It was a quiet night, the kind of night that makes you forget the world of violence and power we live in. 

I sat by the window of my room, staring at the moonlit garden, and lost in my thoughts about the future.

The engagement to Lucien was supposed to bring peace between our families, but it felt like my life was slipping through my fingers.

Suddenly, the silence was shattered by a distant, muffled explosion. 

My heart raced as I instinctively reached for the Glock I kept in my bedside drawer.

Years of living in this world had honed my senses; I knew danger when I sensed it. 

I bolted down the hall, my footsteps echoing on the marble floor, heading towards my father's study where he kept the surveillance monitors.

The house was already in chaos. 

Men in black, armed to the teeth, had breached our perimeter. 

I saw them through the grainy black and white feed, their shadows creeping closer to the main house. 

My father's guards were already engaged, but they were outnumbered.

I activated the silent alarm, alerting the rest of the family and our reinforcements. 

The adrenaline was pumping through my veins, but my mind was sharp, focused. There was no room for fear.

"Serafina!" I heard Luca's voice behind me. "We need to get your father to safety." I nodded.

"You go. I'll hold them off here." Luca hesitated but then nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation.

He ran off towards my father's room while I took a deep breath and headed for the front door.

The attackers wouldn't expect a welcoming committee.

I ducked behind a pillar near the entrance, steadying my breath, my Glock ready.

The first of the attackers rounded the corner. A quick squeeze of the trigger, and he dropped, the silencer muffling the shot. 

I moved swiftly, taking cover behind furniture, picking off the intruders one by one with precision. Each shot was deliberate, each movement calculated.

A masked man lunged at me from behind a wall, but I was faster. 

I grabbed his arm, twisting it until I heard the satisfying snap of bone. He screamed in pain, dropping his weapon, and I finished him with a quick shot to the head.

Another burst of gunfire erupted from the far side of the room. 

I rolled to avoid the bullets, firing back instinctively. 

One of the attackers fell, clutching his chest. The others hesitated, giving me the opening I needed.

I advanced on them, my movements fluid and deadly.

I wasn't just a mafia princess. I was trained for this. Years of martial arts, firearms training, and survival skills had prepared me for moments like this. 

I was a warrior, and this was my battlefield.

As I reached the main hall, I saw Luca struggling with two attackers. One had him in a chokehold while the other prepared to strike. 

I didn't hesitate. I aimed and fired, hitting the one with the weapon.

The other turned, giving Luca the chance to break free and take him down.

"Thanks," he panted, blood running from a cut on his forehead.

I nodded, my eyes scanning the room for more threats.

"We need to secure the perimeter. Where's Dad?"

"He's safe," Luca replied. "In the panic room with the others."

Relief washed over me, but it was short-lived. More attackers were coming, and I could hear the sounds of a heavy vehicle approaching—likely reinforcements for them.

"Stay here and protect the family," I ordered Luca. "I'll handle the rest."

As I sprinted towards the garage, I heard footsteps behind me.

"Serafina, wait!" It was Michele, my stepbrother, panting and armed to the teeth.

"Michele, thank God you're here," I said, handing him a spare Glock.

"We've got more incoming. You take the left, I'll take the right." He nodded, determination etched on his face.

"Let's do this." We moved in tandem, our training and bond making us an efficient team. The heavy vehicle breached the gates, disgorging more armed men. 

We took cover behind the walls, and on my signal, we opened fire. 

Bullets flew, and the air was thick with the smell of gunpowder and the sound of gunfire.

"Take cover!" Michele shouted, pulling me down just as a grenade exploded nearby, sending debris flying.

We quickly regained our footing. "We need to take out that vehicle," I yelled over the chaos.

"Cover me," Michele said, pulling a grenade launcher from his back. I provided suppressing fire, picking off the attackers as Michele took aim. 

The grenade launcher roared, and the vehicle exploded in a fiery blaze.

The shockwave knocked several attackers off their feet, giving us the upper hand.

We pressed the advantage, moving through the smoke and fire, taking down the remaining attackers with brutal efficiency.

Michele was a whirlwind of destruction, his combat skills honed from years in the Mafia. 

We worked together seamlessly, covering each other's backs, taking down anyone who dared to come close.

"Clear!" Michele shouted after the last attacker fell. I nodded, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Let's sweep the house, make sure there are no more surprises."

We moved room to room, clearing each one, until we were certain the threat was neutralized.

The house was a war zone, but we had defended it. As we returned to the main hall, my father emerged from the panic room, his eyes wide with worry. 

He looked around at the devastation and then at us, his expression shortening.

"You did well, both of you," he said quietly, pride evident in his voice.

I nodded, my body aching, but my spirit unbroken. 

"We need to find out who sent them," I replied, my voice steely with determination.

"We will," my father promised. "But for now, rest. You've earned it." I glanced around at the destruction, the bodies, the shattered furniture.

This was the life I had chosen, the life I was bound to by blood and duty. 

And tonight, I had proven that I was ready to defend it, no matter the cost.

The house was finally quiet after the chaos of the attack. Blood and broken glass littered the floor, but the immediate threat had been neutralized.

The adrenaline still coursed through my veins as I caught my breath, wiping the sweat and grime from my brow. We had managed to capture one of the attackers alive—a rare and valuable opportunity.

Michele and I dragged the bruised and bloodied man into the basement, the only place where we could conduct the interrogation without interruption. 

The dim light cast long shadows on the walls, adding to the eerie atmosphere that hung thick in the basement. 

The cold air seemed to seep into my bones, sharpening every sense as Vincenzo secured the man to the heavy wooden chair. 

The ropes were thick, biting into the man's flesh as he struggled, but there was no escape. Not tonight.

Michele's hands worked with a precision that was almost surgical, his movements calm and deliberate. 

His calmness had always unsettled those who didn't know him well—a kind of stillness that only came from years of violence and control. 

It was a silence that spoke volumes, and tonight, it would speak in screams.

The man's eyes were wide, darting from me to Michele, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cold. 

His bravado was a thin mask, cracking at the edges, revealing the terror that lay beneath. He could sense the danger, the inevitability of what was to come. 

And still, he tried to maintain that cocky defiance, as if it could shield him from what we were about to do.

"Ready?" Michele asked, his voice steady, almost casual, as if we were about to discuss the weather rather than extract information by force.

I nodded, my expression hardening. This was what we did—what we had to do. "Let's find out who sent him."

The man's sneer faltered, but only for a moment. "You think you can scare me?" His voice was trembling now, betraying him. "You've got nothing on me."

I stepped closer, the cold steel of my knife glinting under the dim light. 

The blade was an extension of my will, and right now, that will was unwavering. "You're going to tell us everything," I said, my voice like ice. "Whether you like it or not."

Michele stood behind me, his presence a silent promise of what would happen if the man didn't cooperate. 

Michele is 12 years older than me, but that never seemed to matter. He took on the role of a guardian the moment I was born. 

While other kids my age had brothers or sisters close in age, I had Michele —a man who had already seen more of the world's darkness by the time I could walk than most would in their entire lives.

He watched over me with patience that belied the brutality he was capable of. 

Michele never treated me like a child, even when I was one. 

He respected my strength and pushed me to be better, to be the warrior I needed to become.

When I was old enough to start training, it was Michele who showed me the ropes. 

He and Lucien, both already formidable in their own right, took me under their wing. 

But it was Michele who was always there, guiding me, correcting my form, making sure I knew how to defend myself in a world that didn't believe in second chances.

He was the big brother I never had but always needed. 

Our bond was forged in blood and fire, and it has only grown stronger over the years. Michele cherished me, not just as the little girl who needed protecting but as a woman who could hold her own. 

He knew the path I had to walk would be a dangerous one, and he made sure I was ready for it.

He had always been my protector, the one who watched my back, and tonight, we would be ruthless together. 

We had to be.

The man spat blood onto the concrete floor, his defiance a last act of resistance. "Go to hell."

I didn't flinch. Instead, I let the tip of the knife hover just above his skin, the threat more powerful than any words I could offer. "Hell might be a vacation compared to what you're about to experience," I said softly, the edge of the blade pressing into his arm, just enough to draw blood.

His hiss of pain was satisfying, but he still remained silent. There was a fine line between bravery and stupidity, and he was teetering dangerously on it.

"Serafina, let me try," Michele said, stepping forward. He reached for a pair of pliers on the table beside us, holding them up for the man to see. The metal gleamed ominously, promising a pain that was both excruciating and certain.

The man's eyes widened in true fear, his resolve beginning to crack. "You wouldn't."

Michele's smile was cold, devoid of any warmth or humanity. "Oh, I would. And I will. Unless you start talking."

The room seemed to close in around us, the air thick with tension. Beads of sweat formed on the man's brow, his bravado crumbling as he realized the full extent of what was about to happen.

"I... I don't know who sent us," he stammered, his voice shaking. "We just follow orders."

The knife in my hand pressed deeper into his flesh, and this time, his gasp was more than just pain—it was fear. Real, unfiltered fear. "That's not good enough," I hissed. "We need names, locations—something to go on."

Michele moved in closer, placing the pliers around the man's finger, the metal biting into his skin. "Last chance," he growled, his voice a deadly whisper. "Who. Sent. You?"

The man's composure shattered. "Okay, okay!" His voice was a desperate whimper now. "It was Viktor. Viktor Petrov."

I exchanged a glance with Michele, my mind racing. 

The Russians. Of course. 

They'd been trying to disrupt our operations for months, but this was bolder, more direct. 

It meant they were getting desperate.

"Why?" I demanded, leaning in so close I could feel his ragged breath on my face. "What does he want?"

"He said that he is planning something bigger and we will get more wok in the future." the man panted, his voice tinged with the realization of his own betrayal.

"He's trying to weaken both your families so he can take over. This attack was just the beginning."

My pulse quickened as the gravity of his words sank in. 

This was bigger than we had anticipated—far more dangerous. "What's his next move?" I asked, my voice a harsh whisper.

"He's planning another hit," the man gasped, his desperation palpable. "Soon. But I don't know the details, I swear!"

I stood up, my heart pounding. We had the information we needed, but it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough to stop Ivanova

"Rendi l'uomo pulito e pulito," I said, my voice cold as I turned to leave.

Michele nodded, his expression grim. "Certo, principessa."

As I walked away, the man's screams filled the basement, a symphony of pain and fear that echoed off the concrete walls. 

But I didn't look back. 

There was no room for mercy in our world. There is no space for weakness. 

We had to protect our family at all costs, and that meant doing things that would haunt us forever.

Reaching the top of the stairs, I paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady myself.

Tomorrow morning, the announcement of my engagement to Lucien would be made. 

But tonight, we had even more pressing threats to deal with. 

The weight of it all pressed down on me, but I wouldn't let it break me.

I was a Moretti, and I would do whatever it took to keep our family safe—even if it meant sacrificing my soul piece by piece.