"My father sold me to New York’s top mob boss—unaware my wedding night scars would turn my husband against him."

He grabbed my hand, interlacing his long, calloused fingers with mine, pulling me flush against his side as he walked toward the bedroom door.

"Nico... wait!" I gasped, my heart hammering wildly against my ribs. "He brought state marshals! He has judges in his pocket!"

"I own the city, Nora," Nico replied smoothly, his baritone completely devoid of fear. "Let him bring the Marshals."

He threw the heavy oak double doors open.

Standing in the center of the second-floor gallery, flanked by four broad-shouldered private security guards holding drawn pistols, was my father, Edmund Ashford. He wore a tailored charcoal suit, his silver hair disheveled, his face flushed with a toxic, desperate rage.

Surrounding them were twelve of Nico’s elite Ferrara enforcers, their automatic submachine guns trained directly on Edmund’s chest.

"Nora!" Edmund yelled, taking a fast step toward the landing, ignoring the twelve laser sights painting his coat red. "Get over here! You're coming home! You don't know what this man is!"

Nico stepped onto the gallery landing, his hand remaining locked around mine, his tall frame casting a long, suffocating shadow over the upper hallway.

"She knows exactly what I am, Edmund," Nico spoke. His voice was dangerously calm, carrying effortlessly across the grand foyer below. "I am the man who owns her marriage certificate. And more importantly... I am the man who knows why you executed my brother Marco."

Edmund’s face instantly drained of all color. The arrogant, booming tone in his voice withered into a pale, sickening silence.

"You... you don't know what you're talking about, Ferrara," Edmund stammered, his fingers twitching near his coat pocket. "She's a lying, hysterical girl! She’s been mentally unstable since she was a child! Ask her doctors! I have medical records—"

"You forged her medical records to keep her isolated, Edmund," I interjected, stepping out from behind Nico's shoulder, my voice rising with a strength I hadn't felt in twelve years. "Just like you forged the shipping manifests for Terminal 4! I know where the master drive is buried, Father. I know the passcodes to the Zurich accounts."

Edmund let out a harsh, animalistic shriek of pure panic. "SHOOT THEM! KILL THEM BOTH!"

His four private guards raised their weapons.

THWIP! THWIP! THWIP! THWIP!

Before Edmund’s guards could even touch their triggers, four suppressed rounds from Nico’s marksmen on the upper balcony punched cleanly through their shoulders and legs. The four guards collapsed flat onto the marble floorboards, their weapons clattering across the tile.

Edmund stumbled backward against the mahogany balustrade, trembling violently as Nico walked down the marble staircase, step by slow step, until he stood two inches from my father’s face.

Nico raised his silver-barreled sidearm, pressing the cold steel barrel directly against the center of Edmund’s forehead.

"You took my brother, Edmund," Nico whispered, every word sharp as a razor blade. "You beat my wife for twelve years. And then you walked into my home demanding her back so you could bury your secrets."

"Nico... please!" Edmund wept pathetically, dropping onto his knees flat on the marble floor, his hands held up in desperate surrender. "I'll give you the hedge fund! I'll sign over the shipping leases! Take everything! Just let me walk away!"