THE NIGHT THEY DRENCHED THE MAFIA KING’S HIDDEN WIFE—AND AWAKENED A WAR ONLY HER HEART COULD STOP

Eleanor reached out, her fingers catching the heavy fabric of Dante’s wool overcoat. "Dante, no. Please. I just want to go home and take a shower."

Dante did not look back at her immediately. He reached into his inner breast pocket, pulled out a dark leather notebook, and opened it.

"Tiffany Monroe," Dante said, his voice flat as he read from a mind that held details on every notable family in the tri-state area. "Twenty-two years old. Daughter of Arthur Monroe, senior vice president of Monroe Commerce Bank. Her father currently holds sixteen million dollars in commercial paper backed by Vance Logistics terminal three."

Eleanor stared at him. "You know who her father is?"

"I know who everyone is, Eleanor," Dante said, turning his head slowly to meet her gaze. "When I married you, I placed six men on the perimeter of that restaurant every night you worked. I let you keep that job because you told me it gave you a sense of normalcy. You told me you wanted to earn your own money, build your own confidence, and exist outside the shadow of my name. I respected that. I stayed in the dark because you asked me to."

He reached out and gently laid his hand over hers where it rested on his coat.

"But when someone drench my wife in syrup for the entertainment of strangers," Dante continued, his grey eyes turning to slate, "they step out of your world and into mine. And in my world, Eleanor, people do not get to laugh at what is mine."

"Dante—"

"Did Graham Vale protect you?" Dante interrupted sharply.

Eleanor swallowed hard. She looked down at her lap, her thumb tracing the seams of her trousers. "He told me to apologize to her. He said Tiffany had six million followers and it was good exposure for the restaurant. He threatened to fire me if I didn't go back out and comp her table."

A faint, terrible smile touched the corners of Dante’s lips. It was not a smile of amusement. It was the smile of a predator watching a deer step into a snare.

"Good exposure," Dante murmured. "Viktor."

"Sir?"

"Call Mateo. Tell him to pull the commercial lease for Belladonna Restaurant at 142 River Street."

Viktor picked up his encrypted satellite phone immediately. "Right away, Boss."

"Wait," Eleanor said, her hand tightening on Dante’s wrist. She pulled the black flash drive from her pocket and held it out between them. "I have this. Mia—the girl who works the floor with me—she copied the security camera footage from the local partition before Graham could wipe it. She gave it to me."

Dante took the tiny black drive from her hand. He held it between his long, scarred fingers, examining it under the dim reading light as if it were a rare gemstone.

"Your friend Mia," Dante said softly. "What is her full name?"

"Mia Alvarez," Eleanor replied. "She's twenty-four. She's saving up for nursing school."

"Viktor," Dante added without looking up. "Tell Mateo to clear Mia Alvarez’s tuition at Columbia Medical for the next four years. Full scholarship. Anonymous foundation."

Eleanor’s mouth opened slightly. "Dante... that’s... she only gave me a flash drive."

"She protected you when the man who took your labor did not," Dante said simply. "In my house, loyalty is rewarded instantly. Treachery, however, takes a little longer because I like to be thorough."

He leaned back against the leather seat, resting his chin on his steepled fingers.

"Viktor, how long until Mateo has the lease documents?"

"Three minutes, Boss," Viktor replied, his eyes checking the rearview mirror. "He’s already pulling the property records from the city clerk’s digital registry."

"Good," Dante said. He reached over, pulled a soft cashmere blanket from the storage compartment beside his seat, and gently wrapped it around Eleanor’s shoulders. He tucked the edges around her neck, making sure the wet cotton of her sweater was completely covered.

"Dante," Eleanor whispered, looking into his severe, dark face. "What are you going to do?"