Twenty-three seconds after stepping into my husband's Manhattan penthouse carrying two tiny baby shoes and an ultrasound photo, I caught the most feared mafia boss on the East Coast kissing his secretary while they laughed about how blindly I trusted him. By nightfall, my wedding ring was gone, divorce papers had been filed, and I disappeared without telling him the one secret that would destroy everything he thought he controlled.

The storm peaked at midnight.

Lightning illuminated the dark crashing waves of the coast, followed by deafening cracks of thunder that shook the windows of my cottage.

I sat in the living room with the lights off, holding a baseball bat, my heart racing every time the wind howled through the trees.

Suddenly, the power went out.

The entire cottage was plunged into pitch-black darkness.

CRASH!

The glass back door in my kitchen shattered inward. Heavy combat boots echoed against the linoleum.

"Find the girl!" a harsh, raspy voice shouted in the dark. "Moretti wants her alive!"

Panic surged through my body. I backed away into the hallway, reaching for my phone, but a hand suddenly grabbed my arm from behind.

"Gotcha, little lady—"

BANG!

A gunshot echoed through the narrow hallway, the muzzle flash temporarily illuminating the room. The man holding me groaned and collapsed to the floor.

Before I could scream, a large, powerful arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me behind a solid, armored frame. The smell of expensive cologne, rain, and gunpowder filled my senses.

Lorenzo.

"I've got you," Lorenzo grunted, firing three rapid shots down the hallway into the darkness.

Screams and gunfire erupted from the back of the house as Lorenzo’s strike team breached the rear entrance, engaging Moretti’s men in a brutal, point-blank firefight.

Lorenzo kicked open the heavy door to the basement storm shelter, shoving me gently inside. "Stay down, Emily! Do not come out!"

"Lorenzo, wait!" I cried out, grabbing his sleeve.

In the dim light of a lightning flash, I saw blood soaking through the side of his black dress shirt. He had already been shot before he even reached my door.

"You're hurt!" I gasped.

Lorenzo looked at me, a fierce, protective grin breaking through his blood-stained face. "I've taken worse, sweetheart. Just stay safe."

He pulled the heavy steel door shut and locked it from the outside.

For ten terrifying minutes, the sounds of war echoed above my head—shouted commands, shattered wood, and heavy automatic gunfire. I huddled in the corner of the storm shelter, holding my belly, praying with every fiber of my being for my child's father to survive.

Finally, the gunfire died down.

The heavy steel door unlocked and swung open.

Lorenzo stood in the doorway, framed by the emergency flashlights of his men. His coat was gone, his shirt ruined with blood, but he was standing tall. Victor stood behind him, giving a quiet nod that the house was cleared.

Lorenzo stepped into the shelter, his knees buckling slightly as he collapsed onto his side against the wall.

"Lorenzo!" I dropped to my knees beside him, pressing my hands against the wound on his ribs.

"Moretti's dead," Lorenzo gasped, wincing in pain, but smiling through his pale lips as he looked up at me. "The town is safe, Emily. It's over."

As I pressed my hands against his bleeding side, a sudden, sharp contraction ripped through my abdomen. I gasped, clutching my belly as a warm fluid soaked through my dress.