My Ruthless Ex-Husband Didn't Know I Carried His Twins When He Kicked Me Out Five Years Ago—Until They Marched Straight Into His Boardroom With A Suitcase, A Demanding List Of Chores, And A Single Cold Note: ""Your Turn, Daddy"

Through the reinforced four-inch bulletproof glass viewport on the door, I watched the nightmare unfold in silence.

Vincent pulled the heavy hydraulic lever down, locking the bolts into the steel frame from the exterior. Once locked, the door was impenetrable—even to him.

Footsteps echoed, and six heavily armed mercenaries, led by Victor Vance himself, rounded the corner. Vance’s face was twisted in a manic, victorious grin.

""End of the line, Moretti,"" Vance shouted, raising a shotgun. ""Where are the brats?""

Vincent stood tall in front of the door, his empty rifle discarded at his feet, hands raised casually as if he were merely waiting for a train. He didn't show a flicker of fear.

""They're somewhere you'll never reach, Victor,"" Vincent said, his voice carrying clearly through the external audio receiver. ""You want Chicago? You want my blood? Take it. But you leave them alone.""

Vance laughed cruelly. ""You traded your life for a woman who ran away from you and two bastards?""

""They aren't bastards,"" Vincent said coldly. ""They are my children. And Emily is my wife.""

Vance raised the barrel, aiming directly at Vincent's chest. ""Any last words, Boss Moretti?""

""Yeah,"" Vincent whispered, his eyes locking through the glass directly onto mine. Through the viewport, his lips moved silently: I love you.

Gunfire erupted.

""NO!"" I screamed, slamming my palms against the bulletproof glass until my skin bruised.

Vincent fell back against the steel door, sliding down as blood bloomed across his white shirt. But before Vance could fire a finishing shot, the ceiling above the hallway shattered into a storm of glass and flashbangs.

SWAT operatives and Marco’s reinforcement tactical team dropped from the ventilation shafts and roof access like vengeful ghosts. Flash grenades detonated with blinding light. The hallway became an inferno of crossfire. Vance shrieked as he was cut down by a dozen rounds, his men collapsing beside him within seconds.

""Clear! Clear!"" voices shouted through the smoke.

Marco sprinted to the door, disengaging the manual lock and wrenching it open.

I didn't care about the smoke, the blood, or the fallen bodies. I dropped to my knees beside Vincent, pulling his head into my lap, pressing my hands against the bleeding wound on his side.

""Vincent! Stay with me! Look at me!"" I sobbed hysterically.

His eyes fluttered open, dark and dazed, but when he saw me, a faint, breathless smirk touched his lips.