The last nanny ran out of a mafia boss's mansion screaming, barefoot, without her purse, and too terrified to look back. That should have been enough to make me turn around.

The lead gunman spotted Serena and the exposed blast door behind her. A wicked, cruel grin spread beneath his ski mask.

"Well, well," the gunman sneered, raising his submachine gun toward her chest. "Look what we found. Rinaldi’s new woman and his precious little heirs."

Inside the bunker, Lucia let out a muffled scream. Marco grabbed a heavy steel flashlight from a shelf inside, his young face pale with terror but determined to fight.

"Step away from the door, lady," the gunman ordered, advancing slowly into the study. "Or I put a burst through your chest right now."

Serena’s entire body trembled with adrenaline, but as she looked at the gun pointed at her face, and then glanced back at the five terrified children huddled behind her, something inside her snapped.

She wasn't just a nanny anymore. She was a mother fighting for her children.

"No," Serena said, her voice terrifyingly calm and cold.

The gunman blinked, caught off guard by her response. "What?"

"I said no," Serena repeated.

In one lighting-fast movement, Serena grabbed a heavy brass antique globe sitting on the corner of the study desk and hurled it with all her strength directly at the gunman's face.

The heavy brass globe struck the hitman squarely in the nose with a sickening crunch. He shrieked in pain, stumbling backward, his gun firing wildly into the ceiling.

Serena didn't hesitate. She threw her weight against the heavy mahogany desk, shoving it forward into the second gunman, knocking him off balance and trapping his legs beneath the heavy wood.

The third hitman raised his weapon to shoot her—

THWIP! THWIP!

Two suppressed gunshots echoed through the smoky room.

The third hitman gasped, dropping his weapon as two bloodstains bloomed on his chest, before falling face-first onto the carpet.

Victor stepped through the ruined doorway, holding his 9mm handgun, his suit covered in dust and blood, his eyes burning with demonic fury.

He kicked the submachine gun away from the trapped second hitman and shot him point-blank before stepping up to the lead gunman, who was clutching his broken face on the floor.

Victor grabbed the man by his vest, lifting him off the ground with one hand, pressing the smoking barrel of his gun against his forehead.

"Who sent you?" Victor snarled, his voice a guttural roar.

"Santoro..." the hitman choked out, terrified. "Old man Santoro... he’s in the driveway... waiting in the armored van..."

Victor pulled the trigger without hesitation, letting the body hit the floor.

He turned instantly to Serena, dropping his gun and pulling her into a fierce, desperate embrace.

"Are you hurt? Did they touch you?" Victor demanded frantically, checking her hands, her face, her arms.

"I'm okay," Serena gasped, clinging to his jacket. "I'm okay! The children are safe inside!"

Victor looked past her into the panic room. Marco was standing at the threshold, holding the heavy flashlight like a club, guarding the younger kids.

Victor let out a ragged breath, stepping up to Marco and placing a large hand on his shoulder. "Good job, son. You kept them safe."

Marco’s eyes welled with tears, and for the first time in years, the twelve-year-old wrapped his arms around his father’s waist, leaning his face against his chest. Victor held his son tight, kissing his hair.

"Dominic is wounded!" Serena called out, kneeling beside the fallen security chief, pressing a towel to his bleeding chest wound. "He’s still breathing!"

"The house is secured," Victor said, his eyes darkening as he looked toward the window. "The rest of Santoro’s men outside have been eliminated by my backup. But there is one final detail left to settle."

"The man in the driveway," Serena said.