The soon-to-be wife of Naples’ most ruthless syndicate boss struck me in front of ten elite crime families, mocking that I was “just a servant.” But when my four-year-old daughter stepped between us holding her gray knitted elephant, the underworld king himself noticed that her toy bore a crest linked to a mole inside his organization.

The fragile, peaceful illusion of safety within the palazzo was violently shattered precisely at the stroke of midnight.

Piercing, high-pitched sirens suddenly wailed through the massive estate, immediately followed by the deafening, rapid-fire sound of heavy machine guns.

Lorenzo kicked our heavy bedroom door open with tremendous force, a sleek black submachine gun tightly gripped in his scarred hands.

“We have to move right this second, Elena!” he shouted over the chaotic din of the brutal firefight erupting downstairs.

I frantically scooped a crying Lily into my arms, pressing her head into my shoulder and tightly covering her ears to muffle the terrifying gunshots.

“Who is attacking us?” I panicked, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might actually burst through my ribcage.

“It is the Moretti syndicate,” Lorenzo grunted angrily, blind-firing a quick burst of bullets down the dark, smoke-filled hallway.

“Camilla deliberately gave them our highest security clearance codes to exact her petty revenge against me.”

My blood ran completely cold at the mere mention of her ultimate, treasonous betrayal just because her massive ego was bruised.

Lorenzo physically shielded us with his own broad body as we ran desperately toward the secret underground escape tunnels hidden behind the library.

Stray bullets ruthlessly shattered the priceless antique vases, centuries-old paintings, and magnificent marble statues that lined the opulent corridors around us.

Every single step felt like walking through a terrifying war zone, with the smell of sulfur and fresh blood heavily suffocating the indoor air.

One of Lorenzo's loyal guards was shot right in front of us, collapsing to the floor in a gruesome pool of crimson.

Lorenzo didn't even pause, ruthlessly dragging me forward by my wrist while simultaneously laying down heavy suppressive fire to cover our desperate retreat.

He kicked open a heavy iron grate hidden perfectly behind a towering bookshelf, revealing a pitch-black, damp staircase leading deep underground.

“Get down there now and do not make a single sound,” he commanded intensely, pushing me gently but firmly into the dark abyss.