My three-year-old son spotted something inside the mafia boss’s ear that every doctor had missed, and minutes later, the man who had been deaf for three years could hear again. But when Dominic realized what had been lodged inside him all that time, his face went cold, because his deafness hadn’t been an accident.

The walk-in closet of the master suite was vast, lined with tailored suits and designer coats. But behind a full-length mirror at the back was a heavy reinforced steel door with a keyhole beneath an electronic keypad.

I inserted the silver key, turned it ninety degrees, and punched in the six-digit code Dominic had recited to me before he left.

With a heavy pneumatic hiss, the steel door unlocked and swung inward, revealing a dimly lit concrete staircase descending into the dark ground.

"Mommy, where are we going?" Marcus whimpered, his tiny face buried in my neck, his little arms wrapped tightly around my collar. "It's loud outside. I don't like the loud noises."

"I know, baby," I whispered, kissing his forehead as I stepped into the dark opening. "We're playing a game, okay? We're going to hide in a secret cave until Mr. Cray finishes cleaning up."

I pulled the heavy steel door shut behind us.

The moment the lock clicked into place, the deafening roar of gunfire and blaring alarms from the main house was reduced to a low, distant thrum.

The tunnel was small—about four feet wide and seven feet high—lit by tiny yellow emergency LEDs spaced twenty feet apart along the curved concrete ceiling. The air was cool, smelling of damp soil and concrete dust.

I ran down the stairs, carrying Marcus against my hip, my sneakers squeaking against the wet concrete steps.

Fifty steps down, the tunnel leveled off into a long, straight hallway stretching into the dark.

Step. Step. Step.

My breath came in ragged gasps. My legs burned, but the adrenaline surging through my veins kept me moving forward.

Suddenly, from somewhere behind us—far back near the entrance door at the top of the stairs—I heard a metallic thud.

I stopped in my tracks, my heart slamming into my throat.

Clang.

It was the sound of heavy metal being struck by a sledgehammer.

Julian Moretti's men hadn't just breached the main house. Some of them had swept the second floor, found the hidden door behind the mirror, and were currently trying to breach the reinforced steel lock.

"Mommy?" Marcus whispered, sensing my sudden stillness.

"Shh," I breathed, pressing my hand over his mouth gently. "Be very quiet, sweetheart."

I looked down the long, narrow concrete tunnel stretching out before us. Three hundred yards to the carriage house bunker.

I took a deep breath, adjusted my grip on Marcus, and broke into a full sprint.

Behind us, a distant CRACK echoed down the concrete shaft as the lock at the top of the stairs finally gave way.

Voices—rough, muffled, and harsh—carried down the tunnel.

"Check the shaft! The girl and the kid went down here!"

"Julian said bring the kid back alive! He wants to see the boy who fixed Cray!"

Terror—pure, blinding, primal terror—flooded my system. I didn't look back. I ran faster than I had ever run in my life, my feet flying across the cold concrete floor, my lungs burning like fire.