The safest place in a powerful man's mansion should have been anywhere but the hallway outside his private study after midnight, yet that was exactly where my carefully hidden secret began to unravel. The moment the head of the Moretti family looked into my eyes and quietly asked who I was protecting, I realized staying invisible was no longer an option.

Viktor, Roman’s massive, stone-faced head of security, burst into the room, his jacket soaked with rain, a bloody gash running along his temple.

"Boss," Viktor panted, gripping his sidearm. "We've been compromised. The west wing security grid just went dark. An extraction team from the council is breaching the ground floor."

Roman’s demeanor shifted from intense interrogation to apex predator in a microsecond. All personal conversation vanished, replaced by cold, calculated tactical command.

"How many?" Roman demanded, drawing a heavy-caliber Sig Sauer from his shoulder holster with fluid grace.

"At least six," Viktor reported, slamming the heavy library doors shut and engaging the internal deadbolt. "They bypassed the biometric locks using an executive override code. Someone inside the inner circle sold us out."

My breath caught in my throat. I stood paralyzed near the ladder, clutching my cleaning cloth as if it were a shield. "Executive override? But only you and the senior council members have those codes."

"Exactly," Roman said, his eyes locking onto mine with lethal clarity. He tossed a spare Glock 19 across the mahogany desk. It skidded across the wood and stopped right at the edge within my reach.

I stared at the black weapon in horror. "I don't know how to shoot."

"Then learn fast," Roman commanded sharply. "Because if they breach this room, they aren't here to negotiate terms. They're here to execute everyone inside and make it look like a palace coup."

Viktor reinforced the double doors with a heavy oak credenza while Roman positioned himself near the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, his weapon raised and trained on the entrance.

"Why are you protecting me?" I asked, my voice trembling as my fingers hovered over the grip of the gun. "You could hand me over to them right now. Give them what they want and save your own skin."

Roman didn't look back, his eyes fixed on the shadows of the hallway visible through the transom window. "Because in my world, trust is a currency traded by fools. But loyalty—even misplaced, desperate loyalty like yours—is something rare. And someone within my own house just betrayed that trust. That makes us allies, Norah. Whether you like it or not."

Bang. Bang.

The muffled sound of heavy ordnance echoing through the masonry of the west wing sent a shockwave through the air. The internal intercom system sputtered to life with a burst of static, followed by a cold, distorted voice broadcasting through the estate.

"Roman. It’s over. Stand down and hand over the eastern shipping ports, and we’ll spare the girl."

The voice belonged to Dante Vance, the ruthless head of the council's financial division and the very man who had orchestrated the frame-up against my brother six months ago.

My blood ran instantly cold. Dante Vance wasn't just trying to overthrow Roman; he was the architect of my family's destruction.

"Dante," I whispered, my knuckles turning white as I gripped the handle of the gun on the desk.