THE MAID WHO SAVED THE MOB BOSS'S HEIR

The tranquility of the study vanished instantly, replaced by the chaotic, adrenaline-fueled reality of a mafia war.

"How many men?" Luca demanded, already moving toward the heavy oak desk and pulling open a hidden weapons drawer.

"At least thirty, Boss," the bleeding guard replied, clutching his side. "The Bellini family must have been waiting in the woods for Vanessa's signal. When Silas was arrested, they realized the coup had failed. They're not trying to take over anymore. They're trying to wipe us out."

Luca threw a loaded matte-black Glock to the guard. "Barricade the front doors. Tell Carlo to move all the non-combatant staff into the underground panic room. Nobody plays the hero."

Luca turned to me, his dark eyes intense and fully focused. He reached into the drawer and pulled out a smaller, compact 9mm pistol. He held it out to me.

"Do you know how to use this, Hannah?" he asked, his voice steady.

I looked at the cold metal. "My mother lived in a rough neighborhood. She taught me to shoot when I was twelve."

I took the gun, the weight of it grounding me. I wasn't going to be a victim tonight.

"Take my mother to my private quarters. Lock the steel door," Luca ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Sophie is already there with my best men. Do not open that door for anyone but me. Understood?"

"What about you?" I asked, my heart clenching with a sudden, terrifying realization that I might never see him again.

"I have a house to clean," Luca said coldly, racking the slide of his customized pistol.

I grabbed the handles of Teresa's wheelchair. We locked eyes one last time. There were a thousand things unsaid between us—questions of blood, loyalty, and a burning, undeniable connection that had sparked in the ashes of this nightmare.

"Come back to us," I whispered.

Luca's expression softened just a fraction. "I always finish the job, Hannah."

I spun the wheelchair around and sprinted out of the study.

The mansion was a war zone. Automatic gunfire echoed from the first floor, shattering priceless vases and tearing through antique paintings. The remaining guests had already been evacuated by the police, who were now pinned down by the Bellini family's overwhelming firepower outside the gates.

I pushed Teresa down the second-floor hallway, keeping low. The smell of cordite and plaster dust filled the air.

We reached the heavy, reinforced steel door of Luca's private quarters at the end of the hall. Three of Luca's men stood guard, their assault rifles raised.

"Open it!" I yelled.

One of the men swiped a keycard, and the heavy door hissed open. I pushed Teresa inside. The room was a massive, impenetrable fortress within the mansion. Sophie was sitting on the edge of the king-sized bed, her hands covering her ears, crying softly.

"Hannah!" Sophie ran to me the moment the door locked shut behind us.

I dropped the gun on a side table and caught her, lifting her into my arms. "I'm right here, sweetie. I'm right here. Grandma is here, too."

Teresa wheeled herself over, her elderly face set in a mask of stoic defiance. She reached out and stroked Sophie's hair, whispering soothing sounds that didn't require perfect words.

For twenty agonizing minutes, we waited in the safe room. The muffled sounds of heavy gunfire and shouting vibrated through the floorboards. Every thud made my chest tighten. I kept picturing Luca, hopelessly outnumbered, fighting to protect the legacy his father had built.

Suddenly, the gunfire in the hallway outside our door stopped.

A heavy silence descended over the house. It was more terrifying than the noise.

Then, the intercom on the wall crackled to life.

"Hannah."

It wasn't Luca. It was Vanessa. Her voice was shrill, manic, and breathless.

"I know you're in there, you pathetic little rat," Vanessa sneered over the speaker. "My father's men have secured the second floor. Luca's guards are dead. We are going to blow that steel door off its hinges unless you open it right now."

I grabbed the pistol from the side table, my hands shaking violently, and aimed it at the heavy steel door. "Luca will kill you, Vanessa!"

Vanessa let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "Luca is bleeding out on the grand staircase. He's finished. Silas has the ledger. Now, open the door, and I might let you and the old woman live. But I am taking Sophie."

Sophie screamed, burying her face in my neck.

"Never," I whispered, stepping in front of Teresa and the child.

A loud, metallic clunk echoed from the door. They were attaching explosives.

"Three," Vanessa counted down over the intercom.

I raised the gun, sighting down the barrel.

"Two."

Teresa grabbed my wrist, giving it a reassuring squeeze. She wasn't afraid.

"One."

But the explosion never came.

Instead, the intercom crackled with the sound of a sickening, wet thud. Vanessa let out a blood-curdling shriek.

"Drop the detonator, Vanessa."

It was Luca. His voice was ragged, exhausted, but alive.

"Luca!" Vanessa screamed, pure panic replacing her arrogance. "Daddy! Help me!"

"Your father abandoned you ten minutes ago when my reinforcements arrived," Luca snarled over the speaker. "It's just you. And you are going to spend the rest of your life in a concrete cell."

The sound of a scuffle, a sharp slap, and then silence.

A moment later, the electronic lock on the door beeped. The heavy steel door slowly swung open.

Luca stood in the doorway. He looked like he had walked through hell. His custom suit was shredded, covered in plaster dust and blood. A dark red stain was spreading across his left side, and his face was bruised and cut.

But his dark eyes were bright, locked on us.

He dropped his empty gun to the floor and leaned heavily against the doorframe, his chest heaving.

"It's over," Luca breathed.

I didn't think. I dropped the pistol, let go of Sophie, and ran to him.

I threw my arms around his neck, burying my face in his chest, not caring about the blood or the dirt. Luca let out a ragged groan of pain, but his powerful arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me tightly against him. He buried his face in my hair, inhaling deeply, holding me as if I were the only thing keeping him standing.