"She was supposed to be invisible, but after taking a wall of shattered glass meant for Dante Moretti’s son, the most feared man in Chicago looked into her eyes and quietly said, “You’re coming with me.”

He didn't look human in that moment.

Dante stood in the destroyed doorway, framed by the rain and lightning, a high-caliber assault rifle held in his hands. His shirt was torn, stained with blood that wasn't his, his eyes glowing with an unholy, lethal fury that turned the air in the hall to ice.

Behind him stepped Marco and twenty heavily armed Moretti soldiers, flooding into the estate like a dark tide.

The three Luciano hitmen downstairs barely had time to raise their weapons.

"Dante—!" one of them managed to yell.

Dante didn't say a word. He opened fire.

The hallway erupted in a hail of gunfire, deafening and absolute. I covered Matteo’s ears, holding him tight against my chest behind the stone pillar, closing my eyes as the war raged below us.

Within thirty seconds, it was over.

The metallic smell of copper and smoke filled the grand entrance. The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating, broken only by the sound of heavy boots crunching over shattered glass and wood.

"Elena!"

Dante’s voice shattered the quiet. It wasn't the calm, controlled voice of a Don. It was the desperate, raw roar of a man terrified that he was too late.

"Elena! Matteo!"

I stepped out from behind the pillar at the top of the stairs, carrying Matteo in my arms, the silver gun still clutched tightly in my right hand.

Dante looked up.

When his eyes landed on us—seeing his son unhurt, seeing me alive—the terrifying monster that had just laid waste to an entire squad of assassins seemed to break. He dropped his rifle onto the floor, not caring about the blood or glass, and took the stairs three at a time.

He reached us in seconds, throwing his massive arms around both of us, pulling us into his chest so tightly I could barely breathe.

"You're safe," he rasped, his voice shaking violently as he buried his face in my hair. "God... you're safe."

"Papa!" Matteo sobbed, wrapping his small arms around his father's neck. "Elena saved me again! She shot the bad man outside my room!"

Dante pulled back slightly, his dark eyes wide with shock as he looked at me, taking in the gun in my hand and the fierce, protective light in my eyes.

"You shot him?" Dante asked quietly.

"He was going to hurt Matteo," I said, my voice trembling now that the danger had passed. "I couldn't... I couldn't let him touch your son, Dante."

Dante looked at me as if I were a miracle. Without a word, he reached up, cupped the back of my neck, and pulled my mouth to his.

The kiss was desperate, fierce, and full of raw passion. It tasted of rain, gunpowder, and an unyielding promise. I dropped the silver gun onto the carpet, my arms wrapping around his neck, kissing him back with everything I had left in me.