THE MOMENT THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE CALLED ME “A STUPID LITTLE MAID,” THE ENTIRE GREENWICH DINING ROOM WENT QUIET—BECAUSE I HAD JUST SIGNED TO HIS MOTHER, “THAT IS NOT WHAT YOUR SON SAID.” For a second, nobody even reached for a glass.

Rain began to fall harder, slicking the stone patio and washing the blood from Dante’s shoulder into a dark puddle.

Dante groaned, pressing his hand to the gunshot wound, his dark eyes locking onto mine.

“Don’t give it to him, Claire,” Dante rasped, his breath hitching. “He’ll kill us all anyway.”

“Shut up!” Vincenzo kicked Dante in the ribs. Dante grunted, coughing violently.

Vincenzo aimed the gun directly at my chest. “I’m going to count to three, Claire. One.”

My mind raced. I needed a distraction. Something massive. I un-crumpled the tiny piece of paper that had fallen out of the bracelet along with the USB drive.

It was a first-class boarding ticket to Zurich.

But the name on it wasn't Isabella Caruso.

It was Vincenzo’s.

“You weren't blackmailing Isabella,” I yelled over the rain, my voice shaking but loud. “She was blackmailing you!”

Vincenzo paused. “What?”

“The boarding ticket!” I held it up. “Isabella didn't record you to protect herself. She recorded you so you would fund her lifestyle! She held the tape over your head, forcing you to pay her off, and when you finally bought a ticket to run away, she stole it and hid it with the drive!”

Vincenzo’s eyes widened. He looked at Isabella, who was cowering inside the room. For a fraction of a second, his gun lowered. The absolute rage of a betrayed partner overrode his discipline.

That fraction of a second was all Dante needed.

Despite the bullet in his shoulder, Dante moved with terrifying speed. He swept his leg out, catching Vincenzo’s ankle on the slick stone.

Vincenzo fired wildly into the ceiling as he crashed backward.

Dante was on him instantly, driving his knee into Vincenzo’s throat and pinning his gun hand down.

“Get inside!” Dante roared at me. “Lock the doors!”

I didn’t hesitate. I pulled Leo back and slammed the remaining glass door shut, throwing the heavy brass deadbolt.

Isabella was still sitting on the floor, weeping. Rosa walked over to me. She placed a hand on my arm and gently lowered the hand holding the USB drive.

She signed, Thank you.

I nodded, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Outside, the struggle was ending. Vincenzo lay unconscious on the patio. Dante slowly stood up, holding Vincenzo’s gun. He leaned heavily against the glass, blood dripping from his fingers, but he was alive.

He looked at me through the glass and gave a single, sharp nod.

We had won.

But as I turned back to the room, the heavy mahogany doors of the dining room—the ones Dante had locked from the inside—suddenly rattled.

Someone was trying to get in.

“Open the door!” a voice shouted from the hallway.

It was Marcus, the second-in-command of Dante’s security team.

Isabella scrambled to her feet, a new wave of panic washing over her face.

“Don’t let him in!” Isabella screamed, her voice cracking. “Marcus works for Vincenzo! He’s the one who removed the bolts on your father's scaffolding!”

Before I could process the horror of what she just said, the sound of heavy wood splintering echoed through the room.

A shotgun blast blew the doorknob clean off.

The doors kicked open violently, revealing Marcus and two other men in dark suits, their weapons drawn.