The Mafia Boss’s Baby Had Been Crying for Hours—Then He Saw Me, Reached Out His Tiny Arms, and His Father Went Pale at My Name Tag

A sudden, violent tremor shook the entire 100,000-ton hull of the *USS Invictus*.

The tactical screens in the debriefing room flickered violently and died, plunging the chamber into darkness before the red emergency battle-lanterns snapped to life with an ominous hum.

*WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP!*

The carrier’s internal alarm system wailed through the bulkheads.

*"General Quarters! General Quarters!"* a frantic voice shouted over the 1MC intercom before dissolving into a burst of gunfire and a horrific electronic shriek. *"Security breach on Deck Four! Hostile boarding party has compromised engineering and auxiliary power! They have—"*

The broadcast was violently severed.

Julian instantly shifted his weight, dropping one crutch and pulling a suppressed sidearm from beneath his cardigan, his instincts instantly overriding his physical trauma. "Sterling’s team. He didn't come aboard alone. He had sleepers among the flight maintenance crew."

Claire was already across the room, scooping Leo up into her arms. The baby woke instantly, letting out a frightened cry as the red lights pulsed across the ceiling.

"Hush, little one, I’ve got you," Claire murmured with cold, calculated calm. She pulled her carbine from the wall rack, slapping a thirty-round magazine into the receiver with practiced precision.

"The communication grid is severed," Claire said, analyzing the tactical situation with lightning speed. "They cut the primary reactor bus to blind our radar. If they take the bridge, they can scuttle the carrier or transmit the Ares data directly to a rogue submarine sitting outside our battle group perimeter."

"We need to get to the Captain’s citadel," Julian said, his jaw tightening as blood began to seep through the fresh bandages on his leg. "The command safe room has hardwired analog lines directly to the Joint Chiefs. If we can reach it, we can expose Sterling before his contractors slaughter the crew."

"You can barely walk, Julian," Claire said, looking at the fresh crimson stain spreading across his trousers.

Julian racked the slide of his pistol, a dark, lethal grin touching his pale face.

"I survived twenty years running the deadliest family in New York, Admiral," Julian whispered, his eyes blazing with feral intensity. "I can walk through hell if it means keeping you and that boy alive. Lead the way."

Claire kicked the manual release on the heavy steel door.

The corridor outside was filled with smoke. Two bodies in Navy khaki lay motionless near the intersection, and the distant, rhythmic staccato of automatic gunfire echoed from the hangar bay below.

A mercenary in unmarked black body armor rounded the corner, his rifle leveled at Claire’s head.

Before he could pull the trigger, Julian fired twice through the opening in the doorway. The contractor collapsed with two rounds in his chest.