My boyfriend had just assaulted me and threatened to kill me as I ran for my life. I burst into the mafia boss’s private club barefoot, bleeding, and barely able to breathe. But what shook New York was not Adrien Viscari’s promise to protect me—it was the photograph found minutes later, proving someone had been watching me for years because of a secret I was never supposed to uncover.

The deafening reports of Adrien’s .45 filled the small apartment.

The lead gunman collapsed backward into the hallway, his weapon skidding across the hardwood floor. The second gunman lunged forward, but Adrien closed the distance in a heartbeat, grabbing the man’s wrist, twisting it until the bone snapped with a sickening crack, and driving an elbow directly into his temple.

The third attacker fired a wild spray of bullets. I dived behind the kitchen counter, covering my head as wood and plaster exploded around me.

Adrien didn't retreat. He ducked under the gunfire, grabbed the shooter by his tactical vest, and hurled him violently over the counter, slamming him into the kitchen stove. The man went limp instantly.

In under fifteen seconds, all three attackers were neutralized.

Adrien stood amidst the wreckage, his chest rising and falling slowly, his gun pointed at the hallway. His hair was slightly tousled, a drop of blood—not his own—splattered across his cheekbone. He turned his head slowly, his fierce gray eyes locking onto me behind the counter.

“Lena! Are you hit?” he demanded, rushing over and pulling me up by my arms.

“I’m fine! I’m okay!” I gasped, clinging to his chest as adrenaline surged through my veins.

He cupped the back of my head, pulling me tightly against him, his breathing heavy against my ear. “Good. God, good.”

“Boss!” Marco yelled from the fire escape window. “Rival backup is turning onto the block! We have to move NOW!”

Adrien lifted me into his arms, ignoring my protests about my weight, and leaped out onto the metal fire escape, descending into the dark alley below. We scrambled into the waiting van just as two black sedans screeched to a halt at the front of the building.

As the van sped away into the foggy night, I clutched the silver locket tightly in my palm.

“This key opens the vault at Manhattan Merchant Bank,” I said, looking up at Adrien. “Everything is inside—the ledger, the offshore accounts, the real identities of the corrupt officials.”

“Tomorrow night is the annual Solstice Gala at the Metropolitan Museum,” Adrien said smoothly, taking a linen handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiping a smudge of soot from my cheek. “Every judge, mob boss, and politician in the tri-state area will be there. Including Don Moretti and Marcus Blake.”

“You’re going to expose them at the gala?” I asked, my heart pounding.

“No,” Adrien corrected, a dark, triumphant smile curling his lips. “We are going to expose them. But first, we make you untouchable.”

“How?”

Adrien leaned in close, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear, his hand sliding behind my waist to pull meflush against his body.

“Under syndicate law, no family can touch the betrothed of a Don without declaring absolute war against every family in the Commission,” Adrien murmured softly. “Tomorrow night, Lena, you walk into that gala on my arm as my future bride. You will wear my ring, carry my name, and watch as I destroy the men who dared to hurt you.”

My breath hitched. The proposal wasn't just a tactical maneuver—the way his gray eyes burned into mine, the intense, possessive warmth of his embrace, made it abundantly clear that every word he spoke came from a truth he could no longer hide.

“Is it just a game to you, Adrien?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “A tactical shield?”

Adrien froze. His expression softened, the cold mafia king vanishing, leaving behind a man bare and vulnerable before me. He took my hand, placing it directly over his heart. Beneath my palm, his heart beat hard, fast, and wild.

“I haven't slept a full night in ten years, Lena,” Adrien said, his voice raw with emotion. “Until last night, when I sat by your bed and watched you breathe. You are not a game. You are the only thing in this miserable city that feels real.”