The first night I sang to a dying six-year-old girl inside a mafia boss’s mansion, her father watched us through hidden cameras

I hurried back to the nursery, waking Sophia gently and wrapping her in a thick winter coat. With the security codes compromised, we couldn't stay in the open rooms.

“We’re going on a little adventure, sweetie,” I whispered, carrying her down the private corridor toward the master bedroom.

“Are the bad guys here?” Sophia asked, her eyes wide with a mature awareness that broke my heart.

“Your dad is taking care of them,” I reassured her, unlocking the hidden panel behind Lorenzo’s bookshelf that led down to the reinforced panic room.

The underground chamber was lit by soft emergency lamps, stocked with water, medical supplies, and a monitor system that showed live feeds of every room in the mansion. I set Sophia up with her favorite blanket and turned on the monitors just as chaos erupted upstairs.

On screen three, I saw Marcus cornered in the grand hallway by Lorenzo and three loyal guards.

“Why, Marcus?” Lorenzo’s voice echoed faintly through the audio feed. “If you needed money, all you had to do was ask.”

Marcus laughed bitterly, holding a small detonator in his hand. “Ask the great Pellegrini for charity? You think you own us all, Lorenzo! The Morettis offered me a way out.”

“That detonator won't work,” Lorenzo said, stepping forward without a shred of fear. “Vincent jammed the frequency ten minutes ago.”

Marcus panicked, his thumb slamming down on the button repeatedly. Nothing happened. In a flash of motion, Lorenzo lunged forward, tackling Marcus to the marble floor just as heavy explosions rocked the front gates outside.

The Morettis had arrived. Armed trucks crashed through the outer security barriers, disgorging a dozen heavily armed mercenaries who swarmed the lawn.

On the monitor in the panic room, I watched the battle unfold. Bullets shattered the grand stained-glass windows of the foyer. Vincent and the remaining guards returned heavy fire from behind marble pillars.

“Emma,” Sophia whispered, clutching my arm. “Look.”

I looked at monitor five. Two mercenaries had slipped through the servants’ entrance in the basement and were heading straight toward the hidden corridor leading to our panic room.

My pulse spiked. They knew the layout. Marcus must have given them the blueprints, too.

I looked at the heavy steel door of the panic room. It was locked from the outside by a digital keypad, but there was an emergency manual override lever inside—designed to open the door from within in case the electronics failed.