The silence in the nursery didn't feel like peace; it felt like a gunshot that hadn't gone off yet. The man—Dominic Vance, known across the Eastern Seaboard as the cold-blooded architect of the Vance Syndicate

The world descended into blinding smoke and the terrifying, metallic chatter of automatic gunfire.

Glass rained down like knives. The heavy curtains whipped wildly in the gale-force storm blowing through the shattered frame.

In less than half a second—before the first mercenary could even cross the threshold—Dominic had unholstered his Glock from his shoulder harness, throwing his broad body across the dining table to cover the bassinet.

But Nora was already gone.

She hadn't run for the door. The moment the glass fractured, she had dropped into a low roll, scooping Leo out of the bassinet with one arm while drawing a compact, suppressed semi-automatic pistol from beneath her dark cardigan with the other.

Pfft. Pfft.

Two rapid shots echoed through the smoke. The first mercenary through the shattered window crumpled instantly, a clean red hole blossoming between his eyes.

"Hallway! Now!" Nora barked at Dominic, her voice ringing out like a drill sergeant’s command over the roaring wind.

Dominic fired three heavy rounds into the shadows, driving back two more attackers, before vaulting over the table. He grabbed Nora by the tactical vest she was secretly wearing beneath her sweater, shoving her ahead of him into the main corridor just as a heavy grenade detonated in the sunroom, blowing the mahogany table to splinters.

The blast wave threw them both into the hallway.

Dominic slammed against the hard marble floor, his ears ringing, the taste of cordite and blood filling his mouth. He rolled over frantically, his eyes searching the dark corridor. "Leo!"

Nora was pressed flat against the baseboard three feet away. She had curled her entire body around the baby like an armored shell.

Leo was wide awake, his eyes huge and dark in the dim light—but he wasn't screaming. Nora’s hand was pinned firmly against his chest, her thumb gently stroking his chin, humming that same low, resonant drone even as plaster rained down upon her head.

The baby was silent. Anchored.

"Victor!" Dominic roared into his wrist communicator. "Breach at the sunroom! Full lockdown! Code Black!"

Static spat from the earpiece. "Boss! They cut the main power! They're inside the perimeter—" A burst of gunfire cut Victor off.

"They have a jammer," Nora said, her voice terrifyingly calm as she rose to her knees, checking the magazine of her handgun. "This isn't a hit. It’s a sweep. They're cut off from the main road by the storm. They have five minutes before your outer guards mobilize."

Dominic stood up, his face covered in soot, his eyes burning with a dark, demonic fury. The feared mob boss was fully awake now. The exhaustion of the past month evaporated, replaced by the lethal instinct that had built his empire.

"The panic room is in the basement," Dominic said, reaching out to take his son. "Give him to me."

"No," Nora said flatly, pulling the baby back slightly. "You need both hands to shoot. I carry the target. You clear the corners."

Dominic stared at her for a fraction of a second. Any other man who refused his order would be dead. But looking into her cold, gray eyes, seeing the absolute, icy competence in her stance, he knew she was right.

"If a single scratch comes to him—"

"Focus on the stairs, Vance," she snapped.

They moved as a lethal pair through the dark, echoing hallways of the mansion. Dominic led, his double-stacked Glock weaving through the shadows, taking down two Moretti hitmen who rounded the grand staircase. Nora covered the rear, firing with terrifying precision whenever a shadow moved in the dark corridor behind them.

She shot without hesitation, without emotion, moving with the cold, mechanical grace of a ghost who had walked through hell a hundred times before.

They reached the heavy steel door of the basement panic room. Dominic slapped his palm onto the biometric scanner. The heavy lock clicked, its mechanical gears turning.

"Inside! Get in!" Dominic ordered, holding the heavy steel door open.

Nora stepped into the safe room, securing Leo in a padded wall cradle. But instead of sitting down, she turned back toward the open doorway.

"What are you doing?" Dominic demanded. "Get inside!"

"They brought a thermite charge, Dominic," she said, looking back up the dark basement stairs. "I saw it on the lead mercenary’s belt. If you lock yourself in this room, they will weld the door shut and burn the oxygen out of the vents. You’ll suffocate in twenty minutes."

Dominic’s eyes widened. "Then what do we do?"

Nora reached down, unstrapping a spare magazine from her belt, and tossed it to him.