THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME PLACE A DINNER PLATE IN FRONT OF HIS NINE-YEAR-OLD SON AT HIS ENGAGEMENT PARTY—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “HE ALREADY ATE UPSTAIRS,” BEFORE HE EVEN ASKED WHY THE LITTLE BOY HAD BEEN SITTING WITH AN EMPTY PLATE FOR NEARLY AN HOUR. / Chapter 8 / 13

Chapter 10 - The Turning PointSmoke billowed into the dark panic room, thick and acrid, carrying the suffocating smell of burnt gunpowder.

I pulled Benjamin behind me, shielding his small body with my own as two masked enforcers stepped through the ruined doorway, their assault rifles raised and aimed directly at us.

"Got 'em," one of them barked into his shoulder radio. "Securing the targets now."

Mrs. Gable didn't hesitate.

BANG. BANG.

Her revolver barked twice in the confined space.

The lead enforcer staggered backward, his rifle clattering to the concrete floor as he collapsed against the wall.

The second enforcer roared in fury, spinning around and raising his weapon toward Mrs. Gable.

"No!" I screamed.

Before he could pull the trigger, a dark shadow lunged from the smoke behind him.

A heavy combat knife flashed in the orange glow of the sparks.

The enforcer’s eyes widened behind his balaclava as a hand clamped over his mouth from behind, dragging him backward into the hallway with brutal, silent force.

A muffled thud echoed against the floor tiles.

Then, heavy footsteps stepped back into the doorway.

The smoke parted.

Luca Moretti stood in the threshold, his black suit stained with soot and blood, his chest heaving as he stared into the room.

His eyes scanned over Benjamin and me instantly, confirming we were unharmed, before he looked at Mrs. Gable.

"Are there any more in the sector?" Luca asked, his voice cold as ice.

"Cleared the lower corridor," Mrs. Gable said, lowering her smoking revolver. "That was the last of their vanguard."

Luca stepped into the room, kneeling down beside us.

He reached out, gently touching Benjamin’s cheek.

"You okay, son?"

Benjamin sniffled, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. "I was scared, Daddy. But Miss Claire kept me safe."

Luca looked up at me, his dark gaze softening for a fraction of a second in the dim light.

He reached out, his warm, calloused hand gently brushing against my shoulder.

"You did good, Claire," he whispered.

"Is it... is it over?" I asked, my voice shaking.

Luca stood up, turning toward the ruined doorway where the distant sirens of the New York Police Department—paid off and redirected by Moretti loyalists—began wailing in the distance.

"It’s over," Luca said, his eyes hardening into steel. "Vanessa’s uncles made their move, and they failed. By sunrise, their syndicate will be nothing more than a memory."