I CALMED A MAFIA DON’S SCREAMING SON AND TOLD HIM THE BOY NEEDED A MOTHER — THEN HE OPENED A FILE WITH MY NAME ON IT

The morning sun brought no warmth to the Moretti estate.

Ricardo had disappeared into his underground study before dawn, leaving strict orders that I was not to leave the nursery or the master suite. But the image of the woman in the west wing—playing that haunting lullaby while locked away behind heavy oak doors—burned behind my eyelids.

She wasn't a prisoner of cruelty. She was a ghost kept alive by a man terrified of losing the last piece of his soul.

At ten o'clock, the heavy security gates at the front of the estate were breached.

It wasn't a subtle break-in.

A deafening explosion rocked the western perimeter wall, followed by the rapid, stuttering rat-tat-tat of automatic gunfire echoing across the snowy courtyard.

Within seconds, the mansion’s internal alarm system wailed, flashing blinding red strobe lights down every hallway.

Leo let out a terrified shriek from the nursery.

I bolted out of my room, sprinting down the hall just as two armed guards in tactical gear rushed past. I scooped Leo up into my arms, pressing his face against my shoulder so he couldn't see the armed chaos erupting in the foyer below.

“Stay in the master suite! Lock the reinforced steel door!” one of the guards yelled over the blaring alarm before diving down the stairs with his assault rifle raised.

I carried Leo into the bedroom, slamming the heavy steel bolt into place just as the sound of shattering glass echoed from the courtyard below.

Gunfire crackled through the mansion—sharp, deafening bursts of lead tearing through wood and plaster.

“Elena! Are you with him?” Ricardo’s voice boomed through the intercom speaker mounted beside the bedroom door.

“We’re in the master suite! The door is locked!” I shouted back over the blaring alarm, my hands trembling as I held Leo tight against my chest.

“Listen to me very carefully,” Ricardo’s voice dropped into a cold, terrifyingly calm register. “Viktor and his men breached the gate. They are looking for leverage. They know about the west wing. Do not open this door for anyone—do you hear me? Anyone—unless you hear my voice saying your name three times.”

Before I could answer, the intercom clicked off with a harsh static hiss.

Outside the heavy oak and steel door, heavy boots pounded against the hallway floorboards. Muffled shouts, the sharp crack of a pistol, and the sickening thud of a body hitting the wall echoed through the room.

Leo was crying softly, his small fingers tangled in the fabric of my shirt. “Mommy... I’m scared.”

“I’m here, baby. I’ve got you,” I whispered, tears finally spilling over my lashes as I backed us both into the far corner of the room, keeping our bodies shielded by the heavy stone fireplace.

Suddenly, the heavy mahogany door rattled violently.

Someone was throwing their weight against the wood.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Open the fucking door!” a harsh, gravelly voice screamed from the hallway—a voice I recognized instantly from the ballroom.

Viktor.

“I know you’re in there, little waitress!” Viktor snarled, slamming his shoulder against the door again, the reinforced hinges groaning under the impact. “Your mafia boyfriend is busy bleeding out downstairs! Open up, or I’ll burn this entire nest to the ground with you and the kid inside!”

Panic paralyzed my limbs for a fraction of a second. Ricardo was downstairs fighting an army of mercenaries. If Viktor breached this room, we were dead.

I looked around the room in desperation, my eyes landing on the heavy brass fireplace poker resting against the stone hearth.

I gently set Leo down behind the king-sized mattress, telling him to stay quiet and close his eyes. Then I crept across the floor, my fingers wrapping around the cold, heavy brass poker.

The door groaned as another heavy blow struck the wood, the lock splintering outward.

Viktor’s face appeared in the cracked opening, a bloody grin splitting his scarred cheek as he shoved his pistol through the gap.

“Got you—”

I didn't hesitate. I swung the brass poker with every ounce of fury and adrenaline in my body, smashing it directly down onto his hand.

Viktor roared in agony, dropping his pistol as the weapon clattered uselessly across the hardwood floor.

Before he could recover, a heavy shadow slammed into him from behind with the force of a freight train.

Ricardo.

His face was streaked with blood and soot, his tailored shirt torn open at the collar, his eyes burning with absolute, demonic fury. He grabbed Viktor by the throat, slamming his head against the hallway wall with a sickening crunch that knocked the Russian mercenary out cold before he even hit the floor.