Five heiresses fought for the mafia heir’s attention all night—until one of them deliberately crushed a waitress’s foot and changed everything.

Camille stepped into the garage, her silver heels clicking loudly against the oil-stained concrete floor. She held a small pearl-handled revolver in her leather-gloved hand.

"The famous Bennett ledger," Camille said, pointing her gun at the steel toolbox near Clara's feet. "Isabella was a fool for crushing your foot, darling. She should have broken your neck."

Sofia stood beside her, looking around the filthy garage with disgust. "Hand it over, Clara. Hand over the journal, and maybe we'll let you leave New York alive."

Clara stood up slowly, placing herself between the men and her father's toolbox. "You don't care about the ledger. You just want Matteo."

"Matteo DeLuca belongs to our society!" Camille spat, her refined composure slipping into ugly jealousy. "He belongs to women who were born to rule this city! Not a pathetic, dirt-poor waitress who picks up discarded champagne glasses!"

"He doesn't belong to anyone," Clara said, her voice steady despite the guns pointed at her chest. "Least of all women who send hit squads to do their dirty work."

"Enough talk," Sofia ordered the guards. "Grab the girl and burn the building."

Before the guards could take a single step forward, the heavy metal garage doors behind them were torn off their hinges with a deafening, metallic crash.

A heavy black SUV smashed through the entrance, sending wooden crates and metal barrels flying across the room.

The garage burst into chaos.

Matteo jumped out of the driver's side before the vehicle had even come to a full stop, a heavy black pistol in his hand.

Phut! Phut!

Silenced shots echoed through the garage. Two of Camille's guards fell to the floor instantly. The remaining two guards scrambled behind a steel pillar, returning fire.

"Clara! Get down!" Matteo roared, diving across the concrete floor and sliding behind the workbench beside her.

Clara ducked low, covering her head as glass and concrete splinters rained down around them.

Matteo pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly against his chest while using his own body to shield her from the gunfire. His tuxedo jacket was torn, his hair messy, his face covered in soot—and yet, as he looked down at her, his eyes were filled with pure relief.

"You came," Clara gasped, staring up at him.

"I told you," Matteo whispered over the sound of gunshots, his voice fierce and breathless. "I am never letting anyone hurt you again."

"I saw the report, Matteo," she cried, tears burning her eyes. "You investigated me! You came to the hotel for the ledger!"

Matteo grabbed her face in both of his hands, forcing her to look directly into his eyes. "I came to the hotel looking for a target, Clara. But the second I held your hand, the second I saw you look at me like a man instead of a monster, I forgot about the target. I don't give a damn about the ledger! I care about you!"