I lifted my eyes at the altar expecting to see the man I loved standing in front of me. Instead, I saw his older brother waiting beneath the flowers

“Claire!” my mother wept. “Why did you come here?”

“Quiet, old woman,” Dante Marcone snapped, his cold eyes fixing on me with a calculating predator’s smirk. “Look at that. The dutiful bride actually delivered. Tell me you brought the signature, Claire, or this family reunion gets painted across the walls.”

I ignored Dante entirely and fixed my gaze on Luke.

He stood there, unbuttoned collar, sweat glistening on his temples, swirling his drink with trembling fingers. He looked pathetic—a hollow shell of the charming man who had taken me on romantic strolls through Paris.

“I brought the documents,” I said coldly, opening my leather handbag and pulling out the blue folder containing the power of attorney transfer. “Gabriel signed everything. Every share, every proxy vote, all transferred into your name.”

Luke’s eyes lit up with feverish greed. He took two fast steps toward me, reaching out with both hands. “Give it to me.”

“First, let Leo go,” I demanded, clutching the folder to my chest. “He had brain surgery six months ago. If he experiences severe stress or trauma, he could relapse. Let my mother walk him out to the car.”

Dante chuckled, stepping between Luke and me. “Nobody leaves until I verify the authentication codes with our offshore banker. Hand over the folder, girl.”

In my earpiece, Gabriel’s calm, steady voice chimed through the static:

“Frequency jammer active in ten seconds. Basement guard is moving toward the stairs. Prepare to drop, Claire.”

I took a deep breath, feigning hesitation, and slowly extended the folder toward Dante.

Dante reached for it. The moment his fingers brushed the leather binding, his phone buzzed violently.

He glanced down at the screen. His expression turned instantly from smug triumph to pure terror.

“It’s a trap! The jamming signal just hit the detonator! Kill them—!”

“NOW!” Gabriel’s voice roared in my ear.

I dropped flat onto the carpet, covering my head.

BOOM!

The front bay windows and the rear patio doors shattered simultaneously in an explosion of tempered glass and flashbang grenades. Blinding white light and concussive sound waves ripped through the living room.

“FBI! Nobody move!”

Black-clad tactical assault operators swarmed through every breach point. Flashlights cut through the billowing white smoke.

Dante lunged toward my father, drawing his sidearm.

I reached inside my coat lining, gripped the silver derringer Gabriel had given me, raised it with both hands from the floor, and pulled the trigger.

The bullet struck Dante squarely in the right shoulder. His gun clattered across the hardwood floor as he screamed in agony, collapsing against the hearth.

Before he could reach for his fallen weapon, two federal agents tackled Dante to the ground, zip-tying his wrists behind his back.

Luke stood frozen in the center of the room, his glass shattered on the floor, surrounded by red laser sights painting his chest.

“Hands on your head! On your knees! Do it now!” the lead agent screamed.

Luke dropped to his knees, shaking uncontrollably, his hands raised in the air. His eyes found mine across the floor, filled with sheer disbelief and betrayal.