My boyfriend had just assaulted me and threatened to kill me when I ran for my life. I burst barefoot into a mafia boss’s private club, bleeding and struggling to breathe. But what shook New York wasn’t Adrien Viscari’s promise to protect me—it was the photograph discovered minutes later, proving someone had been watching me for years because of a secret I was never meant to uncover.

“Down!” Adrien roared.

In a fraction of a second, he threw his body over mine, pinning me against the mattress as a second high-velocity round tore through the headboard above us, showering us in wood splinters and feathers.

Marco pulled his sidearm from his shoulder holster, firing three blind rounds out the shattered window toward the dark rooftop across the avenue before slamming the heavy metal security shutters shut using the wall control.

The room plunged into amber emergency lighting, the deep mechanical groan of the steel shutters sealing us in.

Adrien lifted himself off me, his hand immediately moving to check my neck and shoulders for injuries. “Are you hit?”

“No,” I gasped, trembling violently, my hands clutching his dress shirt. “No, I’m okay.”

“Marco, talk to me!” Adrien commanded, his voice dead calm despite the chaos.

“Sniper on the roof of the Continental Hotel,” Marco replied, pressing his ear to his communication earpiece. “At least two kill teams entering the lower garage. The perimeter at the street level has been breached. They knew we were here.”

Adrien stood up, pulling a sleek, black semi-automatic pistol from a hidden drawer beneath the nightstand. He checked the magazine with an experienced, practiced motion before chambering a round.

“They didn't come for the club,” Adrien said, his dark eyes fixing on me with absolute certainty. “They came to make sure Lena doesn't leave this room alive.”

“Who are they?” I cried, pulling myself off the bed despite the burning pain in my side. “Why is this happening? I don't know anything about a ledger! I don't know anything about forty million dollars!”

Adrien walked over to me, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward a concealed door hidden behind a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf.

“Your mother didn't just steal money, Lena,” Adrien said as he keyed a security code into a digital keypad concealed behind a leather-bound volume. “She stole the master registry of every bribe, every dirty politician, and every execution order the five families executed over thirty years. If that ledger resurfaces, half the power structure of the East Coast falls apart.”

The bookshelf swung open with a heavy click, revealing a narrow, reinforced concrete staircase leading downward into the dark.

“Where does this go?” I asked, terror gripping my chest.

“To the underground transit tunnels beneath the city,” Adrien replied, turning to Marco. “Take the primary security detail and hold the main elevator. Make them believe we’re fighting our way down through the club.”

“Boss, you can't go into the tunnels alone,” Marco protested, his face lined with concern. “If the Morettis know she’s alive, they’ll have men at every exit between here and Wall Street.”

“I’m not taking her to Wall Street,” Adrien said coldly. “I’m taking her to the Vault.”

He reached into his pocket, pulled out the scratched photograph, and shoved it inside his vest before taking my hand in his firm, warm grip.

“Trust me, Lena,” he whispered, looking deep into my eyes. “Your boyfriend was just the leash. The people who sent him are coming to finish what they started fourteen years ago.”