THE CEO MAFIA BOSS WAS DINING ALONE… UNTIL HE SAW HIS EX WITH THREE IDENTICAL CHILDREN!

The rain had returned by 5:00 PM, turning into a blinding, horizontal downpour that erased the skyline of New Jersey from the warehouse windows.

I sat in the upper suite with the boys, a large picture book about steam trains spread across my lap, though my eyes kept shifting to the digital security feed on the small monitor beside the bed. The rolling steel gate remained closed, the concrete courtyard empty except for the dark puddles reflecting the yellow perimeter lights.

"Mama," Luca said, his head resting on my shoulder. "Is the big man coming back for dinner?"

"I don't know, Lu," I whispered, turning a page. "Look at the big green engine. See the steam?"

"He said he was going to teach me how to tie my shoes," Marco muttered from the rug, where he was currently trying to fit a square block into a round hole with increasing frustration. "The real way. With the double knot."

"I can teach you that, Marco," I said.

"No," Marco said, his small lower lip sticking out. "His knots are bigger. Like ropes."

Before I could answer, the monitor on the wall hissed with static.

The green light on the gate control panel flashed yellow.

I stood up instantly, pushing Luca gently onto the bed. "Stay here, boys. Don't look out the window."

I ran down the long brick corridor to the main security station near the front door. The old houseman, a gray-haired soldier named Thomas who had served Dominic’s grandfather, was already leaning over the glass desk, his hand hovering over the manual toggle for the steel shutters.

"What is it, Thomas?" I gasped.

"The boss’s car is at the gate, Miss Parker," Thomas said, his face tight as he checked the infrared camera. "But it’s only one Escalade. And the front windshield is shattered."

The steel gate rolled open with a heavy groan. The black SUV slid into the courtyard, its tires screaming against the wet asphalt, the front bumper torn off and dragging behind it with a shower of orange sparks.

The driver’s door flung open.

Dominic stepped out into the freezing rain.

He was bleeding from a deep gash above his right eye, the blood running down his cheek and mixing with the rain on his black t-shirt. He didn't look back at the car. He reached into the rear seat and pulled out Nico, whose left arm was wrapped in a bloody towel, his face gray with shock.

Two other soldiers scrambled out of the back, their guns drawn, their eyes scanning the dark sky above the waterfront cranes.

"Open the inner lock!" Dominic shouted toward the security camera, his voice carrying through the storm.

Thomas hit the switch. The heavy oak doors unlocked with a violent thud.

Dominic carried Nico into the warm hallway, setting him down on the leather bench where Raphael had sat that morning. The smell of copper and wet wool filled the small space instantly.

"They were waiting for us at the bridge," Dominic said, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he wiped the blood from his eye with his sleeve. "Rosetti had three trucks blocking the lane. Carson was already dead when we got there—Rosetti used his phone to bait the ping."

"Did you get out?" I asked, my hands already reaching into the medical cabinet behind the desk for the trauma gauze.

"We got out because Nico took a round for the wheel," Dominic said, his eyes locking onto mine with a terrifying, raw intensity as I knelt beside his underboss. "But Alberto’s coming, Elena. He knows we’re limited down here by the river. He’s bringing the whole Newark crew before the port authority can close the bridge."

"Then we call the police," I said, my fingers shaking as I pressed the gauze against Nico’s shoulder.

"The police won't clear the avenue in time for a turf war, Miss Elena," Nico groaned, his teeth clicking together. "Alberto’s got the precinct captain in his pocket. If a call goes in, they’ll just set up a detour three blocks away and let us finish it."