My husband threw me and my newborn twin daughters into the freezing streets because I failed to give him a son, but the Mafia boss who found us bleeding under a New York overpass did something no one expected. Elias Vance carried my babies into his world, protected us from the man who abandoned us, and made a promise that would put powerful enemies against him: “You’ll live with me now.”

Pain was the first thing that returned to me.

It wasn't the sharp, biting cold of the overpass, but a deep, throbbing warmth that burned from my lower abdomen straight through to my spine. I felt soft, cool silk against my skin, the gentle weight of a heavy down duvet, and the faint, comforting scent of sandalwood, crisp linen, and rain.

My eyes felt glued shut. I groaned, a dry, raspy sound catching in my throat.

"Don't move," a deep, quiet voice commanded from the darkness beside me. "The stitches will tear."

I forced my eyelids open. Bright, muted sunlight filtered through massive floor-to-ceiling glass windows, illuminating a bedroom larger than the entire apartment I had grown up in. High ceilings, dark mahogany paneling, and minimalistic gray velvet furniture surrounded me. An IV drip was connected to the back of my left hand, pumping cold, clear fluid into my veins.

Memory rushed back over me like a tidal wave—Julian’s cold face, the ice on the concrete, the blood soaking through my clothes, the freezing wind.

My heart hammered against my ribs in pure, unadulterated panic. I gasped, tearing at the duvet, trying to sit up despite the blinding, searing pain in my stomach.

"My girls!" I shrieked, my voice cracking into a ragged sob. "Where are my babies?! Where are they?!"

A hand touched my shoulder. It wasn't rough or violent; it was firm, warm, and entirely unyielding. Gently but powerfully, it pressed me back down onto the soft pillows.

"Calm down, Ava," the voice said again.

I turned my head wildly, my eyes focusing on the man sitting in a high-backed leather armchair beside the bed.

He was striking—imposing in a way that made the air in the room feel dense and pressurized. Broad shoulders filled out a dark charcoal vest, his white sleeves rolled up to his forearms to reveal a intricate black tattoo that extended down to his wrist. His jaw was carved like granite, dark hair neatly combed back, and his eyes—a striking, icy steel-gray—were fixed entirely on me. On the small glass table beside him lay a leather file folder stamped with a crest I didn't recognize.

"My daughters..." I wept, clawing at his sleeve. "Please... tell me they didn't freeze... please..."

Elias didn't pull his arm away. He let my fingernails dig into his linen sleeve.

"They are alive," he said flatly, his tone steady, calm, and grounded. "They are in the adjoining room with two pediatric nurses. They are warm, they have been fed, and their vital signs are stable."

A gasp of pure, overwhelming relief broke from my chest, and I pulled my hands back, covering my face as I sobbed uncontrollably. I cried for the horror of the night, for the betrayal, for the bone-deep terror of losing the only two things in the world that mattered to me.

Elias sat in silence, watching me patiently. He didn't offer empty platitudes, nor did he tell me to stop crying. He simply waited until my chest stopped heaving, sitting like a immovable mountain beside my bed.

When my sobs finally faded into quiet hiccups, I wiped my wet cheeks with the corner of the silk sheet and looked at him cautiously.

"Who... who are you?" I whispered. "Why am I here?"

"My name is Elias Vance," he said quietly.

My heart skipped a beat. Even living under Julian’s restrictive thumb, I wasn't completely ignorant of the world. The name Vance was a holy terror in New York. The Vance Syndicate controlled the ports, the labor unions, the construction firms, and the vast dark network that kept the city running. Elias Vance was a man politicians bowed to and dangerous men avoided.

"You're... you're a mob boss," I stammered, shrinking back into the pillows.

"I am the man who pulled you out of the snow while you were bleeding to death under the 79th Street overpass," he corrected smoothly, leaning back and resting his hands on his knee. "Dr. Mercer spent three hours performing emergency surgery on you right here in this room. You lost almost half your blood volume, Ava. If we had been five minutes later, your daughters would be orphans, and you would be in a morgue."

I swallowed hard, looking down at my bandaged hands. "Thank you... Mr. Vance. I... I can't repay you. I don't have anything."

"I didn't do it for payment," Elias said, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as his gaze dropped to the leather file beside him. "I did it because I don't tolerate trash being dumped on my territory."