Clare entered the mansion of a mafia boss with only eleven dollars in her bank account and an eviction notice folded inside her purse. Waiting for her were his three uncontrollable eight-year-old triplets—the boys who had already driven twenty-two nannies away within their first forty-eight hours. Clare had no idea that before she could change those boys, she would have to stand up to the most dangerous man in Connecticut and make a demand no one had ever dared make to his face.

By the second day, the atmosphere in the mansion had shifted. The guards seemed more alert, their hands resting closer to their weapons as they patrolled the perimeter. Even Henry looked tense, his fingers trembling slightly as he poured Matteo’s morning coffee.

Something was coming.

I was sitting in the garden with Rosie and the triplets, helping them build a massive wooden fort out of old crates we had salvaged from the garage, when I noticed a black sedan parked just outside the main gates.

It wasn't one of Matteo’s security vehicles. The windows were tinted dark, and the engine was idling silently.

"Nico," I said quietly, leaning down to the quietest brother. "Take Rosie and your brothers inside the kitchen. Tell Henry I said it's time for lunch."

Nico looked at the black sedan, his eyes widening slightly. "Is it the bad men?"

"No, sweetie," I lied, keeping my voice calm. "Just some visitors. Go on, hurry."

Nico was smart. He didn't argue. He grabbed Rosie’s hand and whistled to Leo and Asher, guiding them toward the rear doors of the mansion with a maturity that no eight-year-old should have possessed.

Once they were inside, I walked toward the security kiosk near the gate.

But before I could reach the guards, a sudden, deafening roar echoed from the driveway.

The black sedan slammed through the iron gates, the metal screeching and buckling under the force of the impact. The vehicle spun onto the gravel, its doors flying open as three men dressed in tactical gear and ski masks jumped out, automatic rifles raised.

"Get down!" one of the guards screamed, firing his pistol toward the sedan.

The air was suddenly filled with the terrifying, deafening crack of gunfire. The sound bounced off the stone walls of the mansion, shattering the peaceful afternoon into a million jagged pieces.

I didn't think about my safety. I didn't think about the contract, the six thousand dollars, or the eviction notice.

I ran.

I sprinted toward the kitchen doors, my heart exploding in my chest as bullets chipped the stone pillars behind me, sending showers of sharp gray dust into the air. I burst through the doors, slamming them shut and sliding the heavy iron bolt into place just as a volley of bullets shattered the upper glass panes.

"Mommy!" Rosie screamed from beneath the stainless-steel prep table.

"I'm here, baby!" I yelled, throwing myself over her and the triplets, shielding their bodies with my own.

The kitchen doors groaned under the weight of someone throwing themselves against the wood. From the main hallway, I could hear the heavy, rapid thud of tactical boots and the shouting of Matteo’s men returning fire.

Then, the door leading to the dining room opened.

Henry Brandt stood there, holding a silver tray. But there was no coffee on it. Instead, he held a sleek, black submachine gun, his eyes cold and empty as he looked at me and the boys.

"Step away from the children, Clare," Henry said, his voice devoid of any warmth. "They are going with us. It’s the only way to settle the debt."

My stomach dropped into a bottomless void.

The loyal butler. The man who had managed the estate for decades. He was the leak. He was the one who had cleared the security codes for the attackers.

"You," I whispered, keeping my body pressed over the four children. "You betrayed them."

"Matteo is a fool," Henry said, raising the weapon. "He thinks he can rule this state with honor. He doesn't understand that honor is a dead currency. Now, move, or I will remove you myself."

I looked at the heavy copper pot sitting on the stove next to me. It was filled with boiling water for the boys' pasta.

With a sudden, violent movement, I kicked the leg of the stove, sending the massive pot tilting forward.

The boiling water splashed directly across Henry’s legs and feet.

He let out a guttural, agonized scream, dropping the weapon as he stumbled backward, his hands flying to his scorched skin.