*She Hid the Mafia Boss’s Freezing Daughters—By Sunrise, He Put His Entire Empire Between Her and Death**

"Dominic Vale," Rostova said smoothly, stepping into the vault as his guards raised their submachine guns, covering every inch of the room. "You always were too sentimental for this business. Running into a bank vault at 5:00 AM for a waitress and a ghost's diary?"

Dominic stepped casually in front of Emily, blocking her completely from Rostova’s sight. His hand rested inside his coat, his posture relaxed, unbothered by the six automatic weapons pointed at his heart.

"You're getting old, Viktor," Dominic said, his voice smooth as velvet and cold as ice. "Executing a bank president in his own vault? Your political friends in D.C. won't be able to cover this up."

"My political friends won't care," Rostova sneered, holding out a gloved hand. "Because in two minutes, you, Miss Parker, and your security chief will be dead of an apparent tragic robbery. I will take my flash drive, reclaim my dock contracts, and Chicago will belong to the Rostova family."

"You forgot one detail, Viktor," Dominic said quietly.

Rostova’s eyes narrowed. "What detail?"

"I built this bank's security architecture ten years ago," Dominic said.

Dominic’s hand came out of his coat—not holding a gun, but pressing a small black remote control.

HEAVY HYDRAULIC ROAR.

Before Rostova’s men could react, the massive, twelve-ton steel vault door behind them slammed shut with earthquake force!

CRASH-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP!

The automated security lock engaged. The vault was completely sealed off from the outside world—and four of Rostova’s six guards were trapped on the outside!

The remaining two guards in the room panicked, turning their weapons toward Dominic.

Dominic moved like lightning.

He drew his weapon, firing two lethal shots before the guards could clear their safeties. Both men dropped instantly to the polished floor.

Rostova drew a silver revolver from his cashmere coat, his face twisted in sudden panic. "You fool! You trapped us inside!"

Rostova aimed straight at Emily!

"EMILY, DOWN!" Dominic bellowed.

Emily didn't hesitate. She dropped to the floor, rolling beneath a heavy brass table.

BANG!

Rostova’s bullet gouged a chunk out of the marble wall where Emily had been standing a second before.

Dominic charged forward, slamming into Rostova with the force of a freight train. The revolver flew from Rostova's hand, skidding across the slick floor toward the table where Emily was hiding.

The two titans of the Chicago underworld crashed into the brass safety deposit boxes.

Rostova was fast, pulling a hidden blade from his sleeve and slashing wildy. The blade cut through Dominic’s coat, leaving a deep red gash across his shoulder.

Dominic didn't even flinch. He grabbed Rostova’s arm, twisted it until a sharp bone-crack echoed through the vault, and drove his knee hard into Rostova’s ribs.

Rostova fell to his knees, coughing blood, his silver hair disheveled, his aristocratic facade completely shattered.

"It's over, Viktor," Dominic growled, standing over him, blood dripping from his shoulder wound onto the floor.

Rostova looked up, his eyes wild with desperate rage. Suddenly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, red detonator.

"If I go down, Vale..." Rostova spat, his fingers hovering over the button. "...the explosive charges I set on the main floor will collapse this entire building into the vault!"

Emily saw the detonator. She saw the madness in Rostova’s eyes.

She didn't ask for permission.

Emily crawled out from beneath the table, picked up Rostova's fallen silver revolver, raised it with both hands, and squeezed the trigger.

BANG!

The bullet struck Rostova cleanly through his shoulder. The detonator flew from his hand, shattering against the steel wall.

Rostova collapsed onto his back, screaming in agony, holding his bleeding shoulder.

Silence fell over the vault, broken only by the sound of heavy breathing.

Dominic turned slowly. He looked at the silver revolver in Emily’s hands, then looked up into her fierce, beautiful, dark eyes.

Emily was standing tall, her hands steady, the gun lowered.

Dominic walked over to her. He didn't look at Rostova. He didn't look at the dead guards. He reached out, gently taking the heavy gun from her fingers, setting it on the table.

Then he pulled her into his arms, kissing her fiercely, deeply, right there in the middle of the blood and steel.

It was a kiss born of adrenaline, relief, and a dark, undeniable passion that had been building between them since the moment she stood up to him in the diner.

Emily wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back with everything she had, tasting his strength, feeling the heat of his body against hers.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, his breath hot and ragged.

"I told you," Emily whispered, a soft, breathless smile gracing her lips. "I'm a nurse. We eliminate infections."