“Take Off The Wedding Dress,” The Mafia Boss Ordered Coldly — “This Marriage Was Only Revenge”

"Mr. Ror!" city marshal Miller yelled over the sound of wind and rain. "This property is subject to an immediate seizure warrant! Clear your men out or we will open fire!"

Dante didn't flinch. "Try it, Miller. You won't make it back to your cruiser."

"Hold your fire!" Sebastian’s voice cut through the tempest like a whip.

The men on both sides turned. Dante stepped back slightly, bowing his head in deference, though his eyes remained wary.

Audrey pushed past Sebastian, stepping directly into the space between the armed men. Rain soaked her hair, plastering it to her skin, but her stature was regal.

"Marshal Miller," Audrey said, holding out a sealed leather folder she had retrieved from the SUV’s hidden safe. "This is the original land deed registered with the state supreme court in 1998, accompanied by the title insurance policy signed by the state governor’s office. Any attempt to execute a local council warrant against a federal land grant is a class-one civil rights violation."

Miller blinked, taking the damp folder. "Mrs... Mrs. Whitaker, the council said—"

"I am Mrs. Ror now," Audrey interrupted coldly. "And if you break down that door, every television network on the East Coast will be broadcasting video of city marshals pulling oxygen tanks out of the hands of dying veterans before morning. Do you think Marcus Kane will pay your legal fees when the federal prosecutor indicts you?"

Miller looked from the legal documents to Sebastian Ror, whose expression promised slow, agonizing retribution. The marshal swallowed hard, stepped back, and waved his hand at his men.

"We’re standing down," Miller muttered. "For tonight."

As the police cruisers reversed down the driveway, leaving only the sound of engine exhaust and falling rain, Audrey turned toward the entrance of the hospice.

Suddenly, a shot echoed from the tree line across the street.

Crack.

"Down!" Sebastian roared.

In a fraction of a second, before the sound of the rifle discharge even faded, Sebastian threw his weight forward, tackling Audrey to the cold, wet concrete and covering her body completely with his own.

A high-velocity bullet shattered the glass lantern just inches above where Audrey’s head had been a second prior. Concrete dust and glass rained down upon Sebastian’s back.

"Return fire!" Dante shouted, as the syndicate guards opened up a barrage toward the treeline.

Sebastian didn't move from atop Audrey. He cradled the back of her head, his hands broad and warm against her wet scalp, his heart hammering violently against her ribs.

"Are you hit?" he demanded, his voice laced with a sudden, raw panic he had never felt in his entire life. "Audrey! Look at me!"

Audrey looked up, gasping for air under his crushing weight. She saw something in his dark eyes that shocked her—not fury, not calculation, but genuine, terrifying fear.

"I’m... I’m okay," she whispered.

Sebastian pulled her up swiftly, keeping her low, and rushed her through the heavy double doors of the hospice, forcing her into the safety of the interior foyer.

Dante burst in a moment later, his weapon drawn, wiping rain from his face. "The shooter fled into the woods on a motorcycle. It was a professional job. Kane didn't send marshals to take the land, boss—he sent them to flush her out into the open."

Sebastian turned to look at Dante, then at Audrey. A crimson stain was spreading rapidly across the shoulder of his black tuxedo jacket.

Audrey gasped, her hands immediately flying to his shoulder. "Sebastian! You’re bleeding!"

"It’s a graze," Sebastian said through gritted teeth, though his face had gone pale. He stared at Dante with eyes like chips of obsidian. "Kane didn't have this intelligence. Nobody knew Audrey was coming to the hospice tonight except the people in the hotel suite."