The silence inside the music room was thicker than the dust settling over the broken door latch.

The air inside the concrete vault grew so thick with tension that no one seemed to breathe.

Arthur Cole’s hands hovered helplessly above his laptop keyboard, his face slick with sweat. "Luca... listen to me," Cole stammered, raising his hands slowly. "This was Vance’s idea! He approached me three years ago! He financed my firm, he set up the offshore accounts—"

"Shut up, Arthur!" Vivien shrieked, backing further into the shadows near the rear exit door. "Don't beg to him! He brought four men into a concrete room with no secondary cover!"

Dominic Vance chuckled—a dry, terrifying sound that rattled in his throat. "She’s right, Arthur. Young Luca always was impulsive. Just like his father."

Vance suddenly slammed the tip of his silver-topped cane against the concrete floor.

A sharp mechanical click echoed from the ceiling. Before Marco could react, two heavy steel security grates dropped from the concrete archway behind them, crashing down with immense force. One grate slammed down directly between Luca’s team, trapping two of his security men on the outside of the corridor, while the second grate sealed the main vault entrance.

Luca, Marco, and Naomi were trapped inside the vault room with Vance, Cole, and Vivien.

From the dark corners behind the wooden storage crates, four armed guards clad in tactical gear stepped out, their submachine guns trained directly on Luca and Marco.

"Did you really think I would return to Chicago without securing my retreat, boy?" Vance sneered, his cold eyes dancing with malice. "Your father built this vault, but I spent ten years learning every wiring route beneath these floors. You walked straight into my cellar."

Arthur Cole let out a nervous, triumphant laugh, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Cancel the Panama contact, Vivien! We don't need a forged document anymore. We’ll just take Luca’s thumbprint once Vance’s men finish this."

Naomi’s mind raced. She looked at the four tactical guards, then at the heavy electrical junction box mounted on the concrete wall three feet to her left—the main power line supplying the halogen work lights strung across the ceiling.

She looked at Luca. He stood perfectly motionless, his pistol still pointed at Vance, his posture unyielding. But his eyes were flicking subtly toward the floor, calculating distances, angles, and reaction times.

Naomi didn't hesitate. She didn't ask for permission.

She stepped sideways, grabbing a heavy steel crowbar resting against a tool rack, and smashed it with all her strength against the exposed copper conduit of the electrical junction box.

A blinding explosion of blue sparks showered across the concrete wall. The main circuit blew instantly, plunging the windowless underground vault into absolute, pitch-black darkness.

"Kill them!" Vance’s voice roared through the dark.

Muzzle flashes strobed through the room like terrifying lightning, the deafening roar of automatic gunfire shattering the quiet basement. Bullets splintered wooden crates and ricocheted wildly off the concrete walls.

In the brief flashes of light, Luca moved with terrifying speed. He dropped low, dodging a burst of fire, grabbed Arthur Cole by his jacket collar, and slammed him against the folding table, using him as a human shield.

Marco lunged to the left, taking down the nearest tactical guard in a brutal, hand-to-hand struggle, the sound of breaking bones echoing over the gunfire.

Naomi dropped to her hands and knees the second the lights went out, crawling behind a heavy steel storage locker as bullets whipped through the air above her head. She felt along the cold floor until her fingers brushed against the smooth leather of the Moretti binders that had fallen off the table during the chaos.

She pulled the binders tightly against her vest, scrambling toward the rear corner of the vault.

Through the darkness, a figure lunged at her. Cold fingers caught Naomi by her hair, yanked her head back, and pressed a sharp silver blade against her throat.

"I should have cut your neck open in the music room," Vivien’s voice hissed into her ear, hot and desperate. "Give me the binders, you pathetic bitch, or I’ll bleed you right here!"

Naomi didn't scream. She didn't panic.

She reached down into her coat pocket, pulled out the heavy brass flower stand base she had slipped into her pocket before leaving the estate, and drove it backward with all her strength straight into Vivien’s solar plexus.

Vivien gasped, her breath completely exploding from her lungs as she stumbled back. Naomi spun around, driving her elbow hard into Vivien’s nose. A sharp crack echoed, followed by Vivien’s shriek of pain as she collapsed onto the concrete, clutching her bleeding face.

A second later, the auxiliary emergency lights flickered on, bathing the room in a dull, red glow.

The gunfire had ceased.

Three of Vance’s tactical guards lay motionless on the floor. Marco stood over the fourth, wiping blood from a cut above his eye, holding an automatic rifle.

Arthur Cole was pinned to the floor under Luca’s heavy boot, his arm twisted painfully behind his back, crying out for mercy.

In the center of the room, Dominic Vance stood alone, his silver cane dropped, his hands raised slowly as Luca stood two feet away from him, the barrel of his silver .45 pressed firmly against the center of Vance’s forehead.

"It’s over, Dominic," Luca whispered, his voice like grinding stones.

Vance looked into Luca’s eyes, searching for a trace of hesitation, a flicker of fear, or a desire to negotiate. He found nothing.

"Your father... was a monster," Vance rasped, his voice finally breaking with true terror.