I WAS POURING CHAMPAGNE WHEN LUCA MORETTI’S SISTER TOOK THE MICROPHONE AND SAID TO HIS LATE BROTHER’S WIDO

The escape tunnel smelled of damp earth and rust.

It was pitch black, lit only by the small flashlight Luca had given me from the emergency kit.

I walked in front, sweeping the beam across the cracked concrete. Rachel leaned heavily on my shoulder, her breath coming in ragged, painful gasps. The gunshot wound had stopped bleeding heavily, but the pain was making her dizzy. Ethan walked right behind us, his small hands clutching the back of my shirt so tightly his knuckles were white.

“Keep moving, Mom,” Ethan whispered, his voice trembling but brave. “We’re almost there.”

We had been walking for twenty minutes.

Above us, the city of Chicago was completely unaware that a mafia war had just detonated in the suburbs. The muffled sounds of sirens occasionally filtered through the grates, a distant reminder of the chaos at the mansion.

Finally, the tunnel sloped upward, leading to a heavy iron ladder.

“This is it,” I said, shining the light on the rusted rungs. “The exit.”

I climbed up first, pushing with all my strength against the heavy manhole cover. It groaned and scraped against the frozen asphalt, finally sliding open. I crawled out into a dark, snowy alleyway behind a row of abandoned warehouses. The freezing night air hit my face like a slap.

I reached down and pulled Ethan up, then strained every muscle to help Rachel climb out.

She collapsed onto the snow-covered ground, shivering violently.

“We have to keep moving,” I said, looking around the empty alley. “The safehouse is three blocks away.”

“I can’t,” Rachel gasped, clutching her shoulder. “Emma, you have to take Ethan. Run.”

“I’m not leaving you!” Ethan cried, throwing his arms around his mother’s neck.

Before I could argue, the sound of crunching snow made us all freeze.

Footsteps.

Heavy, deliberate, and coming from both ends of the alley.

I spun around.

Three men stepped out of the shadows. They were wearing dark winter coats, their faces obscured by the falling snow, but the heavy weapons in their hands were unmistakable.

Marcus hadn’t just blown up the house. He had anticipated the escape routes.

“Well, well,” a familiar, cruel voice echoed down the alley.

Marcus stepped out from behind a dumpster, a thick wool coat draped over his shoulders. He looked perfectly composed, untouched by the fire and blood he had caused.

“You really thought I didn’t know about the old smuggler’s tunnels, Luca?” Marcus called out, expecting the boss to emerge from the manhole.

When he realized Luca wasn’t with us, Marcus frowned.

He looked at me, then at the wounded widow and the terrified boy on the ground.

“Where is he?” Marcus demanded, stepping closer.

“He’s dead,” I lied smoothly, my heart hammering against my ribs. “He didn’t make it out of the blast.”

Marcus stared at me for a long moment. Then, a slow, ugly smile spread across his face.

“A pity,” Marcus said. “I wanted to watch him beg. But this… this is a fitting end.”

He gestured to his men.

“Kill the maid. Bring the widow and the boy to the cars. The Russians will pay a fortune for Michael’s son as a hostage.”

The men raised their weapons.

I stepped in front of Rachel and Ethan, spreading my arms wide. It was a useless, desperate gesture, but I refused to let Ethan see his mother die before they killed me.

“Close your eyes, Ethan,” Rachel sobbed, burying the boy’s face in her good shoulder.

I closed my own eyes.

A gunshot rang out.

The sound echoed through the alley, deafening and brutal.

But I didn’t fall.

I opened my eyes and saw the man closest to me drop to the snow, a dark hole in his forehead.

Marcus jumped back, shouting in panic as a second shot took down another of his men.

The sniper fire wasn’t coming from the tunnel. It was coming from the roof of the warehouse above us.

Marcus looked up, terrified, and fired wildly into the darkness.

“Move!” a voice roared from the shadows.

It was Luca.

He dropped down from a fire escape, hitting the ground in a crouch. He didn’t wear the elegant tuxedo anymore. Covered in ash, soot, and blood, he looked like a demon straight out of hell.

He raised his rifle and fired a short burst, taking down the last of Marcus’s men.

Marcus turned to run, slipping on the icy pavement.

He didn’t make it three steps.

Luca moved with terrifying speed, tackling the older man into a pile of dirty snow and garbage. He grabbed Marcus by the collar, dragging him to his feet, and slammed him violently against the brick wall.

“You took my brother!” Luca roared, pressing the barrel of his rifle directly under Marcus’s chin.

Marcus was trembling, his arrogant facade completely shattered. He looked at the man he had helped raise, and for the first time in his life, he saw no mercy.

“Luca, please,” Marcus whimpered, tears freezing on his cheeks. “I’m family.”

“No,” Luca said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “You are nothing.”

He didn't pull the trigger.

Instead, Luca brought the butt of the rifle down hard against Marcus’s temple.

The older man collapsed, unconscious, into the snow.

Luca turned to us, breathing heavily, the adrenaline slowly leaving his body. He walked over and helped Rachel to her feet, his expression softening instantly as he looked at his nephew.

“It’s over, Ethan,” Luca said gently. “He can never hurt you again.”