The first time I touched Alessandro Moretti, I was trying to stop him from smashing a crystal glass into another man’s face.

The warehouse fell into an agonizing silence, broken only by the steady drip of rain through the bullet-shattered skylights.

The eight tactical enforcers behind Vincent didn't move. Their weapons remained raised, cold and lethal, forming a deadly semicircle around Alessandro, Marco, and me.

“Vincent,” Alessandro said. His voice didn't waver, but the air between them turned subzero. “What are you doing?”

Vincent’s face was carved from granite. “I’m saving the organization, Alessandro. From you.”

“You took Varga’s money,” I breathed, horror gripping my chest.

“Varga is a cockroach,” Vincent snarled, not looking at me. “I didn't take his money. I used him. Just like I used Salvatore. Just like I used you, Isabella.”

He took a step forward, his assault rifle leveled squarely at Alessandro’s heart. “For five years, Alessandro, you’ve gone soft. You’ve been hiding money in dummy trusts. Laundering legitimate assets to buy out our shipping routes. Trying to turn a blood-bought empire into a respectable corporate family because of some ghost from your father’s past.”

Vincent spat on the concrete. “Your father was weak. He let sentimentality destroy his judgment, and he got burned for it. And now you’re willing to hand over our master encryption drive to save a waitress and a dockworker? You’re unfit to lead.”

“You orchestrated Marco’s poisoning,” I said, the puzzle pieces clicking together in a terrifying flash. “It wasn't Varga acting alone. You fed him the schedules. You gave him the warehouse access!”

“I needed Alessandro distracted,” Vincent admitted coldly. “I needed him making reckless mistakes. And he made them. He brought a civilian into the inner circle. He broke protocol at table twelve. He walked right into the crosshairs.”

Vincent glanced at Dante Varga, who was still bleeding on the floor. Without blinking, Vincent pulled his sidearm and shot Varga twice through the head, ending his rival permanently.

“Loose ends,” Vincent said flatly. “The police will find Varga dead. They’ll find Alessandro Moretti dead, killed in a turf war over stolen narcotics. And I will step in to clean up the mess and lead the family where it belongs.”

He tightened his finger on the trigger of his rifle.

“Any last words, Boss?”

Alessandro looked at Vincent with something that resembled pity.

“Only one, Vincent,” Alessandro said quietly.

“What’s that?”

“Check your magazine.”

Vincent’s eyes narrowed in confusion. He pulled back the charging handle on his rifle.

A hollow metallic click echoed through the chamber. Nothing ejected.

Panic flashed across Vincent’s face. He whipped his sidearm from his holster and pulled the trigger. *Click.*

Empty.

The eight tactical enforcers behind Vincent didn't lower their weapons. In unison, they took two steps forward, racking their live bolts—and pointed their rifles at the back of Vincent Gallo’s head.

The lead enforcer pulled down his tactical balaclava. It was Chloe’s older brother, Mateo—Alessandro’s most loyal shadow commander.

“You think I didn't notice the offshore accounts in the Cayman branches, Vincent?” Alessandro asked, stepping forward until the barrel of his own gun was resting beneath Vincent’s chin. “You think I didn't know who paid Salvatore to wear a wire to the restaurant?”

Vincent’s knees buckled. Sweat poured down his neck. “Alessandro... wait. We can talk about this—”

“You threatened my blood,” Alessandro whispered.

He pulled the trigger.

Vincent collapsed to the floor, joining Dante Varga in the dark.

Alessandro didn't look down at the bodies. He turned immediately to Marco and me. “Mateo! Get the medical transport in here now! The thallium antidote is in Varga’s vehicle. Administer it immediately!”

Two paramedics sprinted in through the bay doors, lifting Marco onto a stretcher. As they strapped him in, Marco reached out with trembling fingers, grabbing my sleeve.

“Bella...” he whispered, color slowly returning to his lips as the medic injected the clear antidote into his IV port. “You saved me.”

“I’ll always save you,” I cried, kissing his forehead as they wheeled him toward the ambulance. “Go. I’ll be right behind you.”

The warehouse cleared rapidly as Alessandro’s loyalists secured the scene.

I stood alone on the vast concrete floor, staring at the man who had turned my world upside down. The rain poured through the shattered roof, soaking our ruined formal clothes.

Alessandro walked up to me. He reached into his coat, pulled out a thick envelope, and placed it in my hand.

“Marco’s recovery is fully guaranteed,” he said softly. “The medical debts are erased. There is three million dollars in that trust account. You can take your brother and leave Chicago tonight. You will never see me again. You will be completely safe.”

I looked at the envelope. Then I looked into his eyes—the dark, haunted eyes of the man who had shielded me with his own body.