The son of the most feared mafia boss in the city was lying injured and freezing in Central Park, and I—a homeless girl people walked past like I didn’t exist—was the only one who stopped. I gave him the coat keeping me alive, but when his father arrived with armed men, one desperate sentence from the boy stopped me from disappearing—and changed my life forever.

It was supposed to be a small, private affair, but in the Moretti world, there was no such thing as private. The estate was crawling with security, but I felt a prickle of unease. Something was wrong. The air was too still, the guards too stiff.

I found Vincent in the garden, looking at the statue of his late wife. He looked older than I had ever seen him, his shoulders hunched under the weight of an invisible burden.

"They're coming tonight, aren't they?" I asked.

He didn't turn around. "Vance has bribed someone on the inside. I don't know who, but they’ve disabled the outer sensor grid. I’ve evacuated the staff. Only the core team remains."

"And the girls?"

"They’re safe," he said, finally turning to face me. "But I need you to go with them. There’s a plane waiting at Teterboro."

"I'm not leaving you," I said firmly.

He gripped my shoulders, his fingers digging into the fabric of my dress. "Lily, this isn't a game. They will kill anyone who stands in their way."

"Then let them come," I replied.

He looked at me with a mix of frustration and awe. He leaned in and kissed me—hard, desperate, and full of a hunger that made my blood run hot. It was a goodbye and a promise all wrapped into one.

"Stay close to Ethan," he whispered against my lips. "No matter what happens, don't leave his side."

The attack began at midnight.

It wasn't a stealthy infiltration. It was a siege. Explosions rocked the foundations of the estate, and the sound of gunfire tore through the night like a serrated blade. I ran to Ethan’s room, locking the door and barricading it with the heavy antique furniture.

We crouched in the corner, Ethan clutching my hand, his eyes wide with fear.

"Dad will come," he said, his voice trembling.

"I know," I whispered, holding him tight.

Suddenly, the door was blown inward by a concussive blast. Men in tactical gear swarmed into the room, their suppressed weapons spitting fire. I dove over Ethan, shielding him with my own body, waiting for the impact.

But it never came.

Vincent appeared in the doorway like an avenging angel, his silhouette framed by the fire in the hallway. He moved with a brutal, efficient speed, his gun barking in the dark. In seconds, the attackers were neutralized, lying in heaps on the expensive carpet.

He ran to us, checking us over with shaking hands. "Are you hurt? Did they touch you?"

"We're fine," I said, gasping for air.

He pulled us both into a fierce embrace, his heart hammering against my chest. "I have you. I have you."

But as he pulled away, he looked toward the door, his eyes darkening. He saw a shadow in the hallway—someone trying to slip away.

"Mateo?" he shouted, his voice thick with betrayal. "You?"

The head of security stood in the corridor, a gun held loosely in his hand. He looked at Vincent with a weary, regretful expression. "They have my family, Vincent. They gave me no choice."

Vincent didn't hesitate. He pulled his weapon and fired. Mateo slumped to the ground, the sound of his body hitting the floor echoing like a gavel.