820 "After Witnessing a Cold-Blooded 'Execution' in His Office Six Years Ago, I Fled and Hid His Twins in Secret—Until the Mafia Boss Tracked Us Down, Only to Reveal the Heart-Stopping Truth That Sent Us Straight Into a War Against the Feds."

"Vance?" I repeated, the name clicking into place alongside memories of the corporate threats that had plagued my freelance clients over the last year. "He runs the entire regional oversight committee. If he's dirty, there's nowhere in the country we can run where he won't find us."

"We aren't running," Luca said, standing up and extending a strong, calloused hand down toward me. I took it, letting him pull me to my feet, keeping Maya and Leo tucked safely against my legs. "For six years, I let them chase me. Tonight, we turn the tables."

Vincenzo limped into the bedroom through the shattered doorway, holding a bleeding left shoulder where a graze had clipped his jacket, but his face was set in grim determination.

"Boss, the stairwell is clear," Vincenzo reported, checking the magazine of his submachine gun. "We secured the perimeter vehicles. But local Portland PD units are five minutes out. If we don't move now, we're going to be pinned down by the entire municipal force."

"We aren't going to the safehouse," Luca replied, walking over to the closet and pulling out a heavy duffel bag packed with encrypted comms gear and spare hardware. "We’re going straight to Vance’s federal field office downtown."

I stared at him, my jaw dropping slightly. "Are you insane? That's a federal building! It's fortified like a military base!"

"It’s also where Vance keeps the physical hard-servers containing every illegal asset seizure and payoff ledger connected to the Dubois syndicate," Luca explained, his eyes locking onto mine with fierce determination. "If we pull those servers before his clean-up crew realizes these hit squads failed, we don't just clear my name—we hand the entire federal prosecutor’s office a signed confession."

Leo tugged gently on the hem of my jacket. I looked down. My son wasn't crying; he was looking up at Luca with a strange, calculating curiosity that mirrored the man who had created him.

"Can I push the button?" Leo asked quietly.

Luca let out a short, sharp breath that sounded almost like a laugh—a dark, humorless sound of absolute pride. He knelt down so he was eye-level with his son, placing a large, steady hand on the boy's small shoulder.