The Mafia Boss Froze Seeing His Heavily Pregnant Ex-Wife Working Alone at a Restaurant The private dining room at the Copper Lantern had been built so powerful men could speak without being overheard. Dark walnut walls. Heavy curtains. One locked door.

Del backed away, her hands instinctively shielding her stomach.

“You,” she breathed, piecing the puzzle together. “You’re the one who ordered the hit eight months ago. You’re the one who forged Sloan’s handwriting.”

“Sloan was getting soft,” Marcus said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. “He married a civilian. A nurse with a bleeding heart. You were making him weak, Delphine. The family needed a ruthless leader, not a family man.”

“So you faked the hit to get rid of me.”

“I didn’t fake it,” Marcus sneered. “Bishop was supposed to kill you. But Dr. Aris got sentimental. It doesn’t matter. I have Uncle Carmine downstairs taking the fall for this little coup. By the time Sloan figures out Carmine is just my puppet, they’ll both be dead. And I’ll be sitting on the throne.”

Marcus raised a silenced pistol, pointing it directly at Del’s chest.

“I’m sorry, Delphine. But the Marchetti bloodline ends tonight.”

Del’s mind raced. The emergency nurse inside her, the woman who had brought Cora back from the brink of death, took over. She scanned the room.

Bed.

Nightstand.

The empty gun Sloan left behind.

And Dr. Aris’s medical bag, which he had dropped in the hallway and Marcus had kicked inside.

“You can kill me,” Del said, keeping her voice incredibly calm. “But you won’t get away with it. Sloan will tear you apart.”

“Sloan is unarmed and currently surrounded by ten men in the foyer,” Marcus laughed.

Del took a slow step to her right. “You forgot one thing, Marcus.”

“And what is that?”

“I’m not a civilian.”

Del’s foot hit the medical bag. In a flash, she dropped to her knees, grabbed the second epinephrine auto-injector from the open flap, and lunged upward.

She didn’t aim for his chest. She aimed for his neck.

Marcus fired, but Del’s sudden drop caused the bullet to graze her shoulder, shattering the window behind her.

She slammed the orange injector into the side of Marcus’s neck.

Click.

She pumped a massive, lethal dose of pure adrenaline directly into his carotid artery.

Marcus gasped, dropping the gun. His eyes rolled back. An overdose of epinephrine caused instant, catastrophic heart arrhythmia. He collapsed to the floor, clutching his chest, his heart beating itself to death.

Del didn’t wait to watch him die. She grabbed Marcus’s dropped gun, ignoring the stinging pain in her shoulder.

She stepped out into the hallway.

She had to save Sloan and Leo.

She crept to the top of the grand staircase and looked down.

In the grand foyer, Sloan was on his knees. Bishop and Uncle Carmine stood over him, guns drawn. Leo was crying, tied to a heavy oak chair in the corner.

“Sign the papers, Sloan,” Carmine spat, holding out a document. “Or the kid dies.”

Sloan reached for the pen.

“No!” Del screamed from the balcony.

Every head snapped up.

Del aimed the gun down at them. “Bishop!” she yelled, her voice echoing through the massive hall. “Marcus is dead! He’s dead on the floor upstairs! Your boss is gone!”

Bishop hesitated, looking up at her, then down at Carmine.

“She’s lying!” Carmine yelled. “Shoot her!”

But Bishop realized the truth. With Marcus dead, there was no payout. No protection.

Cliffhanger.