Six hours of screaming had pushed Dominic Moretti to the edge, and everyone inside the Chicago restaurant knew better than to go near him. Then I crossed the dining room, looked the most feared mafia boss in the city straight in the eye, and told him, “You’re hurting your own baby.”

I clutched Matteo’s carrier tightly against my chest, running behind Marco as the muffled sounds of gunfire and explosions reverberated through the concrete walls above us. Matteo began to cry, terrified by the vibrations and sirens.

“It’s okay, baby,” I whispered, humming a soft lullaby as I ran, using my body to shield his carrier from dust dropping from the ceiling. “It’s okay. Daddy is fighting for us.”

We reached the heavy steel blast door of the boathouse panic room after five long minutes of running. Marco punched a six-digit code into the keypad, and the reinforced door hissed open.

Inside was a fully stocked, bulletproof bunker equipped with medical supplies, satellite monitors, and secure communications.

“Stay inside,” Marco said, pulling a tactical vest over his suit. “The steel door locks automatically. No one gets through this door without a biometrical scan from Dominic or me.”

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“To back up my boss,” Marco said, his jaw set like iron. “Lock it behind me, Clara.”

The blast door sealed with a heavy mechanical thud.

For two agonising hours, I sat in the silent bunker, holding Matteo against my chest, watching the security feeds on the wall monitors.

The feeds showed absolute chaos on the estate grounds. Armed men in black tactical gear were fighting through the gardens, but Dominic’s forces were devastatingly efficient. On camera four, I watched Dominic move through the main foyer like a ghost—flawless, lethal, calculated. He wasn't just fighting; he was hunting.

By 3:00 AM, the gunfire on the monitors ceased.

The security camera showed the main courtyard littered with defeated Lombardi mercenaries. The estate guards were securing the perimeter.

Then, on camera nine, I saw Dominic walking down the boathouse pier toward the bunker entrance. He was drenched in rain, his shirt torn, but he was walking under his own power.

The bunker door hissed open.

Dominic stepped inside. His hands were bloody, his face bruised, but when his eyes found me and Matteo, the terrifying killer vanished instantly.

He dropped his weapons onto the floor and stumbled forward.

I stood up and ran into his arms. He wrapped his huge, trembling arms around both of us, burying his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling the scent of baby powder and my lavender soap.

“It’s over,” Dominic breathed, his voice thick with uncharacteristic exhaustion and overwhelming relief. “Lombardi is gone. The entire network... eliminated. It’s finished, Clara. The streets are clear.”

I held him tight, feeling his heartbeat pounding against my chest—fast, strong, and alive.

“You came back,” I sobbed against his shoulder. “You came back to us.”

“I will always come back to you,” Dominic whispered, pulling back slightly to cup my face in his hands. He looked down at Matteo, who had fallen asleep again, completely unharmed.

Dominic looked at me, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Four weeks ago, I was a man living in darkness, waiting for an enemy’s bullet to end my misery,” Dominic said softly. “Then a brave, beautiful woman walked across a restaurant floor, saved my child, and taught me how to live again.”

He fell to one knee on the concrete floor of the bunker, holding my hand in his.

“I know my world has shadows, Clara,” he said, pulling a simple, breathtaking ring from his pocket—not a cold black titanium band, but a radiant, clear diamond set in delicate gold. “But I promise you on my life, on my son’s life, that I will spend every day building a world of light for you. Will you stay with us? Will you be my wife, and Matteo’s mother?”