Seven bullets were still inside my body when Dominic Rossi put a gold ring on my swollen finger and married me beside an intensive-care bed. I was unconscious, breathing through a tube, and had no idea the most feared crime boss in New York had leaned close and whispered, “Now anybody who comes for you comes through me.”

Inside the vehicle, the tinted windows muffled the sound of the storm, but they couldn't block the sharp, distinct pop-pop-pop of suppressed gunfire echoing from within the brick corridors of the clinic.

My heart hammered against my ribs with suffocating intensity. Every instinct screamed at me to stay put, but the thought of my mother lying defenseless in her recovery bed clawed at my sanity.

Minutes stretched into agonizing hours. The gunfire stopped as abruptly as it had begun, replaced by an eerie, heavy silence broken only by the rhythmic drumming of rain against the roof.

Then, the passenger door clicked open.

Enzo leaned inside, his clothes soaked, a streak of gunpowder across his cheek. “Boss secured the upper floor. Ellen is safe, Miss—Mrs. Rossi. No injuries.”

A sob of pure relief escaped my throat. I dropped the pistol onto the seat and scrambled out of the SUV, ignoring the sharp twinge in my healing ribs as I sprinted through the pouring rain toward the lighted entrance of the clinic.

When I burst through the double doors, the lobby looked like a war zone. Two of Costa’s operatives were zip-tied and unconscious against the reception desk, guarded by Rossi enforcers.

I rushed down the sterile white hallway to Room 304.

The door was wide open. Inside, my mother was sitting up in her hospital bed, looking bewildered and terrified as monitors beeped softly around her. Standing beside her bed, holding her frail hand with a gentleness that completely defied his terrifying reputation, was Dominic.

“Ellen,” Dominic was saying calmly as I rushed into the room. “Your daughter is here.”

My mother looked up, her eyes widening in shock as she saw me standing in the doorway, pale, soaked, and wearing an expensive wool coat over my bandages.

“Maya!” she cried out, opening her arms.

I threw myself across the room, burying my face in her shoulder as tears finally broke through the dam of my shock and exhaustion. She held me tightly, her fragile hands patting my back.

“What’s happening? Who are these men?” she whispered frantically, glancing at the armed guards stationed outside the doorway. “They said we had to be moved immediately… they said our lives were in danger.”

Before I could answer, Dominic stepped forward, his expression solemn yet reassuring.

“Your safety is my responsibility now, Ellen,” Dominic said smoothly, his voice carrying an undeniable authority. “You’re coming back to New York with us. Under my roof. Permanently.”

My mother blinked, looking between Dominic and the heavy gold ring shining on my finger. She was too exhausted, too medicated, and too overwhelmed to process the full magnitude of the mafia syndicate she was suddenly marrying into, but she saw the way Dominic looked at me—with a fierce, protective devotion that transcended business and blood.

“You take care of my girl?” my mother asked softly, her voice trembling.