For one hour and twenty-seven minutes, a six-month-old baby screamed aboard a flight from New York to Los Angeles while his father, one of the most feared mafia bosses in America, struggl

The compound alarms shrieked, a piercing, relentless wail that shook the floorboards.

Dante handed Leo back to me in one fluid motion. The vulnerable father vanished; the apex predator returned. He drew the heavy pistol from his shoulder holster and racked the slide.

“Take them to the panic room behind my study,” Dante ordered Maria, the housekeeper. He looked at me. “You stay with them. Lock the steel door. Do not open it for anyone but me or Silas.”

“Dante, please be careful,” I pleaded, clutching Leo to my chest while grabbing Maya’s hand.

He paused at the door, turning back. For a brief second, his eyes softened. “I always am.”

I ran down the hallway with Maria and the children. Behind the mahogany bookshelves in Dante’s study was a reinforced steel door. Maria punched in a code, and we hurried inside. The room was lined with monitors displaying every security camera on the property.

I set Leo in a portable crib and pulled Maya onto my lap, staring at the screens.

On the main gate camera, a shattered black SUV was smoking against the reinforced steel barricade. Dozens of Dante’s men had their weapons trained on the vehicle.

The driver’s side door kicked open.

Richard stepped out.

He didn’t look like the polished, controlling husband I had known. His suit was wrinkled, his hair disheveled, his eyes wild with desperation. He held his hands up, but he was grinning like a maniac.

Dante walked out of the front doors of the mansion, flanked by Silas and six armed guards.

“You’re a long way from Ohio, Richard,” Dante’s voice crackled through the audio feed in the panic room.

Richard laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “I don’t want a war, Dante! I just want my wife and my daughter! Hand them over, and the Moretti family will leave you alone!”

“Your wife is wearing my gold,” Dante said smoothly, stepping closer to the gate. “She’s untouchable. And the Morettis don’t want me. They want you dead for stealing from them.”

Richard’s grin faltered. He realized Dante knew everything.

“She has something that belongs to me!” Richard screamed, spit flying from his lips. “That land is mine! I paid her father’s medical bills before he died! I bought that deed!”

“You bought nothing,” Dante said coldly. “You’re a cornered rat. You have three seconds to get back in that car and drive away before I paint my driveway with your brains.”

Richard didn’t move. Instead, he reached into his jacket.

Every laser sight on the property locked onto his chest.

“Shoot me!” Richard yelled. “Go ahead! But if I die, the police will raid this compound in ten minutes! I told the FBI she was hiding here! They’re waiting for my signal!”

Dante froze. A shootout with the FBI would destroy his syndicate and put Leo in state custody. Richard had checkmated him.

“You have until midnight tomorrow, Dante,” Richard sneered, backing toward the shattered SUV. “Bring Clare to the Santa Monica pier. Alone. With the deed signed over to me. If she doesn’t show, the FBI kicks your doors down, and I take Maya anyway.”

Richard climbed back into the smoking SUV and threw it into reverse, screeching away down the winding mountain road.

In the panic room, I covered my mouth to muffle a sob.

He had won. There was no escape.

Ten minutes later, the steel door unlocked. Dante walked in. He looked exhausted, the adrenaline crash hitting him hard.

“I’m going,” I said immediately, standing up. “I’ll sign the deed. I’ll meet him at the pier.”

“No,” Dante said fiercely. “He’ll kill you.”

“If I don’t go, he sends the FBI! You’ll lose Leo!” I cried. “Dante, you gave me a safe place to sleep. You protected my daughter. I will not let you lose your son because of my husband.”

Dante walked across the small room and grabbed my shoulders.

“Clare, listen to me,” he said, his dark eyes burning with intensity. “I am not letting you sacrifice yourself for me. I lost my wife. I am not losing you.”

The confession hung in the air, heavy and profound. He cared about me. Not just as a guest. Not just as the woman who fed his son.

“But how do we stop him?” I whispered, tears spilling over. “He has the police in his pocket. He has the Morettis backing him.”

“We take away his leverage,” Dante said, his mind working furiously. “He needs the deed to pay off the Morettis. But what if the Morettis realize Richard is lying to them about something else?”

Silas cleared his throat from the doorway.

“Boss,” Silas said hesitantly. “Before Richard drove off... he dropped something out of his window. The guards retrieved it.”

Silas held up a small plastic evidence bag.

Inside was a scorched piece of metal.

Dante stared at it. The blood completely drained from his face.

It was the broken Rolex watch. The one Richard had worn the day Dante’s wife was murdered.

But attached to the watch was a small, half-burned photograph.

“Let me see that,” Dante demanded, snatching the bag.

He looked at the photograph. He staggered backward, hitting the wall of the panic room.

“Dante?” I asked, terrified. “What is it?”

He held the bag up.

The photograph showed Dante’s wife sitting at a cafe table.