She handed her wedding ring to her husband's mistress and walked away. By sunrise, it came back covered in blood.

"I'm not running, Maso," I said, setting the bag down on the workbench and reaching into the bottom drawer. I pulled out a heavy, matte-black Walther PPK—a piece my father had legally registered and kept hidden for emergencies. I checked the magazine; fully loaded. "Marcus Vance thinks he can frame me and burn my father’s shop to the ground? He’s about to find out why you don't mess with a jeweler's inventory."

Leah looked terrified, but she squared her shoulders, picking up Clara’s decrypted phone. "She's right. If we run now, Marcus controls the narrative. By morning, every boss from here to New York will believe Elena is the black widow who sold out the family."

Another deafening crash rattled the ceiling joists. Plaster dust rained down on our heads.

Maso gritted his teeth, a fierce, predatory grin cutting across his scarred face. "All right. But we do it my way. Leah, out the fire escape to the burner car. Elena... stay behind me."

We moved as a tactical unit, sliding through the narrow corridor leading to the ground-floor storage room. As we reached the bottom of the wooden stairs, the front glass of the jewelry shop shattered inward with a roar of breaking timber and boots hitting the hardwood floor.

"Clear the perimeter!" a harsh voice barked through the front showroom. Marcus Vance's enforcers.

Maso didn't hesitate. He kicked open the side service door leading into the alley, firing two rapid, suppressed shots through the smoke before the enemy could adjust their sights. A heavy thide hit the floor inside the showroom.

"Go!" Maso shouted, pushing Leah out into the damp night air.

I stepped out behind them, raising my Walther as a shadow detached itself from the brick wall beside the dumpster. A masked man lunged forward with a combat knife, aiming straight for my throat.

Muscle memory, drilled into me during the early years of my marriage before Alessandro locked me away in a golden cage, took over. I ducked beneath his wild swing, drove the heavy butt of my pistol directly into his temple, and swept his legs out from under him. He hit the concrete hard and went limp.

"Elena! Watch out!" Leah screamed from the idling engine of an unmarked sedan parked at the mouth of the alley.

Headlights suddenly flooded the narrow brick corridor. A massive black SUV roared into the alleyway, cutting off our escape route. The passenger door swung open, and stepping out into the rain was none other than Marcus Vance himself, flanked by four heavily armed mercenaries.

Marcus looked immaculate in a tailored gray trench coat, holding a silver-tipped cane as if he were taking a leisurely stroll through a park rather than hunting a murder suspect.

"Well, well, well," Marcus drawled, a sickeningly polite smile curving his thin lips. "The runaway bride. I must admit, Elena, I didn't think you had the stomach for blood. Framing you for Clara’s murder was almost too easy. The board bought it instantly."

Maso stepped in front of me, his gun raised dead-center at Marcus’s chest. "It’s over, Marcus. We have Clara’s phone. We have the audio logs proving you sold the port routes to the rival syndicate."

Marcus chuckled, a dry, papery sound. "Maso, my loyal hound. Do you really think a dead girl’s phone matters when the entire council believes Elena killed her out of jealousy? Alessandro is already on his way here to execute his traitorous wife with his own hands. By the time he realizes he killed the wrong person, the syndicate will belong to me."

My blood ran ice cold—not out of fear, but out of absolute, incandescent fury. He was going to use Alessandro’s grief to destroy what was left of us.

I stepped out from behind Maso’s broad shoulder, raising my Walther until the barrel pointed straight between Marcus Vance’s eyes.

"You talk too much, Marcus," I said, my voice cutting through the hum of the idling engine like a razor.

Marcus’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second. "You wouldn't dare—"

Suddenly, the roar of a high-performance engine drowned out his words. Down the main avenue behind the alley, a midnight-black Romano syndicate cruiser tore around the corner at terrifying speed, drifting sideways before slamming to a halt directly behind Marcus’s SUV.