Gabe shouted.

I looked over at the bleeding body of the bank manager lying ten feet away in the open corridor, exposed to the rain of gunfire.

"I can reach him," I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"No!" Damon roared, turning his head to glare at me with fiery intensity. "You stay under this table, Adriana! If you take one bullet, Eli will never forgive me in hell!"

"Damon, listen to me!" I screamed over the roar of a burst of submachine-gun fire. "I'm small! I can crawl under the bench along the left wall! They're aiming high at the doorway!"

Before Damon could grab my coat, I scrambled out from beneath the mahogany table on my knees, staying low to the cold concrete floor.

"Adriana! No!" Damon shouted, stepping out from cover to lay down a terrifying hail of suppressive fire into the hallway, forcing the attackers to duck behind the outer marble pillars.

Pain shot through my stomach—a sharp, pulling cramp that made my vision blur—but I forced myself forward. I dragged my heavy, eight-month pregnant body along the baseboards, beneath the metal counters, sliding through the dust and shattered glass.

I reached the manager's body.

My hands were covered in dust and wet plaster as I fumbled through his blood-stained jacket pockets. My fingers touched a flat piece of plastic.

The security key card!

"Got it!" I screamed, holding up the black card.

A bullet slammed into the wall six inches above my head, showering my face with concrete dust!

Suddenly, a broad arm wrapped around my waist, hoisting me up off the floor like I weighed nothing. Damon had crossed the open room in two massive strides, shielding my body with his own as he dragged me back toward the rear of the vault!

"Gabe! Cover the rear!" Damon roared.

Gabe threw a flashbang grenade into the hallway. A blinding flash of white light and a ear-splitting CRACK echoed through the corridor, followed by screams of disoriented gunmen.

Damon shoved the black key card into the scanner beside a heavy steel door in the back of the vault room.

The green light flashed. The door slid open with a heavy pneumatic hiss, revealing a small industrial freight elevator.

"Get in!" Damon commanded, shoving Gabe and me inside.

As the heavy steel doors began to slide shut, three surviving Marquetti gunmen rushed around the corner of the vault. Damon stood in the narrowing gap, firing four precise rounds with surgical lethality.

The three men dropped like stones onto the blood-soaked marble floor.

Damon stepped backward into the elevator just as the doors slammed shut, sealing us in quiet darkness as the lift began its slow, heavy descent into the subterranean parking garage.

Damon leaned against the steel wall of the elevator, breathing heavily. He looked down at me, his eyes dark, wild, and breathing fast.

Then he saw me clutching my stomach, gasping for air, doubled over in agony.