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.

Three weeks later.

The arrangement had been strictly maintained. Every Saturday morning, Dominic drove three hours from Manhattan to Rockport alone.

He didn't stay in expensive hotels. He rented a small room at an inn down the road. He took Eli to the harbor, bought him ice cream, helped him build toy boats, and listened attentively to everything the six-year-old had to say.

He never pressed Nora. He never touched her. When he spoke to her, his tone was quiet, deferential, and deeply respectful. He bought her shop fresh coffee from the local bakery, left it on the outer porch, and stepped back.

He was earning his way back inch by painful inch, not as a master, but as a beggar.

However, the dark world Dominic had tried to leave behind refused to let him go so easily.

In late April, Julian Moretti—Vanessa’s older brother and a ruthless executive in the Moretti family’s private equity firm—realized that Dominic’s public surrender to Nora had crippled the Moretti family’s prestige. The cancelation of the bridal line had cost them forty million dollars in expected returns.

Julian decided to strike back.

On a rainy Thursday evening, as Nora was finishing a fitting with a high-profile client from Boston inside her atelier, a heavy black SUV pulled up to the curb.

Three men in dark coats stepped out. Julian Moretti walked straight into the shop, his hands tucked into his tailored coat, a cold, sneering smile on his face.

"Mrs. Caruso," Julian said smoothly, looking around the modest shop. "Or should I say, Miss Bennett?"

Nora signaled her client to step into the back room and locked the fitting curtain. She walked behind her counter, her hand resting near the silent security alarm button Dominic’s team had secretly installed beneath the desk two weeks prior—a feature she had pretended not to notice.

"You're trespassing, Mr. Moretti," Nora said coldly. "Leave."

Julian leaned over the counter, his eyes ugly with spite. "You destroyed my sister's reputation in Manhattan. You made my family a laughingstock on Wall Street over a few stupid dress sketches."

"Your sister stole my work," Nora replied, unfazed. "She got what she deserved."

Julian reached out, grabbing Nora’s shoulder roughly. "Listen to me, you arrogant little bitch. You're going to sign a legal release dropping all financial damages against Moretti Holdings by tomorrow morning, or—"

The front glass door didn't just open—it shattered.

Dominic Caruso burst through the door like a hurricane.

He didn't hesitate. He grabbed Julian Moretti by the throat, lifting the grown man off his feet, and slammed him against the brick display wall so hard the hanging mirrors shook.

The two men Julian had brought with him pulled dark handguns from inside their coats.

Before they could raise them, the rear windows of the SUV outside blew out. Frank and three of Dominic’s top enforcers stepped out of the shadows of the alley, their own suppressed weapons trained directly through the shop window at the hitmen's heads.

"Drop them," Frank growled from the doorway.

The two men froze, looking at the lasers pinned to their chests, and slowly lowered their weapons to the floor.

Dominic’s fingers were tightened around Julian’s throat. His eyes were wide, black with an ancient, terrifying rage. His jaw was set so hard the veins in his neck bulged.

"You touched her," Dominic whispered, his voice vibrating through the small shop like low thunder. "You walked into her house, and you put your hands on my wife."

"Dominic... stop..." Julian gasped, his face turning blue, his feet kicking uselessly against the wall. "It's... just business..."

"She is my life!" Dominic roared, tightening his grip. "If you ever come near this town again, if you ever look at her, if you so much as dream about her name, I will wipe the Moretti name off the map of New York! Do you hear me?"

"Dominic!" Nora’s voice cut through the air.

Dominic froze.

Nora walked slowly out from behind the counter. She didn't look afraid of him. She looked at him with quiet, absolute authority.

"Dominic," Nora said gently. "Drop him. Do not stain my floor."

Dominic looked at Nora. The red mist of fury in his eyes slowly receded, replaced by a sudden, desperate obedience.

He opened his hand. Julian collapsed to the floor, gasping for air, clutching his neck.

Dominic stepped back, turning to Frank. "Take them. Hand them over to the federal authorities along with the wiretap recordings of Julian’s extortion threats. Make sure their father watches them leave in handcuffs."

Frank nodded, dragging Julian and his men out into the rain.

The shop was quiet again, except for the sound of the ocean wind outside.

Dominic stood in the middle of the room, his breathing heavy, his hands trembling slightly as he looked at Nora. He looked down at the broken glass on the floor.

"I'm sorry," Dominic whispered, pulling his hands back into his pockets. "I didn't mean to bring violence into your shop, Nora. I was staying in the car down the street... I saw them walk in, and I..."

Nora looked at him. She saw the sheer, unadulterated fear in his eyes—not fear of the Moretti family, but fear that he had frightened her.

She walked over to the shattered front door, stepped over the glass, and looked out at the rain.

"You were sitting down the street?" Nora asked softly.

"Every night," Dominic confessed quietly, looking down at his shoes. "I park near the pier from six until ten. Just to make sure you lock up safely."