She Begged, Just Kill Me Fast—The Mafia Boss Found Her Bruised and Unleashed His Revenge

By 3:00 a.m., the estate had been converted into an armed command center.

Dozens of Ashford soldiers patrolled the grounds. The broken window in Elena’s room had been boarded up with heavy plywood, and Elena was moved to the central basement bunker—a luxurious, reinforced shelter beneath the main library.

Dr. Vance had cleaned a cut on Elena’s forehead and wrapped her torso in fresh, tight bandages. She sat on a leather couch, wearing one of Dominic’s black cotton t-shirts that hung loose down to her thighs, her legs tucked beneath her.

Dominic walked down the spiral staircase carrying two heavy glass mugs of black coffee. He looked exhausted, the lines around his eyes deep, but his presence was as overwhelming as ever.

He handed her a mug and sat beside her on the couch. Their shoulders brushed, warm and solid in the cool air of the bunker.

"Caldwell launched a two-pronged hit tonight," Dominic said, taking a sip of his coffee. "He hit my dock warehouse to keep me trapped on the South Side, while his strike team bypassed the main gate here using an insider’s security code."

Elena looked up from her mug. "An insider?"

"Frank Rossi," Dominic said flatly. "The lieutenant I broke a pitcher over earlier tonight. His phone records showed three calls to Caldwell’s chief of operations right before the attack."

"What did you do to him?" Elena asked softly.

Dominic’s gray-dark eyes turned cold. "Marco took care of him. He won't be calling anyone ever again."

Elena swallowed hard, feeling the dark, unrelenting reality of the world she had plunged herself into. "Dominic... this war is going to destroy your organization. If your own lieutenants are turning—"

"My lieutenants turn because they are weak," Dominic interrupted, turning his body to face her. He reached out, his thumb gently wiping a smudge of dried blood from her temple. "You didn't turn. You stood in a dark room with three broken ribs and shot two assassins with a twelve-gauge."

A small, weary smile touched Elena’s lips. "I told you. I have spine."

"You have more than spine, Elena," Dominic murmured, his eyes lingering on her lips. "You have fire. The kind of fire that burns men like Caldwell to ash."

He set his coffee mug on the table and reached into his inner pocket, pulling out a heavy, dark iron key with intricate engravings along its shaft.

"This key opens the vault at the Bank of Chicago on Michigan Avenue," Dominic said. "It belonged to my father. It’s where I keep the family reserves."

Elena looked at the key, then at him. "Why are you showing me this?"

"Because tomorrow, we stop playing defense," Dominic declared. "Where are the drives, Elena?"

Elena took a deep breath. She looked into Dominic’s dark, steady eyes—seeing not just a mob boss, but a man who had stood between her and death three times in forty-eight hours. A man who had held her while she cried in a ruined room.

"They aren't in a bank," Elena revealed softly. "And they aren't buried in a forest."

Dominic raised an eyebrow. "Where are they?"

"They're inside the statue of Justice at the Cook County Courthouse," Elena said.

Dominic blinked, a genuine look of shock washing over his face before he burst into a low, deep laugh that echoed through the concrete bunker.

"The courthouse?" Dominic laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. "You hid Vincent Caldwell’s black ledgers inside the main federal courthouse?"

"Three days before I was captured, I was called to audit the courthouse renovation accounts," Elena explained, a small spark of pride in her eyes. "I placed the three flash drives inside the hollow bronze base of the scale held by the statue in the third-floor atrium. Caldwell’s men searched my apartment, my car, and my sister’s house... but they never thought to check the building where they bribe judges."

Dominic stared at her, his laughter fading into a look of absolute, breathtaking admiration.

"You brilliant, beautiful demon," Dominic whispered.

The word beautiful hung in the air between them, heavy and warm.

Elena’s heart fluttered in her chest. She looked up at him, her dark eye locking onto his. The space between them seemed to shrink instantly.

"Dominic," she whispered.

Dominic didn't answer with words. He reached out, his large hand gently cupping the back of her neck, his fingers weaving into her dark hair, and pulled her toward him.

His lips met hers in a kiss that was slow, deep, and intoxicatingly intense.

Elena gasped softly against his mouth, her hands rising to grip the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. The pain in her body vanished, replaced by a surging, electric warmth that swept through her veins. He tasted of rich coffee and smoke, his grip possessive yet remarkably tender against her bruised frame.