The eighteenth nanny fled the mansion with blood running down her forehead, screaming that four-year-old Noah Vale was “not right”—and by that afternoon, I was kneeling in front of the same little boy while one of Chicago’s most feared mafia bosses watched from the staircase.

That night, news came from the hospital in Cicero.

My mother called me crying hysterically. "Clara! Oh god, Clara!"

I stood in the quiet kitchen of the mansion, clutching the phone to my ear. "Mom! What happened? Is Tyler okay?!"

"Two men came to the apartment tonight!" she sobbed. "They kicked the door in! They said... they said if you don't leave the Vale mansion by tomorrow morning, they're going to shut off Tyler's life support at the hospital!"

My blood turned to ice. The room spun around me. Marcus Vance. He was going after my ten-year-old brother to force me out of the picture.

"Mom, listen to me," I gasped, tears falling down my face. "Pack a bag right now. Take Tyler and—"

The phone was gently pulled from my hand.

Dominic stood behind me. He had overheard everything. He put the phone to his ear.

"Mrs. Reed," Dominic said smoothly, his tone utterly commanding. "This is Dominic Vale. Listen to me very carefully. Look out your front window."

He paused, waiting.

"Do you see the black SUV parked across the street?" Dominic continued. "Those are my men. Go downstairs with your son, get into that vehicle. They are taking you to Saint Anthony's Private Medical Center. My personal surgical team is waiting for Tyler. He will have his surgery tonight under armed federal-grade protection. Nobody will touch your family."

He hung up the phone and looked down at me.

I was shaking so hard I could barely stand. The fear, the exhaustion, the overwhelming relief crushed me all at once. "Dominic... why are you doing this for me?"

"Because you didn't sell me out," Dominic said softly, stepping closer. He reached out, his thumb gently wiping away a tear spilling down my cheek. "Marcus tried to buy you off tonight before he left. My guards saw his man approach you in the hallway. You refused the envelope."

"I would never betray Noah," I whispered, looking up into his icy blue eyes. "Never."

Dominic looked at me for a long, silent moment. The cold, ruthless mafia king seemed to melt away, leaving behind a man who was deeply lonely, carrying the heavy burden of a empire on his scarred shoulders.

He leaned down, pressing his forehead gently against mine. I could feel the heat of his breath, the steady rhythm of his heart beating against his chest.

"I haven't trusted anyone in two years, Clara," he murmured, his voice thick with unexpressed emotion. "Not since Elena died. But when I look at you... I see the only real thing in this dark house."

My breath hitched. My heart beat wildly against my ribs—not from fear, but from a fierce, undeniable spark that ignited between us.

"Mr. Vale..." I breathed.

"Dominic," he corrected softly. "When we're alone, call me Dominic."

Before I could answer, a loud, panicked cry echoed from the upper floor.

It wasn't a tantrum. It was a word.

"Clara!"