**For twelve years, no woman had been allowed within arm’s reach of Boston’s most feared mafia boss—until a waitress crashed into him, cut her hand, and made him use the one thing he had protected since his wife died.**

At 11:00 p.m. that night, the rain turned into a blinding snowstorm that blanketed the Boston coastline in thick white silence.

Inside the library, the fire had burned down to red embers.

Aliyah sat in the deep leather armchair, wrapped in a dark cashmere throw, a cup of warm tea resting on the small side table beside her.

Victor stood at his dark walnut desk, holding an encrypted satellite phone to his ear, his profile sharp against the firelight.

"Volkov has mobilized three teams out of Providence," Nikolai’s voice spoke through the speaker. "They are moving toward the Fort Point logistics hub. They think you are distracted at Nahant."

"They think I am weak because I have something to lose again," Victor replied flatly, his voice regaining its terrifying, sovereign authority. "Gather the senior captains. Block the bridges at Broadway and Summer Street. I am coming down."

"Victor," Aliyah called out softly from the armchair.

Victor hung up the phone, walked over to her chair, and knelt beside her—just as he had done on the floor of the pub twenty-four hours earlier.

He reached out, taking her wrapped hand in his, his fingers squeezing gently.

"I have to settle this tonight," Victor said smoothly. "Dimitri Volkov believes he can use you to fracture my authority. Once he is removed, no one in this city will ever threaten you again."

Aliyah looked into his gray eyes, seeing the quiet, absolute determination in his face. She didn't ask him not to go. She knew the world he lived in, and she knew that peace in his world was bought only through strength.

"Come back to me," Aliyah whispered, leaning forward and pressing her soft lips gently against his forehead, right above his furrowed brow.

Victor’s eyes closed as her lips touched his skin. A deep, long shudder passed through his heavy shoulders, as if twelve years of cold ice were finally melting away under her breath.

He stood up, reached into his coat pocket, and pulled out the white linen handkerchief with the blue embroidered E.