51 The sheer cruelty is hard to watch. But the vengeance is incredibly satisfying.

"Get the girls into the panic room!" Dante roared, his hand instantly drawing his custom Beretta from his side holster.

I didn't need to be told twice. I bolted back into the apartment, grabbing Clara and Mia from the bed. They woke up instantly, their eyes wide with terror as the distant sound of automatic gunfire began to rattle against the reinforced brick walls of the warehouse.

"Elena! What's happening?" Clara cried, her small fingers digging into my shoulders.

"The storm is here, sweethearts," I said, keeping my voice steady and calm as I carried them toward the small, hidden steel door behind the wardrobe. "But remember what we said? We are going to hide in the dark, and we are going to be very, very quiet. Just like your mama taught you."

I shoved the wardrobe aside, opening the heavy steel hatch. I ushered the girls inside, sliding in behind them and pulling the heavy, insulated door shut.

The panic room was tiny, containing nothing but a bench, some water bottles, and a small monitor linked to the warehouse's internal security feed.

On the screen, the battle was chaotic.

The Valenti attackers had breached the main bay door, using smoke grenades to blind Dante’s guards. But Dante’s men were prepared. They fired from the elevated metal walkways, dropping the attackers as they tried to cross the open floor.

But then, my heart stopped.

On one of the cameras, I saw a familiar face.

It was Donato Valenti—the current head of the Valenti family and my grandmother’s nephew. He was a vicious, cruel man who had taken over the family after his father's death. He was moving through the office suites, a gold-plated revolver in his hand, accompanied by two large guards.

And they were heading straight for the server room that controlled the warehouse’s power grid.

"He’s going to cut the lights," I whispered, the realization striking me like a physical blow.

In a normal house, cutting the lights would cause panic. But in this warehouse, cutting the lights would disable the electronic locks on the panic room door. If the power went out, the magnetic locks would release automatically as a safety measure for fire escape routes.

Donato knew this. He had the nursery blueprint, and he had the layout of this safehouse.

"Clara, Mia," I said, turning to the girls. I grabbed their hands, looking into their wide, trusting eyes. "I need you to stay here. Do not make a sound. No matter what you hear outside this door, do not open it until your daddy comes for you."

"Are you going away?" Mia sobbed, her little lip trembling.

"I’m just going to turn off the storm," I said, kissing both of their foreheads. "I’ll be right back."

I slipped out of the panic room, sliding the door shut behind me. The air in the apartment was thick with the smell of gunpowder and sulfur.

I grabbed a heavy steel flashlight from the nightstand, my fingers wrapping around the cold metal. I crept out onto the balcony, keeping my body low as bullets sparked against the iron railings below.

I made my way down the back fire stairs, heading toward the server room. The corridor was dark, illuminated only by the strobing muzzle flashes from the main bay.

As I reached the door of the server room, I saw Donato Valenti standing before the main breaker panel, his hand reaching for the master switch.

"Donato!" I shouted, stepping into the doorway.

He spun around, his gold revolver instantly pointing at my chest. But when he saw my face, his eyes widened in surprise.

"Well, well," Donato sneered, a slow, greasy smile spreading across his face. "The lost sheep of the Valenti family. The little waitress who thinks she’s a Moretti now."

"Leave the children alone, Donato," I said, my voice cold and hard. "The war is between you and Dante. They are four years old."

"They are Morettis," Donato spat. "And as long as they live, Dante has a reason to fight. Once they are gone, he will break. And Chicago will be mine."

He reached for the master switch.

I didn't think. I threw the heavy steel flashlight with all the strength in my body.

It struck him squarely in the wrist, the heavy metal casing breaking his grip on the switch with a loud, sickening crack. The revolver flew from his hand, clattering across the concrete floor.

Donato roared in pain, clutching his broken wrist as he turned on me with animal fury. "You little bitch!"

He lunged forward, his good hand reaching for my throat. I scrambled backward, but my foot caught on a stray cable, and I fell hard onto my back, the air exploding from my lungs.

Before he could reach me, the door of the server room was kicked off its hinges with a deafening crash.

Dante Moretti stood in the frame, his face splattered with blood, his eyes burning with a lethal, demonic fire. He didn't fire his gun. He threw it aside, diving into Donato like a physical force of nature.

The fight was brutal and short. Dante’s rage was a physical thing, a father's protective instinct transformed into raw, terrifying violence. Within seconds, Donato was on his knees, his face bloody, his chest heaving as Dante held him by the collar over the edge of the server room's open floor-grate.

"Wait!" Donato gasped, his eyes wide with genuine terror as he looked down at the twenty-foot drop into the dark river below. "We’re family, Dante! We can make a deal!"

"You touched my children's room, Donato," Dante whispered, his voice cold as the grave. "In my world, there are no deals for that."