I never imagined the most feared crime boss in Chicago would show up at my bedroom door drunk, begging me for help. Hours later, I was hiding him beneath the servants’ staircase while powerful men searched the mansion for him, and one whispered confession shattered everything I thought I knew about him.

"Put the gun down, Victor," Raphael said. His voice was terrifyingly calm. He didn't even raise his pistol. He just stood there, tall and unyielding in his torn coat, his gray eyes locking onto his former enforcer.

"It's over, Raphael!" Victor barked, his face twisted in rage. "Dominic is taking the crown in twenty minutes! He promised me the entire northern district! I'm done taking orders from a man who spends his nights looking at medical bills for maid's brothers!"

My heart stopped. Victor knew about Micah.

"You're a fool, Victor," Raphael said softly, taking a deliberate step forward. "You think Dominic is going to share power with you? You're a witness to a treasonous hit. The moment I'm dead, Dominic's men will put a bullet in your spine to clean up the mess."

Victor's eyes flickered with a sudden, sharp seed of panic. "You're lying!"

"Check your radio, Victor," Julian called out from behind the sofa. "Dominic's private security detail just entered the main gate. They aren't here to help you. They're here to execute everyone in this house."

On cue, Victor's shoulder radio burst into static-filled screams. "Victor! Dominic's guys are opening fire on our perimeter! They're wiping us out—"

"Dammit!" Victor roared, swinging his shotgun toward the doorway in confusion.

In that split second, Raphael closed the distance.

He grabbed the barrel of the shotgun, driving it upward as a deafening blast tore into the ceiling plaster. Raphael slammed his elbow viciously into Victor's jaw, then delivered a driving knee to his ribs, sending the larger man crashing through the glass display case.

Gunfire erupted from the hallway as Dominic's incoming strike team engaged Victor's remaining men.

"Elena! Get down!" Raphael yelled, throwing his entire body over mine as a rain of high-caliber rounds tore through the desk above us.

He pressed me firmly against the floorboards, wrapping his arms around me like an iron vault. I could feel the rapid, violent thud of his heart against my cheek, smelled the metallic tang of rain, gunpowder, and whiskey on his skin.

"Raphael... your wound!" I screamed over the deafening noise, feeling warm blood soaking through his bandages onto my dress.

"I'm fine," he growled into my neck, his arms tightening around me. "Listen to me, Elena. Take the keycard. The maintenance chute behind the desk leads to the lower tunnel. Julian will take you and Micah out of the state."

"No!" I cried out, grabbing his lapels and staring directly into his dark, fierce eyes. "I am not leaving you!"

Raphael stared down at me, the chaos around us suddenly fading into absolute insignificance.

"Two years, Elena," he whispered, his trembling fingers cupping my face, his thumb gently wiping away a tear on my cheek. "One hundred seven nights I sat up there wishing I was an ordinary man so I could walk up to your door and ask you out for coffee. I am not letting you die in my darkness."

And then he kissed me.

It was fierce, passionate, and full of two years of unspoken devotion—a promise declared in the middle of gunfire. My fingers tangled into his damp hair, kissing him back with everything I had inside me.

When he broke away, his gray eyes were burning with a terrifying, unstoppable light.