The Sommelier Shattered the Crime Boss’s Glass and Uncovered the Bride Who Had Planned His Funeral

The air in the brick tunnel thickened until it felt impossible to draw a breath. Water dripped from a vaulted seam in the ceiling forty feet away, the steady *plink-plink* sound the only noise breaking the standoff.

"Julian," Adrian said, his voice entirely devoid of panic. He didn't lower his pistol, though an MP5 carried tenfold the fire power. "I see you brought your south-side garbage into my home."

Julian chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. "Your home? Adrian, look around you. This place was built on your old man's ghost. The board signed off on the transfer an hour ago. All they need is your death certificate and Livia's signature as your surviving spouse. Which means you're just a technicality holding up a very lucrative closing."

Julian’s gaze flicked past Adrian’s shoulder, locking onto Mara. A sneer touched his lips.

"And you brought the wine girl. How touching. Livia told me she ruined a fifty-thousand-dollar toast. I should thank you, sweetheart. Poison is a coward's way out. I always preferred putting a hole through a man's heart."

"You won't get the terminals, Julian," Mara said, stepping slightly to the side, refusing to cower behind Adrian despite the sheer terror clawing at her throat. "The offshore contracts in your crate—the Cayman accounts—the federal maritime commission flags any transfer over ten million linked to foreign shipping flags. You're walking into a federal indictment."

Julian’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, his eyes narrowing. "Smart girl. Too bad smart girls don't stop nine-millimeter rounds."

Julian’s finger tightened on the trigger.

In that microscopic fraction of a second, Adrian moved.

He didn't fire his weapon first. With terrifying speed, Adrian threw his entire body weight sideways, slamming Mara down behind a heavy oak barrel rack just as Julian’s submachine gun erupted in a deafening roar.

Muzzle flashes strobed through the tunnel like violent lightning.

The air filled with concrete dust, splinters of aged oak, and the rich, pungent scent of vintage Port as high-velocity rounds shattered three centuries-old barrels behind them. A torrent of dark red liquid cascaded over their shoulders, soaking Mara’s uniform and Adrian’s shirt, smelling of dark raisins, vinegar, and iron.

Adrian rolled onto his back beneath the sheltering curve of the massive wooden supports. He returned fire with three rhythmic, suppressed shots: *pop-pop-pop.*

A sharp grunt echoed through the corridor. Julian stumbled back, a bullet catching him high in the shoulder. The burst of automatic fire ceased as Julian retreated behind an arched brick column, cursing violently.

"Adrian!" Julian bellowed from the shadows, his voice strained with pain. "You think you're getting out of here? I have eight men sealing the boathouse! You're in a tomb!"

Adrian didn't waste breath answering. He reached down and checked Mara, his hands moving rapidly over her shoulders, her ribs, her arms.

"Are you hit?" he demanded in a fierce whisper.

"No," she gasped, her hands trembling violently as she wiped red wine and dust from her eyes. "No, it's just the barrels. Adrian, he's flanking toward the old pump station."

Adrian looked at her, his dark eyes ablaze with an intensity she had never seen before. In the dim light of the lantern, soaked in spilled wine that looked horrifyingly like blood, he reached up and cupped her uninjured cheek with his hand.

"Stay down," he ordered softly. "Keep the ledger against your chest. If I go down, there is a drainage pipe beneath the third rack that leads out into the lake shallows. Crawl through it. Do not look back."

"I am not leaving you," she said, her voice fiercely defiant despite the tremor in her hands.

A faint, dangerous smile touched the corner of Adrian's mouth. "Then hold on to something heavy."

Adrian reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, cylindrical metal tube—a flashbang grenade he had taken from the security armory. He pulled the pin with his teeth.

He counted two silent beats, then banked the canister off the far brick wall.