Little Mila Ferrante was pinned tightly against a low padded garage

"No! No, I swear to God, Nico, that isn't true!" Gavin yelled, scrambling backward on his palms as Nico turned back toward him. "It was an accident! A misunderstanding! Sabrina bought the supplements online—"

From the pile of overturned buckets, Sabrina let out a muffled groan, spitting blood onto a blue microfiber cloth. She glared up at her brother with pure, unadulterated venom.

"Don't put this on me, Gavin!" Sabrina screamed, her voice slurred through her swelling jaw. "You're the one who signed the contract with the Morellos! You said if the baby was born, the trust would lock us out forever!"

The word Morello detonated in the garage like a concussive grenade.

Sienna gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Mila whimpered behind the pillar, clutching the hem of her cardigan.

Nico did not shout. He did not curse. His shoulders dropped half an inch, settling into a terrifying, immovable stillness. For twenty years, the Morello syndicate had been the bloodiest rival to the Ferrante empire—a war that had cost Nico his younger brother and three of his best captains before a fragile ceasefire was brokered five years ago.

"The Morellos," Nico repeated, drawing out the syllables with cold, surgical precision. "You brought the Morellos into my family's succession."

Suddenly, Sienna let out a sharp, ragged cry of agony.

Her knees buckled beneath her. She grabbed the handle of the SUV with both hands, her knuckles whitening as her head snapped back against the glass. A deep, shuddering spasm rippled through her entire body.

"Sienna!" Nico was at her side before she could hit the concrete. His powerful arms caught her beneath the shoulders, lifting her weight effortlessly, his hand gently supporting her lower back. "Breathe, my darling. Look at me. Look at your father."

"Dad... it hurts," Sienna wept, cold sweat beading on her forehead, her fair skin turning pale as paper. "The contractions... they aren't stopping. They're on top of each other."

Nico pressed two fingers against the pulse point in her neck, feeling the frantic, galloping rhythm of her blood. The physical trauma of being shoved against the furniture upstairs, combined with the sheer terror of the confrontation, had forced her body into precipitous, dangerous labor.

Nico reached into his suit jacket, retrieved his encrypted satellite phone, and tapped the speed dial with his thumb. He brought the receiver to his ear, never taking his eyes off his daughter's face.

"Cassian," Nico said, his voice flat, low, and unmistakable. "Code Black. Lock the estate gates. Deploy the perimeter guards with heavy rifles. Call Dr. Bennett down to the private medical wing immediately. And bring four men to the underground garage."

"Understood, Don Ferrante," the gravelly voice answered instantly.

Nico lowered the phone. At that moment, a muffled vibration hummed from the floor beneath the collapsed tire rack.

Gavin’s custom gold-plated smartphone lay face-up among the scattered wheel nuts, its screen glowing bright white in the LED lighting.

A notification banner flashed across the locked display:

UNKNOWN SENDER: The Morello convoy is crossing the bridge. Confirm the girl is neutralized and unlock the service gate by midnight.