Barefoot except for one pink sock, clutching a stuffed rabbit beneath one arm, Maisie crossed the rain-dark grass behind the DeLuca estate and stopped in front of the old garden shed.

The safehouse beneath the estate was a fortress carved into the bedrock. Heavy concrete walls, bank-vault security doors, racks of tactical gear, and a wall of silent surveillance monitors filled the main room.

Roman locked the heavy blast door behind them and immediately leaned against the steel frame, a harsh gasp tearing from his throat.

Without the immediate threat of death driving him forward, his body was paying the toll. The white linen shirt was stuck to his back where scorching heat had blistered his skin. Blood dripped steadily from his wrists where the marine cord had torn into his flesh.

“Sit down,” Nora commanded.

It wasn’t a request. She set Maisie down on a leather sofa in the corner, handed the little girl a bottle of water from a supply crate, and turned to Roman with her hands on her hips.

Roman looked amused despite the pain in his eyes. “I don’t take orders in my own bunker, Nora.”

“You do when you’re bleeding on the floor,” she said, grabbing a black tactical trauma kit off a steel shelf. She walked up to him, her eyes fierce. “Sit. Down.”

Roman stared at her for a moment—the feared Roman DeLuca, a man who had brought syndicates to their knees—and then slowly lowered himself onto a heavy metal bench.

Nora knelt before him. She unwrapped a roll of gauze and disinfectant. With gentle, precise movements, she began cleaning the raw, bleeding furrows around his wrists.

Roman didn’t flinch, though his jaw tightened until the muscles clicked.

“You’re good at this,” Roman remarked, his dark gaze pinned on her face.

“I worked as a pediatric nurse’s assistant before I took the housekeeping job here,” Nora said, applying burn salve to his wrists. “I know how to handle wounds. And stubborn patients.”

“I’m not a patient.”

“You’re a human who almost got turned into ash,” Nora retorted, looking up into his dark eyes. They were inches apart now. She could smell the ozone, smoke, and crisp rain on him. “Why did they do it, Roman? Who wants you dead?”

“Everyone wants me dead,” Roman said coldly. “The difference is, tonight someone came close.” He paused, looking past her to where Maisie was swinging her bare feet off the edge of the sofa, humming a quiet nursery rhyme to her rabbit.

“I’ve lived in the dark my entire life, Nora,” Roman said quietly, his voice carrying a heavy, dangerous weight. “I expect blood on my floor. I expect knives in my back. But bringing a child into it?” His eyes flared with a lethal, terrifying heat. “Whoever gave that order will rot in a pit before this week is over.”

Nora finished wrapping his wrists with tight, neat bandages. She stood up, her green eyes holding his without flinching.

“I don’t care about your wars, Roman. I don’t care about your money or your empire. I care about my daughter. As soon as the sun comes up, I’m taking Maisie and getting as far away from Westchester as I can.”

Roman stood up, towering over her. He reached out, his large, rough hand gently touching her shoulder.

“You can’t run from these people, Nora,” Roman said softly. “They saw your face. They saw Maisie’s. If I let you walk out that door alone, you’ll be dead in forty-eight hours.”

Nora’s breath hitched. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Roman leaned down, his dark eyes burning into hers, “that as long as I am breathing, no one touches you or your daughter. You are under my protection now. The full weight of the DeLuca name is behind you.”

Maisie dropped her rabbit, trotted over, and pulled at Roman’s pants leg. “Mr. Roman?”

Roman looked down, instantly lowering himself to her level. “Yes, little one?”