"He came to execute the assistant he thought betrayed him—unaware he’d find me chained in a bloody room beside his empire's downfall."

I lay on my side against the blood-stained concrete floor, my wrists bound behind my back with heavy iron chains that cut raw red gasps into my skin. Every breath brought a sharp, agonizing stab through my fractured ribs, but the physical agony was nothing compared to the ticking clock inside my mind.

Thirty-six hours had passed since the black van intercepted me near my apartment building.

Across the room, sitting on a rusted folding table beneath a flickering fluorescent bulb, sat the black leather ledger—the single most dangerous document in New England. It contained four years of unredacted offshore accounts, real estate transfers, and murder contracts connecting Gabriel Romano’s syndicate to Sloan Kensington’s father.

My captors—three rogue enforcers working directly for Marcus Kensington, Sloan’s uncle—had spent thirty hours trying to break me.

"She's not talking, boss," one of the men grunted, wiping sweat from his forehead as he set a heavy iron crowbar against the table. "She's bled half a pint and hasn't dropped a single name."

"She will," the leader sneered, stepping closer, his heavy boot kicking my shoulder, rolling me onto my back. "When Gabriel Romano walks through that door expecting to put a bullet in his traitorous assistant's head, she'll beg us to kill her first."

My heart hammered wildly against my bruised ribs.

They hadn't just captured me to steal the ledger. They had planted false encrypted traces pointing straight to my apartment, ensuring Gabriel would believe I had stolen the records to sell them to a rival family before his wedding.

Gabriel Romano didn't negotiate with traitors. He executed them personally.

Suddenly, a heavy, muffled explosion echoed from the street level above us.

BOOM!

The concrete ceiling trembled, dust showering down over the blood-soaked floor.

Shouts rang out from the stairwell, followed by the rapid, terrifying chatter of suppressed automatic gunfire.

TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!

The leader grabbed his sidearm, his eyes widening in sudden, frantic panic. "What the hell was that?!"

Before his two men could reach the iron door, the heavy steel frame was blown inward with thunderous force.

BANG!

Dust and concrete shards erupted into the room. Standing in the doorway, framed by the smoke and halogen floodlights from the hallway, was Gabriel Romano.

He wore a dark charcoal suit, his silk tie loosened, his broad shoulders filling the narrow entrance. His dark hair was disheveled, and in his right hand rested a silenced pistol, its barrel smoking in the freezing air.