“You’re too beautiful to be alone,” my boss’s six-year-old son announced in the middle of the hallway, staring straight at me as if he’d just made the most obvious discovery in the world. “I think you should be my mommy.” Every person around us froze, and when I looked up to find Adrian Kane, one of the most feared mafia bosses in Manhattan, staring at me, I was certain I had just stepped into the most humiliating and dangerous moment of my life.

The lights throughout the brownstone flickered once and died, plunging the grand hallway into sudden, suffocating darkness as the emergency generator kicked in with a low, distant hum.

Adrian cracked open the heavy study door, stepping out into the hallway with his weapon drawn, moving with the terrifying, silent grace of a seasoned apex predator. I stayed directly behind him, my heart hammering against my ribs, every sense dialed to maximum alertness.

We moved toward the grand foyer where the front security doors faced the street.

Before we could reach the staircase, the heavy oak front door shuddered under a massive, concussive impact.

Bang! Bang!

A heavy iron battering ram had struck the reinforced deadbolts. The wood groaned, splintering around the locks.

“Miller!” Adrian barked into his lapel mic.

“We’ve got three men through the side garden window, boss!” Miller’s voice crackled back over the comms, punctuated by the sharp, terrifying crack of a silenced gunshot. “They’re heading toward the central stairwell!”

“Fall back to the second-floor landing,” Adrian ordered. “Protect the nursery at all costs.”

Before Adrian could pivot toward the stairs, the front door gave way with a deafening crash. Splintered mahogany and shattered glass exploded across the marble foyer as three heavily armed men in tactical gear and balaclavas poured into the house, automatic weapons raised.

Instinct took over.

Before the lead intruder could swing his rifle toward Adrian, I lunged forward, grabbing a heavy brass umbrella stand beside the coat rack and hurling it with all my might directly into the man’s shins.

The intruder stumbled hard, swearing loudly as he lost his balance.

That single, split-second distraction was all Adrian needed.

With blinding speed, Adrian raised his pistol, firing two precise, muffled shots that dropped the lead intruder instantly. The other two gunmen spun around, screaming commands, opening fire toward our position.

Shattered crystal from the chandelier rained down around us as bullets chewed into the plaster walls.

“Down!” Adrian shouted, throwing his arms around me and dragging me behind the heavy oak structure of the curved staircase.

Bullets whined off the marble floor inches from our feet.

Adrian didn't panic. His breathing remained eerily steady. He leaned around the corner of the staircase, firing twice with lethal precision. The second gunman crumpled, clutching his shoulder.

The third intruder, realizing he was outmatched and isolated, dropped his rifle and sprinted desperately toward the shattered front door.

Adrian didn't pursue him. He immediately dropped his magazine, slammed a fresh one into his pistol, and spun around to check me over.

“Clara! Are you hit?” he demanded, his hands frantically searching my arms and shoulders for any sign of injury, his face pale with a terror I had never seen in him before.

“I’m fine!” I gasped, my chest heaving, adrenaline flooding my veins. “I’m completely fine!”

Adrian let out a ragged, shaking breath, pulling me against his chest in a fierce, bone-crushing embrace. For a second, the bullets, the syndicate, and the dark underworld of Manhattan didn't exist. There was only the solid warmth of his body and the frantic, mutual rhythm of our racing hearts.

“Boss! Perimeter is secure!” Miller’s voice echoed down from the top of the stairs, accompanied by the sound of hurried footsteps. “The third runner got away, but the rest are neutralized. Noah is safe in the nursery—he slept through the whole thing.”