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 tension in the ballroom was a powder keg waiting for a spark.

Dominic led me away from Castellano toward a quiet balcony overlooking Central Park. Cold night air washed over us, blowing the lace edge of my mask against my cheek.

"Did you really pay off my father's debt?" I asked, staring up at his sharp profile.

"I cleared it," Dominic said, leaning against the stone railing. "Castellano no longer has a legal or traditional right to touch you."

"Why would you do that? Half a million dollars is—"

"Pocket change," Dominic dismissed flatly. "And a small price to pay to keep what belongs to me."

"I told you, I am not—"

Before I could finish my sentence, the heavy glass doors to the balcony burst open.

Two men in dark suits rushed onto the terrace, suppressed pistols raised.

"Dominic!" I screamed.

Everything happened in a heartbeat. Dominic grabbed my waist, spinning me behind his back while pulling a small, silver firearm from inside his tuxedo jacket with his free hand.

POP! POP!

The suppressed gunshots were barely louder than the popping of champagne corks inside. One of the assassins fell backward, a red hole blooming between his eyes. The second gunman fired, the bullet tearing through the silk fabric of Dominic's jacket sleeve.

Dominic didn't even grunt. He fired twice more, dropping the second assassin instantly onto the marble terrace.

Inside the ballroom, screams erupted as glass shattered. The hit wasn't just on the balcony—Castellano had launched a full-scale assault inside the Plaza.

"Leo!" Dominic roared into a small radio clipped to his collar. "Extract protocol! Now!"

Dominic grabbed my hand, dragging me down the service stairs at the end of the balcony. Blood was soaking through his left sleeve, staining his white shirt red, but he didn't slow down. He moved with terrifying speed, clearing corners with his gun raised, protecting me with his body at every turn.

We burst out into the rear loading bay of the hotel. A black SUV slammed to a halt before us, doors flying open.

"Get in!" Leo yelled from the front seat, firing three rounds over our heads at Castellano's men pursuing us from the alley.

Dominic shoved me into the back seat, diving in right behind me as the vehicle accelerated out into the street, tires screeching against the wet pavement.

I scrambled across the leather, reaching for Dominic's arm. "You're shot!"

"It's a flesh wound," he grunted, pressing a clean handkerchief against the bleeding gash on his bicep.

"Let me see it," I commanded, my fear turning into adrenaline.

I ripped a strip of silk from the inner lining of my gown, leaning over him. My hands were steady as I wrapped the silk tightly around his arm, tying a pressure knot over the wound just as I had learned from watching emergency protocols at the clinic near my old apartment.

Dominic watched me through heavy, pain-darkened eyes. As I tightened the knot, he let out a low breath, his hand rising to cup the back of my head, pulling my face down until our lips were mere inches apart.

"You don't panic, do you?" he whispered, his warm breath fanning across my mouth.

"I don't have time to panic," I murmured, my heart hammering against my ribs. "You're bleeding on my dress."

A dark, breathless laugh escaped his lips. "You're a nightmare, Lydia Bennett."

"And you're a lunatic, Dominic Russo."

He didn't answer with words. He pulled me down and kissed me.

It was hard, desperate, and taste-tested with iron and rain. All the fear, the tension, and the unspoken electricity that had been building between us since the night at the Onyx Room exploded in that kiss. I held onto his shirt, feeling the muscle beneath the fabric, surrendering to the overwhelming power of a man who was fighting a war just to keep me breathing.