Calm down. I’m here to help you.” Those were the first words I said after finding Chicago’s most feared mafia boss half-dressed, bleeding, and barely conscious behind the one bedroom door no servant was ever allowed to open

Gunfire shattered the night. The sound of automatic weapons and breaking glass echoed through the grand halls of the Volkov estate.

Damon immediately pulled a concealed drawer from his desk, retrieving two handguns. He slammed a fresh magazine into one and handed the other to me.

"Do you know how to use this?" he asked firmly.

"Safety off, point, pull," I said, holding the heavy weapon with shaking hands.

"Good. Stay behind me and don't let go of my belt," Damon ordered, his voice echoing with absolute authority.

We navigated through the dimly lit service corridors as the sound of battle intensified. Marco Moretti had launched a full-scale assault, using heavy firepower to breach the estate's defenses. Blood spattered the pristine marble floors of the foyer, and the scent of gunpowder was suffocating.

"Kirill, sweep the east wing and get the non-combat staff into the safe panic room!" Damon commanded through his radio comms as we took cover behind a massive stone pillar near the main staircase.

"Understood, Boss! Moving now!" Kirill replied amidst the roar of gunfire.

Suddenly, a group of three armed men burst into the grand foyer. Damon moved with terrifying precision—three quick shots, three bodies dropping instantly to the floor. His combat skills were lethal, lethal and poetic.

"Damon!" A harsh, booming voice echoed from the balcony above.

We looked up to see Marco Moretti himself, flanked by four heavily armed mercenaries. Marco was a burly man with a scarred face, grinning wildly like a madman.

"You've grown soft, Volkov!" Marco yelled down, aiming a rifle toward us. "Hiding behind your servants? I heard you took a liking to one of the maids. Is that her?"

Damon shielded my body with his own, pointing his pistol directly at Marco. "Touch her, Marco, and I will burn your entire lineage into dust."

"You won't survive the night to do that!" Marco roared, opening fire.

Damon tackled me behind a marble statue just as bullets tore through the surrounding plaster. Dust and debris rained down on us. I squeezed my eyes shut, clutching Damon's jacket as he fired back, returning shots with calculated precision.

"Alina, listen to me," Damon whispered, leaning close as he reloaded his weapon. "There is an underground escape tunnel beneath the wine cellar. You need to run."

"Not without you!" I protested, tears pricking my eyes.

"I will hold them off here. Kirill will meet you at the tunnel entrance," he urged, pressing his lips against my forehead. "If I don't make it out, take the car at the end of the tunnel and drive north. Promise me!"