Two tequila shots into my twenty-sixth birthday, I poked Boston’s most feared crime boss in the chest twice and watched an entire nightclub go silent. Less than a minute later, a bullet hit the pillar where my head had been, Matteo Conti threw me over his shoulder, and my miserable birthday shift became a fight to stay alive.

By 3:00 AM, the estate was buzzing with quiet, lethal preparation.

I was brought to a luxurious master guest suite on the second floor. A tailor had arrived twenty minutes ago, laying out three dark, elegant business suits, high-end heels, and diamond stud earrings on the mahogany bed.

"Mr. Conti requested you wear the charcoal wool suit for the probate hearing tomorrow, Miss Bennett," the tailor said politely before exiting the room.

I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror, staring at my reflection.

The messy ponytail, smeared eye makeup, and stained cocktail dress of a burnt-out twenty-six-year-old bartender were gone. In their place stood a stranger—wearing a six-thousand-dollar tailored suit, her dark hair pinned into a sleek, professional bun, her face pale but striking.

I looked like a Vance.

The door behind me clicked open. Matteo walked in, having changed into a fresh black shirt and dark grey suit. He stopped in the doorway, his eyes traveling slowly from my shoes up to my eyes.

For a second, the cold, unyielding mob boss hesitated.

"You look like your father," Matteo said quietly, stepping into the room.

"I don't feel like him," I replied softly, turning to face him. "I feel like an imposter playing dress-up while people try to murder me."

Matteo walked over to the dresser, picking up a silver, velvet-lined box. He opened it, revealing a stunning platinum necklace set with a teardrop sapphire.

"This belonged to Arthur Vance’s mother," Matteo said, stepping behind me. "My father kept it in our vault as security for an old debt. It’s yours now."

I felt the cool metal rest against my collarbone as he fastened the clasp behind my neck. His fingers brushed against the skin of my neck, sending a sudden, electric shiver straight down my spine.

I caught his eyes in the mirror. He was looking at me—not as a political piece on a chessboard, but as a woman.

"Why are you doing all this, Matteo?" I asked softly, my voice barely above a breath. "I know it’s about power. But you could have made a deal with Falcone. You could have split the territory."

Matteo’s hands rested gently on my shoulders in the mirror, his dark face framed beside mine.

"Falcone killed my younger brother six years ago," Matteo said, his voice dropping into a dark, hollow register that chilled the air in the room. "He thinks he’s going to rule this city. I am going to make sure he dies with nothing."

He turned me around slowly so I was forced to look directly into his fierce, unyielding gaze.

"You are my key to ending him, Sophie," Matteo whispered. "And as long as you are under my protection, nobody in this world will touch a hair on your head."

Before I could answer, a violent explosion rocked the foundation of the estate.