Nora Bennett Caruso stood beneath the crystal chandeliers of the Crown Harbor Hotel in Manhattan with the metallic taste of blood on her tongue and one hand pressed against her burning cheek.

By 4:00 AM, the penthouse office of Caruso Design Group on Fifth Avenue was illuminated by fluorescent light.

Dominic stood behind his executive desk, surrounded by four of his top security chiefs and his head corporate attorney, Arthur Vance.

"Find her," Dominic growled, his voice thick with exhaustion and rage. "Check every airport, every train station, every private airfield between here and Boston. Track her credit cards. Track her phone!"

"Mr. Caruso," Vance said cautiously, holding a tablet. "Her phone was turned off at 12:05 AM in Manhattan. Her primary credit cards haven't been swiped. She didn't use the joint accounts."

"Then how is she paying for fuel? How is she paying for a hotel?" Dominic slammed his fist onto the marble desk, shattering a glass paperweight into fragments. "She has no family left! Her parents died three years ago! Where could she possibly go?"

"She has friends in Europe," Vance offered quietly. "And she has her personal savings account from before you were married. An account you never put your name on."

Dominic turned toward the window, looking out over the rain-soaked skyline of Manhattan. His jaw was clenched so tight his teeth hurt. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the blood-stained diamond earring Nora had pressed into his palm four hours earlier.

The metal felt like ice against his skin.

"Sir," his head of security, Frank, stepped into the office, carrying a black USB drive. "We retrieved the raw security footage from the Crown Harbor Hotel ballroom. All six camera angles."

Dominic swung around. "Put it on the screen."

Frank plugged the drive into the wall monitor. The high-definition video lit up the room.

The camera zoomed in on the champagne tower. Nora was standing alone, holding a glass of mineral water, looking elegant and composed in her dark blue gown.

Vanessa stepped into the frame.

Dominic watched as Vanessa approached his wife. There was no audio, but Vanessa’s body language was predatory. She leaned in close, whispering something directly into Nora’s ear.

Nora tried to turn away.

Vanessa grabbed Nora’s wrist—hard. The camera captured the sharp, white-knuckled pressure of Vanessa’s grip. Nora pulled back, trying to free herself.

Then, Dominic saw it.

Vanessa deliberately angled her wrist, poured her own glass of red wine straight down the front of her white silk gown, threw her head back in a fake gasp, and stumbled backward into the glass tower.

And two seconds later, Dominic appeared on the frame.

He saw himself charge across the floor like an enraged bull. He saw himself grab Nora’s arm, yank her around, and bring his open hand down across her face with vicious force.

He saw the momentum of his own blow tear the earring right through her tender skin.

He saw Nora stumble, catch her balance, and look up at him with an expression that froze the blood in his veins.

It wasn't anger. It wasn't hatred.

It was absolute, final, irreparable disappointment.

Dominic stared at the monitor, his breath catching in his throat. He took a step back, hitting the edge of his desk.

"My God," he whispered.

"Mr. Caruso," Frank said quietly, lowering his head. "Ms. Moretti staged the whole thing. Mrs. Caruso didn't push her. She didn't throw wine. She was trying to get away."

The office was dead silent.

At that moment, the mahogany double doors opened, and Vanessa Moretti walked into the room.

She was wearing an expensive cashmere coat, her hair freshly styled, a small, triumphant smile on her face. She held a cup of coffee in one hand.

"Dominic, darling," Vanessa purred, stepping toward him. "The press is outside the building. They're asking terrible questions about that uncivilized woman. I told my father’s publicist that we should issue a press release stating that Nora had an emotional breakdown at the party—"

Dominic didn't say a word.

He walked across the room, grabbed Vanessa by the front of her cashmere coat, and slammed her back against the wall.

Vanessa dropped her coffee. The hot liquid spilled across the polished floor. "Dominic! What are you doing? You're hurting me!"

"You lied to me," Dominic whispered, his face inches from hers, his gray eyes burning with a terrifying, dark fury. "You touched my wife. You staged an attack in front of two hundred people. And you made me raise my hand against the only woman I have ever loved."

Vanessa’s confidence vanished. Terror flooded her eyes as she realized the man standing before her wasn't the suave CEO—he was the dangerous heir to the Caruso underworld legacy.

"Dominic... please..." she whimpered. "She doesn't belong in your world! She’s just a simple girl who wants a quiet life! I can give you everything—my father's political connections, the European distributors—"

"Get out," Dominic said, his voice dropping into a register that made the security guards shudder.

"Dominic—"

"If you are in this building in five minutes," Dominic said, releasing her coat so suddenly she slumped to the floor, "I will ensure your father's firm is audited by the federal government by noon tomorrow. And I will personally destroy every contract you have ever signed."

Vanessa scrambled to her feet, tears of actual terror running down her cheeks, and fled down the hallway.

Dominic stood alone in the center of the office. He looked at his hand—the hand that had struck Nora.