[Elena's POV]

I stepped around Noah and placed my body directly between the forty gun barrels and the father of my child.

Then I took off my oversized sunglasses and dropped them onto the stone table. The plastic clattered against the marble.

I leveled my gaze at the armed guards, then dug into the heavy, archaic Sicilian dialect my grandmother forced me to learn as a child.

"Abbassate le armi, o vi faccio mozzare le mani," I ordered. Put down your weapons, or I will have your hands chopped ...