Three bullets tore into my body because I threw myself between a gunman and the six-year-old heir to New York’s most feared billionaire mafia family

The basement armory of Blackthorne House looked like a military bunker designed for a small army.

Racks of black assault rifles, customized handguns, tactical vests, and boxes of high-caliber ammunition lined the reinforced concrete walls. In the center of the room, a large illuminated table displayed holographic blueprints of the abandoned Red Hook grain terminal.

Dominic stood over the map, his jaw set in rigid lines.

"The terminal has three entry points," Dominic said, tracing a finger along the glowing pier. "The water approach is covered by rusted catwalks. If Lucian is half as smart as you say he is, he'll have snipers stationed on the grain silos overlooking the main dock."

I stood on the opposite side of the table, dressed in black tactical fatigues that Nolan had provided. My shoulder was tightly bound with medical tape, numbed by a local anesthetic the compound physician had administered an hour ago.

"Lucian doesn't fight fair," I said, leaning over the blueprint. "He won't be on the ground. He'll use proxy mercenaries to secure the perimeter and keep himself insulated in the upper observation tower. That's his pattern. He lets everyone else bleed while he watches from the high ground."

Dominic looked up from the map, his eyes lingering on my face. "You know him well."

"I spent five years preparing to marry him," I said, my voice flat, stripping away every ounce of emotion. "My father arranged it when I was eighteen. Lucian was charming, brilliant, and utterly sociopathic. He viewed our marriage as a merger of territories. When my father refused to hand over the family's deep-water shipping lanes, Lucian didn't argue. He laced my father's scotch with cyanide and made it look like a heart attack."

Dominic’s expression hardened. "And you discovered it."

"I found the vial in his study," I continued, the memory turning my stomach cold. "When I confronted him, he laughed. He told me that in our world, power wasn't inherited; it was seized. He gave me a choice: marry him that Saturday and rule beside him, or be buried in the harbor next to my father."

"So you burned the docks," Dominic said, his voice dropping into a low, appreciative hum.

"I ignited the fuel reserves beneath the warehouse," I whispered. "I thought the blast killed him. I watched the entire pier collapse into the sea. Then I took a bus to New York, changed my name, and disappeared into minimum-wage jobs where nobody looked twice at a quiet girl with no family."

Dominic stepped around the table, stopping inches from me. The cold detachment in his demeanor seemed to fracture, revealing something raw and dangerously possessive underneath.

"You should have come to me," he murmured.

"To you?" I scoffed quietly, looking up into his dark eyes. "You're the king of New York's underworld, Dominic. If I had walked into your office and told you I was Elena Vance, you would have traded me to the highest bidder or put a bullet in my head to keep the peace between the syndicates."

"Eight years ago? Maybe," Dominic admitted, his gaze drifting down to the collar of my tactical shirt, where the bandage peaked out. "Today? After what you did for Caleb?"

He reached out, his knuckles brushing gently against my bruised jaw. His touch was unexpectedly warm, sending a jolt of electricity straight through my veins.

"Nobody touches what belongs to Blackthorne House," he whispered. "And nobody threatens my son and lives to see the dawn."

"I don't belong to you, Dominic," I said, my voice catching slightly.

A slow, wicked smile touched the corner of his lips—the first genuine smile I had ever seen on his face. It was lethal, intoxicating, and utterly terrifying.

"We'll settle that question after we put Lucian Vance in the ground," Dominic said.

The heavy steel door of the armory clanged open, breaking the spell. Nolan entered, his face grim, carrying a satellite tablet.

"Boss, we have movement," Nolan said urgently. "A convoy of four unmarked black SUVs just crossed the Manhattan Bridge, heading toward the Red Hook terminal. And our surveillance drones picked up a radio transmission originating from inside the perimeter."

"What did it say?" Dominic asked, snapping back into commander mode.

Nolan swallowed hard, glancing nervously at me.

"The transmission was broadcast on an open frequency," Nolan said. "It was Lucian Vance. He said... he said the deal is off. He's not waiting for midnight. He claims he has an insider in Blackthorne House who has already compromised the subterranean bunker."

My blood ran cold.

Dominic's head snapped toward the monitors.