**Three Silent Triplets Called a Waitress “Mama”—Then Their Mafia Father Locked the Restaurant Down**

The sound of shattering glass echoed from the first floor, a sharp, violent punctuation to the escalating nightmare. Dominic didn't flinch. He scooped Emma into his left arm, holding his weapon steady in his right.

“Carry Grace. Keep Lily between us,” Dominic ordered, his tone leaving absolutely no room for hesitation.

Hannah hoisted Grace onto her hip, her muscles burning from exhaustion and adrenaline. Lily gripped the fabric of Hannah’s jeans, her small, dark eyes wide with silent terror. They moved swiftly through the darkened second-floor hallway, the heavy velvet curtains drawn shut to obscure any lines of sight from the grounds outside.

Downstairs, the heavy thud of boots and the splintering of wood signaled that Peter’s men had breached the grand foyer.

“Where is the panic room?” Hannah whispered frantically as they hurried past a row of oil paintings.

“At the end of the east wing,” Dominic replied quietly. “Behind the library. It’s reinforced steel. They won't get through without C4, and Peter knows an explosion will draw the local police.”

They reached the heavy mahogany doors of the library. Dominic pushed them open, quickly ushering Hannah and the girls inside. The room was massive, lined floor-to-ceiling with ancient books and a large marble fireplace. Dominic moved immediately to the fireplace, pressing a hidden switch beneath the mantel.

With a deep, mechanical hum, a section of the bookcases slid backward, revealing a thick steel door with a biometric scanner. Dominic pressed his palm against the glass panel.

The panel flashed red. ACCESS DENIED.

Dominic cursed under his breath in Italian. He wiped his hand on his trousers and pressed it again.

ACCESS DENIED.

“He cut the mainframe,” Dominic realized, his jaw clenching tight enough to crack teeth. “Silas knew the security protocols. He bypassed the local generator from the basement before I locked him up.”

“So we’re trapped,” Hannah said, her breath catching in her throat as the sound of footsteps echoed on the grand staircase outside the library. They were coming up to the second floor.

Dominic’s eyes scanned the library, assessing their options with terrifying speed. “Not entirely. There is a secondary egress. A service dumbwaiter used by the staff to move firewood and meals from the basement kitchen to the upper floors.”

He strode over to a wood-paneled section of the wall near the fireplace and pried open a small, square door. Inside was a wooden elevator box, suspended by thick steel cables.

“It’s manually operated from the inside by a pulley,” Dominic explained, testing the tension of the ropes. “It descends directly into the basement pantry. From there, it’s a thirty-yard sprint to the old prohibition tunnels that lead to the river. I have a boat docked there.”

Hannah looked at the cramped wooden box. “It’s too small. We can’t all fit.”

“You and the girls will fit,” Dominic said, his eyes locking onto hers. The intensity in his gaze was absolute. “I will stay here. I will draw them away from the library and buy you the time you need to reach the river.”

“No!” Hannah grabbed his arm, the panic finally breaking through her composed facade. “They have thirty men, Dominic! You can't fight them all alone. You’ll die!”

“My life ended the day Clara died,” Dominic said softly, reaching out to gently touch the side of Hannah’s face. The roughness of his calloused thumb against her skin was a grounding, electric shock. “But my daughters’ lives began again tonight. Because of you. They have a mother now.”

Before Hannah could process the weight of his words, the library doors rattled violently. Someone was testing the lock.

“Go,” Dominic commanded, lifting Grace and placing her inside the dumbwaiter. He quickly lifted Emma and Lily, settling them next to their sister. The three girls huddled together, instinctively reaching for Hannah.

Hannah climbed into the cramped space, pulling her knees to her chest. She looked up at Dominic, tears finally spilling over her eyelashes. “How will I know you made it out?”

Dominic unclasped the heavy silver watch from his wrist—the one Clara had given him on their wedding day—and pressed it into Hannah’s palm. “If I don't come for this by dawn, take the boat across the river. Don't look back.”

The library doors splintered loudly as a heavy axe bit through the wood.

Dominic slammed the dumbwaiter door shut. Complete darkness engulfed Hannah and the girls.

“Hold on to me,” Hannah whispered, her hands blindly finding the children in the dark. She grabbed the heavy rope pulley and began to lower them.

Above her, the muffled sound of gunfire erupted. Hannah bit her lip so hard she tasted copper, pulling the rope with every ounce of strength she possessed. The small box descended rapidly through the walls of the estate, the smell of dust and old wood filling the tight space.

When the box finally jolted to a stop, Hannah fumbled for the latch and pushed the door open. They were in a dark, cavernous pantry smelling of dried herbs and cold stone.

She quickly helped the girls out. “Okay, quiet like mice. We have to run.”

But as Hannah turned toward the pantry door leading to the tunnels, the lights in the basement suddenly flickered on, blindingly bright.

Standing in the center of the kitchen, holding a silenced pistol and nursing a freshly bruised jaw, was Silas. He had escaped the basement holding cell.

“Going somewhere, Miss Mercer?” Silas sneered, aiming the weapon directly at her.

Hannah froze, her heart plummeting. She pushed the girls behind her legs, shielding them with her body.

“Give me the ledger,” Silas demanded, stepping closer.

Hannah’s mind raced. The ledger was upstairs in Dominic’s study. But before she could speak, a tiny, furious voice broke the silence.

“No.”

Hannah looked down. Grace, her small face set in a scowl of pure, unadulterated defiance, stepped out from behind Hannah’s legs. The two-year-old reached into her tiny coat pocket and pulled out a heavy, metallic object, hurling it with surprising force across the floor.

It was Peter’s cell phone. The one he had used to broadcast the threat. Emma must have swiped it off the desk upstairs when no one was looking.