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.

The underground garage was a vast, cavernous concrete bunker lit by flickering emergency strobes. Rows of matte-black armored SUVs and vintage sports cars stood parked in silence, echoing with the sound of our boots hitting the wet floor.

At the far end of the bay, a sleek executive transport was idling with its engine roaring, its rear doors open. Standing by the vehicle with a silver briefcase in hand was Dante Vance—a tall, impeccably dressed man whose silver hair and tailored suit contrasted sharply with the grim reality of a mafia warzone.

Surrounding him were four elite mercenaries holding assault rifles at the ready.

"Roman!" Dante called out, his voice echoing off the concrete walls as we emerged from the service stairwell. He didn't look panicked; instead, a smug, venomous smile spread across his face. "You should have stayed out of the eastern shipping lanes. The council has outgrown your archaic rules."

"You built your entire coup on a foundation of stolen ledgers and framed children, Dante," Roman shouted back, his voice cutting through the damp air with absolute authority as we took cover behind a concrete structural pillar.

Dante laughed, his eyes darting toward me standing slightly behind Roman. Ah. The little maid. I wondered how long it would take you to figure out that your precious brother's framing was just a drop in the bucket of our corporate restructuring."

"You ruined his life," I stepped out from behind the pillar, raising my weapon with both hands, my voice shaking with a fury that burned brighter than any fear. "You killed his manager, you stole the files, and you left us with nothing."

Dante sneered, raising his own pistol and aiming it straight at my chest. "And now I get to finish what we started."

Before Dante could pull the trigger, a deafening roar echoed from the upper entrance ramp.

Headlights pierced the dim garage as three heavy tactical trucks bearing the insignia of the loyalist syndicate enforcers smashed through the security gates, their mounted spotlights blinding Dante and his mercenaries instantly.

"Drop your weapons!" Viktor's voice boomed through the PA system.

Dante panicked, his finger tightening on the trigger.

Crack.

A single shot rang out—not from Dante, and not from me.

Roman’s weapon flashed in the dark. The bullet struck Dante’s hand with pinpoint precision, sending his pistol clattering across the concrete floor. Before Dante could scream, Viktor and the enforcers swarmed the mercenaries, disarming them and slamming them to the ground in a flurry of tactical efficiency.