My husband had just snapped my arm inside our apartment, and while I hid in the bathroom bleeding, I made one desperate phone call to the most feared mob boss in Chicago

The name Dante Rossi hung in the cold balcony air like a death sentence. Rossi was the head of the South Side syndicate, a violent, unpredictable rival who had been waiting years for Victor to show a weakness.

“Dante?” Victor's voice dropped to a low, dangerous growl. “How does he know about Rachel?”

“One of the local patrol units spotted our medics at your old apartment building,” Marcus explained quickly, keeping his eyes fixed on the stone floor. “Word travels fast in the Loop. Rossi thinks you're slipping, Boss. He's demanding a sit-down at the warehouse district tomorrow night, or he threatens to make your business dealings public.”

Victor turned back toward me, his expression softening just a fraction. “Go inside, Rachel. Mrs. Gable will look after you.”

“No,” I said firmly, taking a step forward despite my aching ribs. “I'm not hiding anymore. This happened because of me.”

Victor stared at me for a long moment, evaluating my resolve. A slow, grim smile touched his lips.

“You stubborn woman,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Marcus, prepare the armored sedan. And tell the inner guard to double the perimeter watch.”

“Yes, Boss.” Marcus bowed and hurried back inside.

Victor looked back at me, his eyes burning with fierce intensity. “Dante Rossi thinks he can use you to get to me. He is about to learn a very expensive lesson.”

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

“I'm going to show him what happens when someone touches what belongs to Victor Romano,” he replied coldly.

The next twenty-four hours passed in a tense blur of preparation. The estate was locked down tighter than a military base. Men in tactical gear patrolled the gardens, and heavy iron shutters were bolted over the lower-level windows.

Yet, inside Victor's study, the atmosphere was surprisingly calm. Victor sat behind a massive mahogany desk, reviewing financial documents and signing transfer orders, while I sat across from him, reading a book of poetry.

“You aren't nervous?” I asked, lowering the book.

Victor looked up, leaning back in his leather chair. “I've spent twenty years protecting this empire, Rachel. Men like Dante Rossi rule by fear and chaos. They make mistakes when things get complicated. I make plans.”

He stood up, walking around the desk and stopping right in front of my chair. He reached out, gently touching the edge of my cast with his fingertips.

“If anything happens tomorrow night—if things go wrong—Marcus has orders to take you to a private airstrip in Wisconsin. A jet will be waiting to take you to safety.”