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The kitchen was empty, but the sounds of gunfire echoed from the dining room. Glass shattering. Furniture splintering. Piccolo’s ferocious barking mingled with my brother's bellowed commands.

I pumped the shotgun and moved toward the chaos.

A man in black tactical gear stepped into my path. His eyes widened behind his balaclava—clearly not expecting to find me armed.

I pulled the trigger.

The recoil slammed into my shoulder, but the intruder went down. My ears rang from the blast. In the dining room, more men poured through the broken windows, their automatic weapons spraying bullets across the room.

Bracing myself for the kick-back, I aimed again. My finger curled around the trigger. The shotgun boomed.

Again, and again.

“Serena, get back!” Sandro roared when he spotted me.

I ignored him. Fear pulsed through me, but something else did too—a strange clarity. Markos would be proud. Hell! I was proud. My hands were steady on the shotgun. When the magazine clicked empty, however, I bit my lip.

What now?

I didn’t know where a spare was or where to look for bullets to reload this one.

“Clear, signore!”

Sandro wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. With controlled commands, the don directed his soldiers.

I slumped against the doorframe.

“S!” Penelope scrambled over the chaos to me. “That was incredible, sis!”

My smile was half-hearted. There was a sliver of shock mixing with disbelief at the surreal turn of events. Never had an enemy attacked this house. Sure, Sandro had been in many gunfights. I heard him discuss them with his enforcer and other men, but to have assailants break into the dining room? During dinner? This was unheard of.

Sandro was equally confused. He and a guard pushed on the bodies, trying to find one alive to interrogate.

On shaky legs, I retreated into the sanctuary of the kitchen.

“You were amazing,” Penelope said, coming up behind me and wrapping her arm around my shoulder.

I managed a small smile, appreciating her support despite the churning in my stomach. The shotgun felt heavier now, and I carefully placed it on the kitchen counter.

“Thanks,” I whispered. “I don’t know what came over me.”

My hands were starting to shake, the adrenaline wearing off. I gripped the edge of the counter to steady myself. The kitchen, with its polished marble and gleaming appliances, seemed surreal after what had just happened. Blood splatters marked the doorway where I’d stood.

“You did what you had to,” Penelope said, her voice gentle but firm. “That’s what this family does.”

This family. The words echoed in my head. For years, I’d never known what it meant to be part of the famiglia, yet here I was, defending it like I belonged.

But I didn’t. My heart held a different loyalty.

Sandro appeared in the doorway, his expression unnerving. “Care to explain why you disobeyed a direct order, sorellina?”

“Spare me the lecture,” I muttered. It was all I could do to breathe right now. There was no energy to get into it with my brother.

“Oh, we’re going to talk about it. You’re not getting out of it that easily,” he warned.

Done with him, I summoned enough strength to walk away. I pushed out the opposite door, intending to go straight to my room.

Ice flooded my veins, and my heart stopped working.