**“DON'T ASK HER TO RETURN THE BRACELET, ELENA. I GAVE IT TO HER.” MY MAFIA HUSBAND SAID WHEN HIS MISTRESS ARRIVED AT OUR FAMILY DINNER WEARING MY LATE MOTHER'S BRACELET—BUT HIS 83-YEAR-OLD GRANDMOTHER RECOGNIZED THE ENGRAVING AND ASKED WHO HAD OPENED MY LOCKED DRAWER.**

The cathedral erupted into chaos.

Anthony didn't hesitate. He raised the assault rifle and fired a warning burst into the vaulted ceiling, raining plaster and dust down onto the pews.

“Get down!” Marco roared, tackling me to the marble floor behind the heavy wooden pulpit.

Dante Falcone didn't run. He stood his ground near the altar, calmly drawing a sleek silver pistol from his suit jacket. His bodyguards scrambled, returning fire toward the cathedral doors.

“You’re a dead man, Anthony!” Dante shouted over the deafening gunfire. “You’re a rat backed into a corner!”

“I paid off the feds, Dante!” Anthony screamed back, taking cover behind a thick stone pillar. “It cost me half my local accounts, but I walked out! And I’m not leaving without the offshore ledger!”

I covered my ears, the sound of gunfire echoing terrifyingly in the sacred space.

I looked frantically toward the altar.

In the crossfire, Dante’s bodyguard had dropped his hold on Lily to return fire.

The seven-year-old girl was huddled against the base of the altar, screaming, pressing her hands over her ears.

She was completely exposed.

“Marco!” I yelled, pointing at Lily.

Marco saw her. Without a word, he checked the magazine of his pistol, took a deep breath, and rolled out from behind the pulpit.

He moved with terrifying speed and precision, firing two rapid shots that dropped the closest Falcone bodyguard. Marco slid across the polished marble, grabbing Lily by her small jacket, and pulled her behind the solid stone of the altar.

I exhaled a sharp breath of relief, but it was short-lived.

Footsteps crunched on the broken glass nearby.

Anthony stepped out from behind his pillar, his rifle aimed directly at the pulpit where I was hiding.

“Give me the ledger, Elena!” Anthony demanded, his chest heaving. His tailored suit was ruined, covered in rain and blood. “Hand it over, and I’ll let you and your bastard sister walk out of here.”

“You killed my mother!” I screamed at him, tears of pure rage burning my eyes.

Anthony let out a dark, mocking laugh.

“Your mother was a parasite! She held my family hostage for twenty years with her little secrets! She deserved to go off that bridge!”

I gripped the pearl-handled revolver Isabella had given me. My hand was shaking so violently I could barely hold it straight.

I had never fired a gun in my life.

“Five seconds, Elena!” Anthony yelled, stepping closer. “Or I start shooting through the wood!”

“Anthony, stop!”

The voice echoed from the side entrance of the cathedral.

Anthony froze, turning his head.

Isabella Moretti stood in the archway, leaning heavily on her cane. Her face was pale, but her presence commanded the room just as it had at the dining table.

“Grandmother,” Anthony spat. “You should have stayed in the car.”

“Put the gun down, Anthony,” Isabella ordered, her voice trembling but stern. “You are destroying this family.”

“I am this family!” Anthony roared, pointing his rifle at the old woman.

“No, you aren't,” Marco’s deep voice echoed from behind the altar.

Marco slowly stood up, keeping Lily safely tucked behind the stone. He aimed his weapon directly at Anthony’s chest.

“You’re a placeholder, Anthony,” Marco said coldly. “You always have been. And tonight, you’re finished.”

Anthony’s eyes darted wildly between Marco, Isabella, and the pulpit where I was hiding. He realized he was surrounded. Dante Falcone was still pinned down near the confessionals, waiting for his moment.

Anthony panicked.

He swung his rifle back toward Marco and pulled the trigger.

A gunshot rang out.

But it didn't come from Anthony’s rifle.

Anthony gasped, his eyes going wide. The assault rifle slipped from his hands, clattering onto the marble floor.

He looked down at his chest. A dark red stain was spreading rapidly across his white dress shirt.

He collapsed to his knees, staring blankly at the pulpit.

I stood up slowly, the pearl-handled revolver smoking in my trembling hands.

I had pulled the trigger.

Anthony fell forward, hitting the ground with a heavy thud. He didn't move again.

The silence that followed was absolute.

Even Dante Falcone lowered his weapon, staring at me in shock from across the room.

I dropped the revolver. It clattered loudly against the floor.

I had just killed my husband. I had just killed the man who murdered my mother.

Marco immediately rushed forward, pulling Lily with him. He grabbed my arm, snapping me out of my shock.

“We have to go, Elena. Now. Before the police arrive.”

I nodded numbly.

But as we turned toward the exit, Dante Falcone stepped out of the shadows, blocking the center aisle.

He wasn't aiming his gun, but he wasn't letting us pass.

“You saved my life, Elena,” Dante said quietly, looking at Anthony’s body. “But I am not leaving without my daughter.”

I pushed Lily gently behind my legs, shielding her with my body.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the rolled-up parchment. The offshore ledger. The Moretti family’s entire fortune.

I walked slowly toward Dante.

“This is what you want, Dante?” I asked, holding up the paper. “You want power? You want money?”

Dante looked at the ledger, then at Lily’s terrified face peeking out from behind me.

“I want my blood,” he said softly.

“She is my mother’s blood!” I shot back, my voice echoing with a fierce, unbreakable resolve. “She is a Moretti. And she stays with me.”

I walked right up to Dante.

I didn't hand him the ledger.

Instead, I reached into my other pocket and pulled out the broken gold pocket watch. The one I had found on the floor.

I placed the watch in Dante’s palm.

“My mother said she would give this back to you when you proved you were a man capable of peace,” I whispered fiercely. “Prove it now. Walk away. Let her have a normal life.”

Dante stared at the broken watch in his hand.

He looked at me, a woman who had just killed a mafia boss to protect a child she had never met.

For a long, tense moment, the deadliest man in Chicago did nothing.

Then, Dante slowly closed his fist around the watch.

He stepped aside.

“Take care of her, Elena,” Dante murmured, his voice thick with uncharacteristic emotion.