I Caught My Ruthless Billionaire Husband Kissing Another Woman On Our 5th Anniversary—Then The Ultrasound Showed Two Heartbeats

"He won't touch them," I said, stepping out from the shadows at the top of the stairs, clutching Mateo and Clara against my ribs.

Julianna’s eyes shifted to me. For a second, a flicker of raw jealousy passed over her sculpted features—she saw the fierce, unbroken fire in my eyes, saw the twin babies with Dante’s dark hair and stubborn jawline.

"Ah, the martyr returns," Julianna sneered. "Pack your bags, Lena. Or don't. Marcus hired the Blackwood Syndicate to ensure Dante never makes it to the federal courthouse in New York to testify. They aren't coming to serve papers. They're coming to exterminate the line of succession."

Before Dante could respond, the sharp, distinctive crack of a sniper rifle tore through the glass of the kitchen window behind Julianna.

One of the security contractors beside her jerked backward, a crimson burst spraying across the cedar wall as he collapsed to the floor.

"Sniper! Get down!" Dante bellowed.

Chaos erupted in a fraction of a second. Dante lunged, grabbing Julianna by the collar of her ivory coat and throwing her behind the heavy stone fireplace just as a hail of automatic gunfire shredded the front wall of our home. Glass exploded everywhere. The wooden walls groaned as high-caliber rounds punched through the logs, sending splinters flying like shrapnel.

The twins began to scream in terror.

"Lena! The basement trapdoor! Now!" Dante roared, firing three rapid shots through the shattered window into the foggy tree line. A scream echoed from the snow outside.

I didn't hesitate. I dropped to my knees, shielding Mateo and Clara with my own body, crawling across the floorboards through shattered glass and falling plaster. Dante was a whirlwind of violence—firing, reloading, issuing tactical orders to Julianna's two surviving men, who were now pinned against the kitchen counter, returning fire.

"They cut the logging road!" one of the guards shouted, blood dripping from his shattered shoulder. "We're boxed in!"

"Devil’s Creek!" Dante yelled back over the deafening roar of gunfire. "The frozen riverbed! We take the snowmobiles down the ravine!"

He slid across the floor, reaching me at the mouth of the root cellar trapdoor. His face was streaked with soot and blood from a flying wood splinter, but his eyes locked onto mine with a ferocity that defied death itself.

"Are they hurt?" he demanded, hands checking Mateo and Clara with frantic precision.

"They're okay! But Dante, who is shooting at us?!"

"Men who get paid ten million dollars to make sure my children never see their first birthday," he snarled, shoving a spare magazine into his tactical belt. "We burn the cabin. We leave no bodies, no trail. Julianna, you move when I say move, or you die in the crossfire."

Julianna was trembling now, her composure shattered, the white gardenia perfume drowned out by the smell of cordite and burning pine.

Dante kicked over the kerosene heater near the doorway. The fuel spilled across the dry wooden planks and ignited in a sudden, roaring wall of orange flame. The fire spread with terrifying speed, cutting off the front door from the snipers outside and creating a thick curtain of black smoke.