"Three hours after I married Seattle’s most feared mafia boss, Aiden Chambers stood six feet from our wedding bed, his hands trembling, and told me I never had to let him touch me. Everyone in the city feared what those hands could do, but the shocking truth was that the ruthless crime lord was terrified of using them on me."

As Aiden and I stepped through the grand arched entryway, the murmurs of the crowd died down instantly.

Every eye in the room locked onto us.

Aiden’s arm tensed beneath my hand, his muscles locking like steel cables. I kept my posture straight, my chin held high, adopting the calm, unshakeable exterior I used when walking into a chaotic emergency room.

“Aiden! My boy!”

A heavy-set, silver-haired man with cold, predatory eyes approached us, holding a glass of scotch. Salvatore Vance, head of the North End docks and one of Aiden’s oldest, most dangerous rivals.

“Salvatore,” Aiden greeted, his voice dropping into a lethal, glacial register.

Salvatore’s gaze slid past Aiden’s shoulder, landing directly on me with an insolent, sweeping look that made my skin crawl.

“So this is the little nurse who captured the beast’s heart,” Salvatore chuckled, stepping closer—too close. Before Aiden could react, Salvatore reached out, extending a heavy, damp hand to grip my bare shoulder. “A pleasure, my dear. I must say, Aiden has exquisite taste. Though I wonder how long a delicate little flower like you will last when winter comes.”

Instantly, Aiden’s left hand shot out.

His fingers clamped around Salvatore’s wrist with such brutal, crushing force that the older man gasped, his scotch glass slipping from his fingers to shatter against the marble floor.

The surrounding crowd gasped, stepping back in sheer terror.

“Touch her again, Salvatore,” Aiden whispered, his voice dangerously quiet, carrying a promise of unspeakable violence that silenced the entire ballroom, “and I will feed your hands to the harbor sharks before midnight.”

Salvatore’s face turned pale with pain and humiliation. He yanked his wrist back the second Aiden released him, glaring with undisguised hatred before retreating into the crowd.

Aiden exhaled sharply, his chest heaving under his tuxedo jacket. He turned to me, his gray eyes wide with sudden, frantic panic.

“Did he... did he hurt you? Did he leave a mark?” Aiden stammered, his hands hovering inches from my shoulders, trembling as he fought the urge to check me over while terrified of touching me.

I looked up at my husband—the feared mafia boss who had just threatened a man’s life to protect my honor, yet looked terrified that his own hands might accidentally bruise my skin.

“I’m fine, Aiden,” I said softly, reaching out and placing my hand firmly over his trembling fingers.

Aiden froze. The entire ballroom was watching us, whispering behind champagne flutes, but Aiden didn't care. He stared down at my hand resting on his, his breathing slowing down as if my touch were an anchor pulling him back from the edge of a precipice.

“Tessa...” he breathed, his voice breaking.

Before he could say another word, the glass double doors at the entrance of the ballroom smashed inward with an explosive, deafening crash.