Three bullets tore through me because I threw myself between a gunman and the six-year-old son of New York’s most feared crime boss.

Total darkness swallowed the penthouse, illuminated only by the stormy moonlight slicing through the reinforced glass.

Dominic moved silently, his back to the wall, weapon raised at the low-ready. "He's inside the compound."

"He was inside before the sun set," I whispered, reaching over to the bedside medical tray and palming a stainless-steel scalpel, concealing it beneath my palm. Muscle memory took over, drowning out the pain of my shattered ribs. "Julian Kane doesn't knock. He infiltrates the structural systems first."

Dominic glanced at me in the shadows, his brows furrowed. "Julian Kane? The ghost operative from Interpol's red notice list? He died in the Gibraltar blast eight years ago."

"I was the one who pulled the trigger on the detonator," I confessed, my voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through my veins. "I was an extraction agent for the Iron Syndicate. Julian was my commander... and my handler. When I discovered the syndicate was trafficking children and weapons to fuel private wars, I stole their biometric ledger and blew the facility to hell. I took on Mara's identity and ran. I thought I was free."

Dominic stared at me, the pieces clicking together in his razor-sharp mind. "You didn't come to Blackthorne House to hide from ordinary cops. You came here because my security perimeter was the only fortress impenetrable enough to shield you."

"Yes," I admitted honestly. "And then I met your son. And then I realized I would rather die than let Julian's monsters touch a single hair on his head."

A heavy silence settled between us. Dominic slowly lowered his weapon, stepping closer until his boots brushed the base of the bed. He reached out with a hand that had commanded executions, but his touch as his fingers grazed my cheek was breathtakingly tender.

"You took three bullets for my boy, Evelyn," he said, pronouncing my real name with an intimacy that sent a shiver down my spine. "I don't give a damn what you did eight years ago. In this house, under my roof, you belong to me. And I protect what's mine."

The romantic friction between us ignited like a struck match. For months, living as Mara, I had watched this formidable, broken man mourn his late wife in stoic silence while trying to be a father. I had denied the pull between us. But now, stripped of all lies, the hunger in his eyes was unmistakable.

Crash!

The reinforced window shattered under high-velocity breaching charges. Two masked figures in tactical gear swung into the room, assault rifles raised.

Dominic didn't hesitate. He pivoted, firing two double-taps that dropped the first operative instantly. The second tackled Dominic to the hardwood floor, knocking his firearm away.

Seeing the mercenary draw a combat knife aimed at Dominic's throat, I ignored the blinding tear in my stitched ribs. I launched myself off the bed, driving the surgical scalpel straight into the attacker's carotid artery.

The man collapsed in a choking heap.

Dominic scrambled up, catching me before my knees buckled. I slumped against his broad chest, gasping for air, fresh blood seeping through my white hospital gown.

"You crazy, magnificent woman," Dominic breathed, his arm locking around my waist.

Then, from the shattered window frame, Julian Kane stepped into the moonlight, holding a silenced pistol aimed directly at Dominic’s head.