Blood on polished marble had never made Jonah Pierce lose his appetite.

The conflict between Jonah Pierce and Arthur Vance escalated with violent swiftness over the next forty-eight hours.

Vance, realizing he could not defeat Jonah in an open war, targeted Jonah’s business interests across the city. Two of Jonah’s shipment trucks were intercepted in Queens; a fire broke out at one of his warehouses near the docks; and several of his men were ambushed outside a club in Soho.

Midtown was on high alert. Aurelia was closed to the public, its windows shuttered, its heavy mahogany doors locked from the inside. Jonah’s personal security force patrolled the perimeter day and night.

Inside the penthouse, Stella felt like a prisoner once again—not because Jonah restricted her, but because her very presence had brought war to his doorstep.

She sat at the large dining table, watching Jonah review map layouts of Vance’s territory with Wyatt.

“Vance is hiding in his club in Greenpoint,” Wyatt reported, pointing to a blueprint spread across the wood. “He’s fortified the place with twenty men. He knows we’re coming for him.”

“Then we go tonight,” Jonah said flatly, rubbing his eyes with fatigue. “We finish this before he hits another one of our people.”

“Jonah, wait,” Stella said, standing up from the table.

Both men looked at her.

“This is because of me,” she said, her voice steady despite the anxiety twisting her stomach. “Vance wants the thirty grand Dean claimed I took. If I give him the money from the account you opened for me—”

“No,” Jonah cut her off instantly, his voice leaving no room for argument. “That money is yours, Stella. It stays yours.”

“It’s just money!” she argued, taking a step toward him. “I don't care about the money, Jonah! I care about you! His men are trying to kill you!”

Jonah stood up, walking around the table until he was standing directly in front of her. He looked down at her face, his expression softening from cold mob boss to a man deeply, undeniably in love.

“It’s not about thirty thousand dollars, Stella,” Jonah said softly, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Vance doesn't care about the money anymore. He wants to prove that he can push me around. He wants to show the city that Jonah Pierce can be forced to surrender what he protects.”

He stroked her cheek gently, his thumb feeling smooth against her soft skin.

“And I will never surrender you,” he whispered. “Not to Vance. Not to anyone.”

Stella looked into his dark eyes, realizing the profound depth of the protection he offered. For three years, she had been a bargaining chip, an outlet for rage, an unpaid bill. With Jonah, she was something sacred—something worth going to war for.

She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his waist, burying her face into his shirt.

“Promise me you’ll come back tonight,” she whispered against his chest.