2:43 AM.
The DeRossi estate had never been breached.
Not once.
Not in ten years.
That changed in three seconds.
The explosion ripped through the east gate like thunder splitting the sky.
Steel twisted. Concrete cracked. Alarms screamed.
Inside the east wing, Luca DeRossi's head snapped toward the window at the exact moment the glass trembled.
Not surprise.
Outside—gunfire.
Heavy.
He turned slowly toward Amara Volkov.
She was already on her feet.
Not confused.
Not panicked.
Ready.
His eyes sharpened.
"You called them."
Her gaze didn't waver.
"If I had," she said evenly, "they would've waited until you were asleep."
Another explosion shook the hallway.
The lights flickered.
Luca pulled a gun from the back of his waistband and moved toward the door.
"Stay here."
Amara almost laughed.
"I don't take orders."
He didn't argue.
He simply grabbed her arm and pulled her with him.
Because whether she was bait, target, or weapon—
He wasn't leaving her alone.
Smoke filled the corridor.
Security rushed past them.
"Boss! East gate is down!"
"How many?" Luca demanded.
"At least twelve. Maybe more."
Not random.
A unit.
Someone had intel.
Someone knew layout, guard rotation, entry points.
Luca's mind moved fast.
Too fast.
His estate blueprints were locked.
Encrypted.
Only five people had access.
Including—
Gunfire erupted at the end of the hall.
Two of Luca's men dropped instantly.
Headshots.
Amara's expression changed.
That wasn't amateur work.
That was military precision.
One of the attackers stepped through the smoke.
Black tactical gear.
Russian insignia tattooed at the wrist.
Luca noticed.
Amara noticed.
Their eyes met.
"Not mine," she said immediately.
He believed her.
And that realization was worse.
Because if it wasn't her father…
Then someone was trying to erase her.
The attacker raised his rifle.
Before he could fire—
Amara moved.
Fast.
Faster than expected.
She grabbed the fallen guard's pistol and fired twice.
Two shots.
Two kills.
Luca didn't blink.
But something inside him shifted.
She hadn't hesitated.
She hadn't screamed.
She hadn't missed.
Smoke thickened.
More attackers flooded the lower staircase.
Luca grabbed her wrist and dragged her into a side corridor.
"You handle a gun well," he said.
"You lock up your guests carelessly."
Another explosion rocked the west wing.
His jaw tightened.
"They're pushing inward," he muttered.
"That means they know where I am," she replied calmly.
He stopped walking.
Turned to face her.
"Explain."
She didn't.
Instead, she reached into her bracelet.
Pulled out the tiny transmitter.
Dropped it into his palm.
His expression darkened instantly.
"You placed this."
"Yes."
"For who?"
"For leverage."
Gunfire echoed closer.
She stepped toward him.
"You think I'd walk into your territory without insurance?"
"You brought enemies to my house."
"I brought protection."
He stared at the device.
Then at her.
"You miscalculated."
"How?"
He crushed the transmitter under his heel.
"Because whoever followed that signal isn't protecting you."
Her calm cracked.
Just slightly.
Another explosion shook the floor beneath them.
One of Luca's captains came sprinting around the corner—
Viktor.
Blood splattered across his shirt.
"Boss, we've got a breach on the inner perimeter—"
His gun lifted.
Not toward the attackers.
Toward Luca.
Everything slowed.
Matteo's words from earlier echoed in Luca's mind.
You suspect everyone?
Luca moved first.
Three shots.
Viktor dropped.
Dead before he hit the floor.
Silence rang in the corridor.
Amara stared at the body.
"Trusted?" she asked.
"For years."
She nodded slowly.
"Then this wasn't about me."
No.
It wasn't.
This was a coup.
And she had just been the perfect distraction.
The estate lights suddenly cut out.
Darkness swallowed the hallway.
Emergency red lights flickered on.
Luca grabbed her hand—not romantic.
Strategic.
"They're coming for the control room," he said.
"And if they take it?"
"They own the house."
She stepped closer.
"We don't let them."
A beat.
A silent agreement formed.
Not allies.
Not yet.
But survival partners.
Footsteps thundered toward them from both ends of the corridor.
Trapped.
Luca raised his gun.
Amara raised hers.
Back to back.
Smoke swirling around them.
Red emergency lights casting shadows like war paint.
"They want you dead," Luca said quietly.
She answered without hesitation.
"Then they'll have to go through us."
And for the first time since she stepped into Chicago—
She wasn't smiling.
Gunfire erupted.