DO NOT PUT THAT NEEDLE INTO HIM!"" I screamed as I grabbed the insulin pen from the hand of São Paulo's most feared mafia boss's fiancée.

Before I could reach Dante, his massive arm swept around my waist, lifting me effortlessly off my feet and pulling me behind his broad back.

He didn't draw a gun. He didn't flinch.

A single shot rang out from the balcony above. Rafael’s bullet took Mateo directly through the right shoulder before his finger could squeeze the trigger.

Mateo’s revolver clattered against the parquet floor. He collapsed against the mahogany dais, clutching his bleeding shoulder and groaning in agony.

Dante didn't even look at the fallen traitor. He turned his face entirely to me, his hands gripping my shoulders, his eyes searching every inch of my face with frantic, desperate concern.

"Did it hit you?" he demanded, his voice cracking with an emotion that shocked every person remaining in the ballroom. "Marina! Did you take a bullet?"

"I'm fine," I breathed, my hands resting against his chest, feeling his heart pounding like a war drum beneath his vest. "I'm not hurt. Dante, look at me. I'm okay."

He let out a ragged breath, pulling me into his chest with such fierce, crushing possessiveness that I could barely draw air. In front of the entire underworld of São Paulo—in front of the captains, the judges, and the remnants of his enemies—the terrifying Dante Montenegro buried his face in my neck, holding me as if I were the only precious thing left in a burning world.

"Don't ever do that again," he growled against my skin, his voice thick with raw terror. "Don't you dare step in front of a gun for me. Do you hear me? Your life is worth ten of mine."

"You did the same for me at the hospital," I reminded him softly, my arms wrapping around his neck, not caring that two hundred pairs of eyes were staring at us in stunned silence.

"That's different," he murmured, his hands cupping my face, forcing me to look into his dark, burning eyes. "You are my heart, Marina. If I lose you, there is nothing left to rule."

A few feet away, Vanessa Albuquerque was on her knees, being pulled up by two uniformed police officers. Her hair was a tangled mess, her designer mascara running down her cheeks in black streaks.

"You're pathetic, Dante!" she spat, her voice trembling with venomous spite as the handcuffs bit into her wrists. "You threw away a dynasty! You threw away the Albuquerque alliance for a peasant girl! A clinic nurse! She doesn't belong in your world! The moment you take her home, someone will kill her to get to you!"

Dante slowly released me, turning to face Vanessa one final time.

His presence was terrifying in its absolute stillness. He walked over to her, his polished shoes stopping inches from her trembling knees.

"You're wrong, Vanessa," Dante said, his voice quiet, clear, and ringing with absolute finality. "Marina doesn't belong to my world. I belong to hers now. And as for my empire... it is being cleansed. Starting with you."

He glanced at the federal inspector leading the arrest team. "Take her away. Deliver the full chain-of-custody logs for the insulin pen directly to the public prosecutor’s office. If she gets a single visitor who isn't a state-appointed lawyer, I will consider it an act of war."

"Yes, Mr. Montenegro," the inspector replied respectfully, gesturing for his men to drag Vanessa out.

She screamed and kicked all the way through the double doors, but her cries were quickly swallowed by the night air outside.

The ballroom was left in stunned silence.

Don Henrique stood up from his table, raising his glass once more toward Dante. "The house of Montenegro has been cleansed of poison. We stand with you, Dante."

Every captain in the room stood up, one by one, raising their glasses in silent, unquestioned submission.

Dante didn't acknowledge their salute. He turned back to me, held out his hand, and for the first time since I had met him, his face was illuminated by a warm, radiant smile.

"Let’s go home, Marina," he said softly.