The weight of your pregnancy had slowed you down, but it hadn’t dulled your instincts. You were a mafia boss, after all—your brothers’ equal in every way, even if they insisted on treating you like you needed constant protection. They had left you in the cold water of the tub, a place you found oddly soothing, with your gun within arm’s reach. It was their way of ensuring you were safe while they were away on missions.

Meanwhile, your husband had reluctantly left for a mission in Mexico. The decision hadn’t come easily—he had been torn, his worry for you and the baby etched into every word he spoke before he left. But duty called, and despite his hesitation, he went, leaving you in the care of your brothers.

But tonight, safety was an illusion.

The sharp sound of shattering glass jolted you from your labored breathing. Your heart raced as you groaned, clutching your swollen stomach. The pain was unbearable, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins was stronger. You grabbed your phone, your fingers trembling as you texted your brothers. Seconds felt like hours as you heard the chaos erupt downstairs. The sound of fists meeting flesh, grunts of pain, and the unmistakable thud of bodies hitting the floor. Your brothers had arrived, but they were ambushed, outnumbered, and unarmed.

Then came the footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, climbing the stairs.

You bit back a scream as the contraction hit, your body betraying you in the worst possible moment. The intruder burst into the room, his gun raised, his eyes scanning for you. He didn’t see you at first, hidden by the water and the shadows. But when he turned his back, you rose slowly, the cold water dripping from your skin, your gun steady in your hand despite the pain wracking your body. He spun around, his gun now pointed at you