“Sir,” the guard stammered, looking at Leo. “The perimeter is—”

He never finished the sentence.

Dominic lunged from the floor with the speed of a coiled spring.

The silver scalpel flashed in the dim light of the desk lamp.

He sliced upward, catching the guard nearest to him across the back of the hand.

The man screamed, dropping his weapon onto the Persian rug.

Dominic grabbed the fallen gun before it even stopped sliding.

He rolled behind the heavy leather armchair, pressing his back against the tufted leather.

“Get down!” Silvio yelled, his own weapon tracking Leo.

Leo fired a wild shot into the ceiling.

Plaster rained down, dusting my hair and shoulders like cold snow.

I squeezed the twin infants tighter against my chest.

Luca let out a sharp cry, his small fists bunching into my wet shirt.

Liana whimpered, her face buried against my collarbone.

“Don’t move,” Leo snarled, his barrel swinging toward the armchair where Dominic hid.

“It’s over, Leo,” Silvio said, his voice deadly calm despite the chaos.

“You don’t have the men for this,” Dominic called out from behind the chair.