She thought the man across the ballroom was simply staring at her—until Chicago’s most feared mafia boss suddenly stepped between them, pulled her close, and whispered, **“Don’t leave my side.”**

I lunged forward, throwing my weight against Vincent’s shoulder just as Marcus pulled the trigger.

THUD.

The bullet didn't hit Vincent. It tore through the heavy silk fabric of my sleeve, grazing my left shoulder with a searing, white-hot line of agony before embedding itself into the marble pillar behind us.

“Ah!” I gasped, stumbling backward against Vincent’s chest.

Vincent caught me instantly, his face draining of every drop of color. He looked down at my bleeding shoulder, and for the first time since I had known him, the untouchable king of the Chicago underworld looked genuinely, utterly terrified.

“Mave!” Vincent roared, a sound of pure, unadulterated primal rage.

He didn't aim this time. He stepped out from behind the pillar and fired four rapid shots with terrifying, lethal grace.

Marcus dropped his weapon, clutching his chest as he stumbled backward, crashing hard against the glass buffet table before collapsing onto the floor in a heap of shattered plates and silver cutlery.

The remaining two gunmen, seeing their leader go down and hearing the sirens wailing in the distance outside the Plaza, turned and bolted through the kitchen service doors.

Within seconds, the grand ballroom fell into a terrifying, smoky silence, broken only by the whimpering of hidden socialites and the distant, rising wail of police sirens.

Vincent dropped to his knees beside me, ripping his silk tie off with one hand and pressing it firmly against my bleeding shoulder to stem the flow of blood.

“Hold still,” he commanded, his voice trembling slightly.

“You... you lied to me about everything else,” I breathed out, wincing as the pain flared through my arm. “Why didn't you tell me the truth before?”

“Because if you knew who you were, you would have looked for answers,” Vincent said, pressing harder against the wound, his eyes locked onto mine. “And the men who killed your father are still looking for the last remaining ledger from Pier 21. If they found you, you wouldn't have survived a week in this city.”

He reached inside his jacket with his free hand, pulled out a small, encrypted flash drive, and pressed it gently into my uninjured palm.

“What is this?” I whispered.

“That is the original ledger,” Vincent said softly. “The proof of who set the fire. The proof of who stole your life. I kept it safe for the day you were finally ready to burn their world down.”

Sirens echoed right outside the main doors. Red and blue strobe lights flashed through the shattered glass of the entrance.

“Mr. Costa! Boss!” Leo’s voice rang out as he sprinted through the front doors with two security men behind him. “Perimeter is secure, but the cops are three minutes out!”

Vincent didn't look at Leo. He kept his eyes fixed entirely on me, lifting me effortlessly into his arms as the smoke swirled around the crystal chandeliers.

“Can you walk?” he asked.