I can’t believe I did that.

I cannot. Believe. I did that.

Looking down at the shiny weapon in my lap, I gulp down my panic. I, Serena De Laurentis, a girl who used to get woozy at the sight of blood, who used to not even be able to handle watching action movies if they got too intense—I just held a man at gunpoint.

Who the hell am I anymore?

I look up and out the window of the back seat of the stolen car, watching the city pass by, the buildings getting smaller and farther apart until we’re way down the highway, leaving the skyscrapers behind. Leaving the shop, the one I’ve sweated and cried over, behind. Leaving the scene of a bloodbath. A battlefield.

The words stumble out of my mouth out loud this time: “I can’t believe I did that.”

“Serena,” says Bruno softly. “Serena, look at me.”

I slowly drag my eyes away from the window, turning to gaze at Bruno’s face in the rearview mirror. It’s still jarring to see him wearing the clothes of the man I held at gunpoint. After I finished interrogating the guy, Bruno made him switch jackets and give up his hat. He’s got the collar up and the hat pulled low, almost over his green eyes, to disguise himself.

He looks concerned as he stares at me in the mirror, but still gleaming with something like pride. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. He’s actually proud of me for what I did back there.

“Hmm?” I manage to mumble through my stupor of shock.

“Are you okay? Dolcezza, talk to me.”

“I just pointed a gun… this gun,” I begin, nodding at the weapon in my lap, “at a person. Like, a living person. I just threatened a man with a gun.”

“Yes. You did.”

“While I’m pregnant.”

“Yes. That’s… that’s true.”

“I-I can’t help feeling like that’s going to have some kind of, I don’t know, effect on the baby. Like, it’s going to be born with this inherent bloodlust or something,” I confess.

Bruno looks at me sideways, clearly trying not to smirk.

“Serena, you did what you had to do. And it worked. Because of you, we now know where they’re keeping your mother. We know where we have to go to rescue her. You did that. You made that happen,” he says, shaking his head in awe. “Now, do I want you to ever do that shit again? No. Hell, no. After all this is over, I never want that kind of violence anywhere near you or the baby. But Serena, listen to me. You did the right thing. You got the information we need. And you didn’t shoot the guy.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t know I wouldn’t,” I say, trembling a little. “Shit. I didn’t even know if I wouldn’t. What does that say about me?”

“It says you’re one tough lady, and you’re loyal and brave as anyone I’ve ever known. It says that when shit gets hard, you pull yourself together and you make things happen. It means that you’d do anything for family. For love. And that, mia passerotta, is what I love most about you.”

He looks over at me, just the hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“Now, what I need you to do for me is stay angry. Don’t let fear or guilt overcome you right now. There will be time to reflect on your decisions later. Right now, I need for you to get really, really pissed off. These people have fucked with the wrong woman, right?” he says, trying his best to amp me up. But truthfully, he doesn’t need to. Because underneath my shaky hands and my nervousness, I am pissed. I’m furious.

Those bastards not only destroyed my store, unhinged my life, tried to kill the man I love, terrified my friends, and put my baby in danger, but now… they’ve messed with my mom? Trading her around like some pawn, like she’s a prisoner of war, just a commodity to be tossed back and forth between both sides?

Hell no.

Not my mom. We may not have the closest mother-daughter relationship in the world, but we’re still family.

Back at the women’s shelter, I saw all kinds of girls down on their luck, pushed aside, battered, whittled down, forgotten about. Nobody was going to look out for them but us. Nobody looked out for me there but my fellow women.

I know if Bruno had been there, he would have protected me—but he hardly needed to. Those women saved me, built me back up after I thought I lost everything. If there’s one thing my time at the shelter taught me, it’s that women have to stick together, regardless of our differences.

And that includes my mom.

She’s still the one who raised me, who helped me become the woman I am today. She loves me, and I love her, and I’ll be damned if I let the Cleaners hurt her.

Especially because they know exactly who she is. They know exactly where she came from.

Her family name used to mean something to these people.

They used to fear the Gaspari name. Her father—my grandfather—was a revered member of the community. Those same guys who are holding her captive now used to whisper among each other about how my mom was uptight. Frigid. Snobby. They thought she needed to be brought down a peg, taught a lesson.

Well, not today. For all her faults, my mother is not the cold bitch they think she is, and even if she was, who could blame her? Living in a man’s world, surrounded by all these men, including her only family members, who treated her like a pet or a trading asset. I remember the way my dad used to talk about how all his buddies back in the day said he was crazy for marrying her, that she was too full of herself. Too uppity.

I remember what my dad said to me: “Show me a man who says he won’t marry a strong-willed woman, and I’ll show you a man who is too weak to deserve her in the first damn place.”

She went on living and doing her thing long after my father died, after his debts came to light, after everything fell apart. She could have run away and hid, licked her wounds in the shadows.

But no.

She was too strong, too proud to give up that easily. My mother knew as well as I did what kinds of awful things they all said about her, about us. And she didn’t let any of them drag her down. I will defend her until the end, because maybe the reason we don’t get along very well is that we’re just too alike. Two strong-willed women who fall in love with the only men who are strong enough to handle us.

I smile to myself.

“Don’t worry, Mom. I’m on my way,” I murmur.

After a while, we pull up to a truck stop wait out in the middle of nowhere. The street lights only flicker dimly, as though nobody really cares enough to fix them out here. As we turn down the gravel way, Bruno flashes the headlights in the direction of a big truck waiting there. It flashes back at us. Go time.

“Here we go,” Bruno says quietly. He tugs the hat a little further down on his head. Two Cleaners in similar dark jackets and hats get out of the other truck and start walking our way. I slink down in the back seat, hiding myself from sight in the darkness. The last thing we need is for the Cleaners to recognize me and catch on to our ruse. I can hear their footsteps splashing through the puddles on the ground. My heart starts racing.

“Are you sure about this?” I ask, barely even loud enough to hear.

“Too late to back out now,” Bruno answers at the same volume.

“What are you going to do?”

“This will require… a delicate touch.”

“What does that mean—”

Just then, the car door flings open and I hear two shots ring out with an earsplitting crack. Against my better judgment, I sit straight up and look around, desperately hoping the shots came from Bruno and not from the Cleaners. Relief floods over me as I see Bruno pointing his gun at a guy on the ground, cowering next to the man bleeding out beside him. Neither of them look mortally wounded, just shot in the legs to keep them still.

Without another moment of hesitation, I burst out of the car and start bolting toward the Cleaners’ truck, hardly thinking about the concern that there might be more of them lying in wait just in case something goes wrong. I don’t see anyone else around, so I quickly throw open the front cabin of the truck, take the keys from the ignition, and run to the back. With one hand still gripping the gun, I use my other hand to shakily put the key in the lock, throwing open the back of the truck. I point the gun into the darkness, just in case there might be another man waiting there to shoot me first.

Then I hear it—a scream from the darkness.

A woman’s scream.

“Serena?!”

A human shape comes fumbling out of the dark cargo bed—the shape of my mother. She looks bedraggled and angry and a little shocked, but it’s definitely her.

“Serena, is that a gun?” she gasps.

I can’t help but burst out laughing, both relieved and amused by the ridiculousness of my mother’s question. “Oh my god. Yes, Mom. This is a gun.”

I help her out of the truck and, setting the gun down on the ground, throw my arms around her in the tightest, most genuine hug I’ve ever given her. “Mom, I’m so glad you’re okay!” I cry.

“Oh, I’m okay. I could definitely use a bath, though. These filthy men have never seen a bar of soap in their lives, I bet,” she scoffs, already back to her old self.

I kiss her on the cheek.

“Yeah, I think cleanliness is pretty low on their list of priorities, despite their name,” I agree, laughing as I take her hand and lead her back around. She gasps again at the sight of the Cleaners on the ground, now being tied up together with rope, courtesy of Bruno. He comes over and offers my mother his arm, which she hesitantly takes to lean on.

As we walk back to the car and get inside, she looks him up and down.

“So you’re the man who’s responsible for all this,” she says coyly, gesturing toward my pregnant belly.

“Mom! He’s also the man responsible for saving your ass,” I retort.

She turns on me, her eyes flashing.

“You think I don’t know what kind of man this is? I was married to the mafia! Hell, I was born into it just as you were! Serena, do you remember how often your father was away? How long we would wait for him to come home? How many days he would go out and not call? Maybe you don’t remember—you were just a child. But I remember everything. I remember waiting up all night for him to come home, to call and let me know he was alive, at the very least.”

She takes a deep breath, smoothing her hair back from her face.

“The point is, my dear, you must be careful. Both of you. I will not watch you struggle the way I have,” she says to me emphatically. I step forward and take her arm gently.

“I know. And trust me, I have an entirely different life planned for us. For me and for the baby. Your grandchild isn’t going to live in that world. I promise,” I assure her.

Seemingly satisfied with my response, she turns back to Bruno.

“And you! I can tell you’re a capable man. But you have that look of danger about you. I know that look. Listen to me very carefully: this girl, my daughter, is my heart and soul. If you ever put her life in danger again, I will make sure you regret it for the rest of your life,” she says, her prim and proper tone in direct opposition to the ferocity of her words. My jaw drops. I have never heard my mother speak that way.

Bruno smiles good-naturedly.

“Yes, ma’am. I understand. Your daughter has changed my life. She’s made me a far better man than I ever was before. I intend to spend the rest of my days protecting her and making her happy. Serena is my fiancée. And we would be married by now if not for… extenuating circumstances. I can assure you that is my top priority once everything gets sorted out,” he says, the very pinnacle of courtesy and patience.

She stares at him with her eyes narrowed for a moment, then smiles approvingly. I release a breath I had no idea I was even holding.

“I like this one, Serena,” she tells me with a wink. “However! I do not like the fact that you have come charging in here with a gun while you’re carrying my grandchild! Serena, you should know better than that! What if something had happened? What if the gun misfired? What if you fell down and injured yourself? What if—”

“Yes, I know, I know. Trust me, I don’t plan on making a habit of it,” I assure her, helping her into the back seat of the car. She crosses her legs and folds her hands in her lap, looking every bit as dignified and ladylike as she always does, even considering her ragged, dirty clothes and tangled hair. She’s missing one shoe, too, I notice. But I figure that is absolutely not the best thing to mention at the moment.

As we drive back onto the highway, Bruno looks at her in the rearview mirror, like he did to me not even twenty minutes ago.

“Mrs. De Laurentis, I know this may seem like an odd question, but I have to ask: I don’t suppose there’s any chance you might know where we could find Don Abruzzi, is there?”

I turn and look at her, waiting for some kind of snappy response.

Instead, she sighs heavily and rolls her eyes. “Ricky Abruzzi? I’ve known that little bastard since we were in grade school. I can tell you exactly where he lives. Hell, I can tell you things about that man you wouldn’t believe.”

Bruno and I look at each other, smiling, as my mother tells us everything she knows.