The Mafia Boss Kissed His Secretary to Ruin Her Date, but the Man Watching From the Bar Was the Real Reason He Wouldn’t Let Her Leave

The deafening roar of automatic gunfire ripped through the penthouse, shattering furniture, pulverizing marble, and sending clouds of white dust pouring into the air. Flashbang grenades exploded on the balcony, blinding light and concussive sound tearing through the room.

"GET DOWN!" Nathan screamed.

Before I could even react, Nathan crossed the room in a blur of movement, tackling me to the floor and covering my body with his own as heavy rounds chewed through the walls above us.

"Marco! Alessio! Return fire!" Nathan barked, drawing a sleek black pistol from his shoulder holster while keeping his heavy frame firmly planted over me, shielding my head and chest from falling debris.

The room erupted into a warzone. The Corsetti guards returned fire, the loud thump-thump-thump of suppressed weapons mixing with the shattering of glass and the shouts of men fighting in the dark. Don Gaetano’s Sicilian bodyguards dragged the old man behind the heavy marble kitchen island, drawing their own weapons as masked men in dark tactical gear began breaching the shattered window frame from the balcony.

"Nathan!" I cried out, my hands clutching his dark shirt as the heat of spent shell casings rained down around us.

"I have you, Natalie! I'm right here!" he yelled over the gunfire.

He rolled smoothly to the side, firing three rapid shots through the dust clouds. An intruder in tactical gear collapsed near the entrance of the dining room. Nathan immediately grabbed my wrist, dragging me low across the floor toward the reinforced hallway leading to the back bedrooms.

"Marco!" Nathan shouted, firing two more rounds to cover Marco’s retreat. "Get my father to the elevator! Activate the subterranean lockdown!"

"The elevator shaft is compromised, boss!" Marco yelled back, firing over the edge of a overturned leather sofa. "They used thermal charges on the main power lines! We have to use the secondary fire stairs!"

"Take Gaetano and go!" Nathan commanded. "I'm taking Natalie through the private garage chute!"

"Nico!" Don Gaetano’s voice cut through the smoke. The old man was holding a dark revolver, his face covered in white plaster dust, but his eyes were bright with shock and respect as he watched his son fight. "They came with heavy armor! Victor bought off the local precinct's night shift! You have ten minutes before federal teams surround the block!"

"Then go!" Nathan yelled.

Nathan pulled me into the master bedroom suite, slamming the heavy reinforced oak door shut and sliding a heavy steel bolt into place. The sounds of gunfire outside became muffled, though the thud of heavy boots approaching the door was undeniable.

"Nathan, they're right outside!" I panicked, my heart beating so fast I felt faint.

"Look at me, Natalie," Nathan said, grabbing my face in both of his hands. His palms were warm, dusted with gunpowder, but his eyes were completely calm, completely focused on me. "Look at me. I am not going to let them touch you. Do you hear me?"

"I hear you," I sobbed, pressing my hand over his.

Nathan rushed to the far corner of the bedroom, pressing a hidden panel built into the mahogany wall molding. A section of the wall slid back smoothly, revealing a narrow, lit stairwell that spiraled down into the deep foundation of the building.

"This leads directly to a private service bay three floors below," Nathan explained quickly, guiding me into the opening. "There is an unlisted armored sedan waiting at the bottom. We get in, we breach the alley gate, and we disappear."

"What about your father? What about Marco?"

"Marco knows what to do. He’ll take my father through the utility tunnels under 83rd Street," Nathan said, stepping into the stairwell behind me and sealing the wall panel shut just as a heavy explosion rocked the bedroom door behind us.

The narrow stairwell was cool and quiet, echoing only with the sound of our frantic footsteps as we rushed down the concrete stairs. Nathan stayed right behind me, one hand firmly on my waist, his weapon held at the ready in his other hand.

When we reached the bottom floor, Nathan pushed open a heavy steel security door, emerging into a small, concrete service bay lit by a single overhead fluorescent light. Standing in the center of the bay was a matte-black sedan.

Standing beside the sedan, waiting for us with a silenced pistol raised directly at Nathan’s chest, was Lorenzo Vance.

And standing next to Vance, holding a silver briefcase containing internal Corsetti shipping ledgers, was David Chen.

I froze on the concrete floor, the blood draining completely from my face.