“STOP TALKING TO HER LIKE SHE'S A CHILD!” THE MAFIA BOSS'S FIANCÉE SNAPPED AT THE YOUNG MAID—BUT WHEN LUCA MORETTI SAW WHAT HIS MOTHER WAS DOING WITH HER FINGERS, HE ORDERED EVERYONE TO STAY SEATED.

Plaster exploded from the walls; antique porcelain shattered into powder.

Antonio and four of Luca’s elite bodyguards returned fire through the shattered library windows, their heavy tactical rifles laying down an impenetrable wall of suppressing fire toward the outer courtyard.

“Move, Claire!” Luca shouted, drawing a black semi-automatic pistol from his shoulder holster, firing three precise rounds through the broken window frame that dropped an intruder advancing across the stone terrace.

I grabbed the handles of Mrs. Moretti’s wheelchair, pushing her with all my strength toward the concealed oak door behind the library bookshelves.

The elderly woman didn't scream. She didn't panic.

She kept her left hand raised, signing rapidly to me as we moved through the hail of dust and falling debris:

Keep your head down. Luca will not let them touch us.

We reached the reinforced steel door of the underground vault. I slammed the mechanical lever downward, and the heavy titanium-reinforced door swung open on silent, precision hinges.

I pushed the wheelchair inside the concrete bunker, flipping the emergency halogen lights on.

Inside, the walls were lined with surveillance monitors displaying every angle of the estate’s grounds.

Through the high-definition perimeter cameras, I watched five heavily armed mercenaries in tactical gear sweep across the manicured lawns toward the rear portico, carrying satchel charges and breaching shotguns.

Suddenly, one of the intruders appeared on the camera directly outside the safe room corridor.

He had bypassed the main hall, slipping through the old service pantry stairs.

He stopped before the reinforced steel viewing glass of the vault, raising a heavy 12-gauge breaching shotgun.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. My hands trembled violently as I stepped in front of Mrs. Moretti’s wheelchair, shielding her body with my own.

The intruder grinned behind his ballistic mask, raising his weapon to fire into the electronic lock mechanism.

Before his finger could complete the trigger pull, a massive shadow appeared behind him in the corridor.

Luca.

He moved with the terrifying, silent speed of an apex predator.

His heavy arm hooked around the mercenary’s neck in an iron vice, slamming the man’s skull violently against the concrete wall with a concussive crunch of bone.

The shotgun clattered uselessly onto the floor.

Luca ripped the weapon away, kicked the unconscious intruder into the corner, and stepped into the doorway of the vault.

His tailored white shirt was torn at the shoulder, dusted with gray plaster powder, and smeared with a thin streak of blood across his cheekbone.

He looked at his mother.

Then his eyes moved to me, taking in the way I was standing with my arms spread wide, using my own body as a human shield over the wheelchair.

Something profound, fierce, and breathtakingly tender flickered across his dark eyes.

“Are you hurt, Claire?” he asked, his voice low and trembling with suppressed adrenaline.

“We’re safe, Luca,” I whispered, my legs shaking so badly I had to lean against the wheelchair for support. “We’re completely safe.”

Luca stepped forward, reaching out with his large, warm hand, gently cupping the side of my face. His thumb brushed away a streak of drywall dust from my temple.

“You stood in front of a shotgun for my mother,” he whispered, his gray eyes searching mine with an intensity that took my breath away.

“She’s family, Luca,” I answered softly, looking up into his rugged, handsome face. “You protect the people you love.”

Mrs. Moretti reached up from her chair, gently taking Luca’s free hand and placing it over mine on the armrest.