I silently warned the most feared mafia boss in New York that his drink had been poisoned, knowing both crime families would kill me if anyone noticed. He caught my tiny signal in an instant, and the look he gave me made it clear my life would never belong to me again.

The guest suite on the third floor was larger than my entire apartment.

It featured a king-sized bed wrapped in Egyptian cotton sheets, a private balcony overlooking the dark woods, and a marble bathroom stocked with luxury toiletries. Yet every window was made of three-inch bulletproof glass that didn't open more than two inches.

I lay awake all night, listening to the rain and the distant sound of patrolling footsteps on the gravel driveway below.

At 7:00 a.m., Mrs. Gable knocked gently on the door. She brought a tray of fresh fruit, warm croissants, and black coffee, along with a stack of tailored clothes—cashmere sweaters, silk blouses, and dark slacks that fit my measurements perfectly.

"Mr. Russo expects you in the library at eight," she said neutrally before leaving.

I dressed quickly, my skin crawling at how well the clothes fit. Dominic had mapped me out before I even woke up.

I walked down to the second-floor library at five minutes to eight. The room smelled of old leather, paper, and espresso. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined three walls, while the fourth was dominated by a fireplace where a warm blaze crackled.

Dominic sat behind a dark walnut desk, a red leather folder open before him. He wore a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing dark, intricate tattoos creeping up his wrists—symbols of old-world mafia lineage that spoke of blood oaths and lost lives.

"Sit," he said without raising his eyes.

I took the leather armchair opposite him. "Did you find Thomas?"

Dominic finally looked up. His eyes were tired, but his focus was sharp as a needle. "Thomas is no longer a concern. But the information he provided before he died was... enlightening."

He slid a document across the desk toward me. It was a ledger page, covered in handwritten numbers and dates. At the top was my father's signature.

"Arthur didn't just lose money at the tables," Dominic explained, leaning back in his chair. "He was selling Castellano's shipping manifests to rival families in New Jersey. When Sal found out, Arthur panicked. He offered Sal something else to clear his debt."

A cold spike of dread drove into my stomach. "What did he offer?"

Dominic stared at me, his gaze unblinking. "You."

The room seemed to tilt. The crackle of the fireplace muted into a dull buzz. "What?"

"Arthur signed a personal guarantee," Dominic said, his voice flat and devoid of pity. "If he defaulted on his five-hundred-thousand-dollar debt by June first, Sal Castellano had the legal and physical rights to your employment and assets. Arthur used you as collateral for his life."

Tears pricked the back of my eyes, but I forced them down. I refused to cry in front of Dominic Russo. My father had abandoned me six months ago, leaving me to face loan sharks, but learning he had literally traded me like a piece of livestock tore whatever residual affection I had left into ribbons.

"That's illegal," I whispered. "You can't enforce a contract like that."

Dominic let out a dry, humorless laugh. "In our world, Lydia, signatures written in blood are the only contracts that matter. Sal was going to pick you up next week. He was going to put you in one of his clubs in Brooklyn until Arthur surfaced."

I gripped the arms of the chair so hard my knuckles turned white. "And what are you going to do with me? Hold me until my father pays you?"

Dominic stood up, walking around the desk until he was leaning against the front edge, mere inches from where I sat.

"Arthur Bennett owes me nothing," Dominic said smoothly. "Sal Castellano owes me twelve million dollars for the dock shipments he intercepted last month. And now, he owes me for trying to poison my glass."

He reached down, taking my chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing me to look up into his icy eyes.

"You belong to me now, Lydia. Not because of your father's debt. But because you proved you have eyes that see, a mind that works, and a mouth that knows how to stay shut. I'm keeping you."