"Seven bullets were still inside my body when New York’s most feared crime boss married me in the ICU while I was unconscious. But as he slipped a gold ring onto my finger, his right-hand man warned him: 'If she wakes up and learns why you already had a secret file on her before the shooting, she’ll never forgive you.'"

Three hours earlier, I had been a simple, bone-tired twenty-six-year-old waitress scrambling to cover someone else’s double shift. My mother, Ellen, was currently undergoing specialized cardiovascular treatment for a chronic heart condition in a clinic in Cleveland, and her mounting medical bills had swallowed every penny of my savings, leaving me drowning in debt. I desperately needed the four hundred dollars this high-end catering gig promised.

That was where I first saw Dominic Rossi.

He didn't blend into the crowd; he commanded it. Standing near the edge of the dais, he possessed the sharp, predatory stillness of a man who owned the city's dark underbelly while maintaining a pristine, tailored facade. When a tray of champagne flutes wobbled in my exhausted hands, a sudden lurch in my balance threatened to send glass flying.

Dominic’s hand shot out, catching the base of a champagne glass just a fraction of an inch before it slid off my silver tray.

“You’re new,” he observed, his dark, piercing eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath hitch.

“Is that a crime?” I retorted, exhaustion fraying my filter.

His dark eyebrow lifted in mild amusement, and I instantly regretted opening my mouth. Before I could stumble through an apology, an elegant, silver-haired woman stepped gracefully beside him, laughing softly.

“Dominic, stop frightening the staff,” she scolded gently.

Her name was Isabella Rossi. Despite the terrifying reputation of her family name, her eyes were warm and lined with kindness. She noticed the deep, purple exhaustion bruises under my eyes and gently touched my wrist.

“Go drink some water before you collapse, child,” Isabella murmured. “Nobody should have to faint for rich people.”

It was ten seconds of genuine human kindness in a room full of sharks.

Thirty minutes later, those ten seconds nearly cost me my life.

I was hurrying past the dimly lit service corridor adjacent to the ballroom when a sudden, unnatural motion caught the corner of my eye. A man in an identical catering jacket was moving against the steady flow of waiters, his shoulders rigid, his posture unnatural.

As he stepped out from behind a velvet drapery, his right hand disappeared deep beneath the front of his coat. His eyes were locked straight ahead, zeroed in on the dais where Isabella Rossi was still chatting with a city councilman.

Then I saw the dull gleam of steel. A silenced automatic weapon.

“GET DOWN!” I screamed at the top of my lungs.

Without thinking, driven by pure, frantic instinct, I dropped my heavy metal tray and threw myself directly into Isabella’s path, tackling her hard to the marbled floor just as the first gunshot tore through the glittering room.

Glass shattered into a million sparkling fragments. Women shrieked, men cursed, and panic exploded across the ballroom.

Then the first bullet hit me.

It felt like a red-hot iron rod driven straight into my shoulder blade. The second gunshot stole the remaining air from my lungs, knocking me flat onto the floor with Isabella trapped beneath my body. By the third bullet, the screams of the terrified crowd disappeared beneath a violent, deafening ringing inside my skull.

More bullets struck the floor around us, chipping marble and shredding my uniform, but somehow I forced my limbs to stay locked over Isabella, shielding her with my own flesh until another heavy, authoritative gunshot cracked through the room.

Then, everything stopped. Silence rushed in, heavy and suffocating.

Above me, a dark figure dropped to his knees. Dominic Rossi appeared over my bleeding body, his face drained of every drop of color, his chest heaving.

“The lady…” I managed to whisper, blood bubbling hot against my lips.

“What?” Dominic choked out, his hands hovering over me, terrified to touch my shredded back.

“Your mother.”

“She’s alive,” Dominic said, his voice cracking with a raw, terrifying edge.

I caught a glimpse of Isabella peering out from beneath my arm, her eyes wide with shock and unshed tears.