"I Can’t Do This Anymore," The Drunken Mafia Boss Knocked on My Door Saying He Needed Me

We ran through the burning, smoke-choked corridors of the east wing.

Gunfire echoed from every direction as loyal Orsini guards fought off Victor's traitors in the main courtyard.

"This way!" I shouted, pulling Raphael through the kitchen pantry.

We scrambled through the sliding partition into the tight, hidden alcove beneath the servants' stairs—the very place where our story had begun eighty-two nights ago.

Raphael pulled the partition shut, engaging the heavy iron deadbolt he had secretly installed weeks earlier.

We collapsed against the narrow daybed, breathing heavily in the dark, cedar-scented space. Outside, heavy boots stamped through the pantry.

"Find them!" Victor’s frantic, bloodied voice roared from the kitchen. "They’re in this wing! Search every closet! Burn the house down if you have to!"

Raphael checked his magazines. He had only three rounds left in his secondary pistol.

He looked at me in the dim light of the alcove.

"Clara," he whispered, his gray eyes filled with a desperate, fierce emotion. "If they break through that door... I want you to take the escape tunnel under the floorboards. It leads out to the ravine behind the estate."

"No!" I sobbed softly, tears streaming down my face. "I'm not leaving you, Raphael!"

"Listen to me!" he begged, his hand cupping my cheek gently. "You have Micah. You have a future. I won't let my war destroy the only pure thing I've ever touched!"

"I don't care about the future if you're not in it!" I cried out softly, pressing my forehead against his chest. "I love you, Raphael! I loved you long before the hundred and seven nights!"

Raphael froze. A violent shiver passed through his large frame.

"You... you love me?" he whispered.

"Yes, you foolish, stubborn man!" I sobbed, kissing his rough, calloused hand. "I love you!"

Before he could answer, the wooden partition shook violently under a heavy kick.

BANG! BANG!

"I know you're in there, Orsini!" Victor screamed from the pantry. "You're trapped like a rat under the stairs!"

Raphael’s expression hardened into diamond. He looked at me one last time, offering a soft, beautiful, heartbroken smile.

"Then let's finish it," Raphael said softly.

He raised his gun, aiming directly at the center of the wooden partition where Victor was standing.

Just as Victor raised his boot for another kick, the sound of heavy tactical sirens echoed from the front gates, followed by the roar of armored vehicles smashing through the perimeter walls.

"POLICE! FEDERAL AGENTS! DROP YOUR WEAPONS!"

Shouts and heavy gunfire erupted in the main hallway. The Chicago Police Department and federal tactical teams—alerted by the encrypted distress signal I had quietly activated on Raphael’s desk during the initial attack—had breached the estate.

Victor panicked. "Retreat! Get to the vehicles!"

"Not today, Victor," Raphael cold voice echoed.

Raphael fired three rounds straight through the thin wooden partition.