Driving her heel into Victor’s foot to tear violently free, Valentina dived fully clothed into the pond

The grand foyer of the Morello estate was a war zone, but it belonged entirely to Valentina. The surviving Chicago mercenaries, realizing their secondary force at the docks had been wiped out and their assault stalled, had thrown down their weapons. They were zip-tied and kneeling on the ruined marble floor, surrounded by heavily armed, furious estate guards.

Valentina walked into the foyer, her tailored suit jacket dusted with plaster and drywall. She looked impeccably calm, projecting the absolute, imposing authority of a victorious queen.

"Thomas," Valentina said, her crisp American accent echoing in the cavernous room. "Casualties?"

"Three of our men wounded, Boss. None critical," Thomas reported, a weary but triumphant smile touching his lips. "We neutralized eighteen hostiles. The remaining twelve surrendered. The estate is secure."

"Process them," Valentina commanded, gesturing to the kneeling mercenaries. "Extract any intelligence regarding the Chicago leadership, and then hand them over to Marcus for disposal. I want no trace of them left in my city."

"Yes, Boss."

Valentina didn't linger to watch the cleanup. She turned and walked back toward the secure panic suite in the center of the mansion. The adrenaline was finally beginning to recede, replaced by a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. But she couldn't rest yet; she had one final, unpleasant task to complete.

She reached the heavy steel door and entered the biometric code. The door hissed open, revealing the warm, safe interior of the suite.

Owen was fast asleep on the plush sofa, curled up under the thick blanket, the empty cocoa cup resting on the table nearby. The nanny sat beside him, looking pale and terrified, but she relaxed instantly when she saw Valentina standing in the doorway, unharmed.

"Is it over, Ma'am?" the nanny whispered.