“I’m not leaving you.”

“You’re not leaving them.”

He pulled a gun from beneath his jacket.

“Tell Marco: Cordis Rosso. He’ll know.”

Glass shattered somewhere below.

“They’re inside!” a guard shouted.

Victor looked at Serena.

For one second, the mafia boss disappeared.

Only the father remained.

“Protect my sons.”

Serena ran.

The hallway stretched endlessly under red emergency lights. Behind her, gunfire and shouting filled the mansion.

She reached the media room and knocked hard.

“Marco, it’s me. Open.”

The lock clicked.

He opened the door just enough for her to slip inside.

The boys were huddled on the couch. Lucia sat between Alessandro and Tommy, gripping both their hands.

“We need to move,” Serena said.

“What’s happening?” Alessandro asked.

“Your papa is handling it. But we need somewhere safer.”

Marco stood.

Serena met his eyes.

“Cordis Rosso.”

Marco went still.

Then he ran to the bookshelf.

He pulled one book from the third shelf.

The entire bookcase swung inward.

A staircase descended into darkness.

Nico stared.

“That’s real?”

Marco snapped, “Move.”

They formed a chain.

Marco first. Nico behind him. Alessandro holding Lucia’s hand. Tommy gripping Serena’s.

They descended into the wine cellar.

The air was cold and smelled of wood, dust, and bottles older than Serena’s marriage had lasted.

Above them, heavy footsteps pounded.

Voices shouted in Italian.

The children froze.

Serena counted heads.

Marco. Nico. Alessandro. Tommy. Lucia.

All there.

“Tunnel’s behind the armoire,” Marco whispered, pointing through the dim storage room.

Serena moved toward the covered piece of furniture.

Then Lucia whispered, “Mama. Someone’s coming.”

Footsteps descended the stairs.

Slow.

Calm.

Unhurried.

A voice followed.

“Children? I know you’re down here. Your father sent me.”

Mr. Hargreaves stepped into the storage room wearing his cardigan, glasses, and kindly smile.

In his hand was a small black remote.

Serena’s stomach dropped.

“There you are,” he said warmly. “Thank goodness. Come along now. It isn’t safe.”

“No,” Tommy whispered.

Everyone looked at him.

His eyes were fixed on the remote.

“I saw that. Last week. In Papa’s office. He pointed it at the computer, and the screen changed. He said it was for lessons. But teachers don’t need remotes in Papa’s office.”

Hargreaves’ smile remained.

But the warmth vanished.

Serena stepped in front of the children.

“You shut down the alarms.”

Hargreaves sighed.

“You are a bright woman, Miss Valente. That makes this inconvenient.”

Marco’s face twisted.

“You’re a traitor.”

“I am a pragmatist,” Hargreaves said. “The Carvellis are offering excellent terms. They don’t want to hurt you. They only need leverage.”

“You’ve known them since they were babies,” Serena said.

“And I have been underpaid for four and a half years.”

The old man pulled out his phone.

“Come quietly, and no one suffers.”

Serena looked at the room.

One exit blocked.

Five children behind her.

A hidden tunnel still covered by the armoire.

She raised her hands.

“Okay.”

Relief flickered across his face.

“We’ll come with you,” she said. “Just don’t hurt them.”

His phone lowered slightly.

That was all she needed.

Serena grabbed a wine bottle from the rack and hurled it at him.

It struck his shoulder and shattered against the doorframe.

Hargreaves stumbled.

Serena charged.

She had never been trained to fight. She had never been brave in the way movies made bravery look clean and heroic.

But she was a mother.

And he was between her children and survival.

She slammed into him, driving him back. His phone skidded across the floor. He grabbed for her throat, and Serena fought dirty—nails, elbows, knees, anything.

“Marco!” she gasped. “Move the armoire. Get them out!”

The children scrambled.

Marco and Nico pushed with all their strength. Alessandro helped Lucia. Tommy shoved with his shoulder, silent and determined.

Hargreaves threw Serena off him.

She crashed into the wine rack. Bottles fell and broke around her, red wine spreading over the floor.

He lunged for his phone.

Serena grabbed a broken bottleneck.

“Don’t,” she warned.

He laughed.

Then he raised his hand to strike her.

Before he could, a shadow moved behind him.

Victor Rinaldi appeared in the doorway.

His shirt was torn. Blood streaked one sleeve. His gun was steady.

Hargreaves froze.

Behind Victor, two guards secured the stairs.

“Papa!” the boys shouted.

Victor did not take his eyes off the tutor.

“The Carvellis?” he asked.

“Scattered,” one guard said. “We’re sweeping the grounds.”

Victor stepped forward.

“You betrayed my wife’s children.”

Hargreaves’ face twisted.

“Your wife trusted everyone. That was her weakness.”

The room went silent.

Victor’s voice dropped.

“No. Her weakness was believing men like you still had souls.”

What happened next was fast.

A movement.

A command.

A single gunshot that made Lucia scream into Serena’s side.

Hargreaves fell.

Victor lowered the weapon, then immediately dropped to his knees in front of his sons.

“Are you hurt? Any of you?”

“We’re okay,” Alessandro whispered. “Serena protected us.”

Victor looked at her.

Serena sat against the wine rack, lip bleeding, hands shaking, blouse torn at the shoulder.

“You fought him,” Victor said hoarsely.

“He threatened them,” Serena replied. “What else was I going to do?”

Tommy broke first.

He ran to Serena and wrapped his arms around her neck.

Then Nico.

Then Marco, who held on tight and hid his face against her shoulder.