The fireworks outside sent streaks of red and gold across the ceiling of my cramped Queens apartment, but inside, time felt frozen. Midnight had come, yet the room was dead silent.

For two years, everyone at Rizzo Financial viewed me as just the quiet girl who booked flights, ordered lunch, and organized spreadsheets. Nobody paid attention to the assistant sitting in the corner of the boardroom.

They didn't know I had full administrator access to every system Marcus had ever built.

I sprinted to the central terminal in the bunker, pulling up the command line interface. My fingers flew across the mechanical keyboard like a rapid-fire machine gun.

If Marcus wants a war of data, I thought, my jaw setting tight, he's fighting the person who wrote his master password recovery code.

> ACCESS GRANTED: USER_ELENA_MORRISON

> INITIATING PROTOCOL: LOCKDOWN_OVERRIDE

On the surveillance monitor, I watched Marcus suddenly freeze. The terminal in his hands began flashing bright red warning screens.

He frantically started typing, trying to regain control, but I was three steps ahead. I isolated his IP address, wiped his authentication certificates, and activated the compound's emergency fire-suppression systems directly above his head.

WHOOSH!

High-pressure carbon-dioxide foam erupted from the ceiling of the control room, instantly blinding Marcus and knocking him to his knees.

"How do you like those administrative privileges, Marcus?" I whispered furiously.

Next, I redirected the estate's automated security grid. The heavy iron blast doors throughout the mansion suddenly slammed shut simultaneously, trapping Vincenzo's tactical team in isolated hallways, cutting them off from one another.

On the main foyer camera, Sal saw the doors lock his attackers in. He immediately recognized my handiwork.

He looked directly up into the security camera, a dark, wicked smirk spreading across his handsome face. He gave a single nod to the lens.

Now it's my turn, his look said.

With the tactical team divided and disoriented, Sal moved like a shadow, systematically clearing the foyer with brutal efficiency.

Ten minutes later, the gunshots stopped.

Silence descended upon Blackwood Manor once again.

I stood in the bunker, holding the pistol against my chest, my eyes glued to the stone staircase.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Heavy footsteps echoed down the stairs.

I raised the gun, hands trembling, pointing it at the dark opening.

A figure emerged from the shadow. His shirt was torn, his knuckles were bruised, and blood splattered his face—but his dark eyes were bright and alive.

Salvatore.

He saw the gun pointed at his chest and stopped, raising his hands slowly with a faint, breathless smile.

"Easy, boss lady," he said softly. "It's me."

I dropped the gun onto the table and threw myself into his arms.

Sal caught me tightly, lifting me off my feet and burying his face in the crook of my neck. He held me so hard I could barely breathe, but I didn't care.

"You saved us," he breathed against my skin. "You locked down the entire house from a terminal."

"I told you I manage your schedule," I sobbed, laughing through my tears. "That includes your survival schedule."

He pulled back, staring down at me with pure, unadulterated devotion. "Marcus is tied up upstairs. The tactical team is neutralized. But we have a bigger problem."

"What?"