"‘You’re not the supermodel I ordered,’ the mob boss said—until a sniper fired through his window."

Before the glass shards even hit the marble floor, Julian moved with terrifying, fluid speed. He didn't dive for cover alone. He lunged forward, sweeping his broad arm around Emma's waist, slamming his body against hers, throwing them both flat onto the plush Persian rug behind the heavy oak bar.

THWIP! THWIP! THWIP!

Three more suppressed rounds punched through the air, shattering the crystal tumblers on the bar, showering them in whiskey and fine glass.

"COVER THE PERIMETER!" Leo roared over the chaos, drawing a heavy suppressed sidearm, while five other guards formed a human wall between the shattered window and the bar.

Emma lay pressed flat beneath Julian’s broad frame. He completely covered her body with his own, his heavy wool overcoat shielding her from the flying glass. Her heart hammered against her ribs so violently she thought it would burst, but when she looked up, Julian's face was completely calm.

His storm-gray eyes looked down into hers, inches away.

"Are you hit?" Julian asked, his baritone steady, quiet, and completely devoid of panic.

"No," Emma rasped, her hands instinctively clutching the lapels of his tuxedo jacket. "I... I don't think so."

Julian reached out his hand, his long, calloused fingers gently checking her shoulders, her arms, and her neck for blood with a reverent, protective care that made her breath catch in her throat.

"Good," Julian murmured softly.

"Boss!" Leo yelled from behind the marble counter. "It's a heavy detail from the Moretti syndicate! They have three shooters on the roof of the Continental building across the avenue! We need to move to the private elevator now!"

Julian stood up fluidly, keeping his left hand locked around Emma's wrist, pulling her upright with effortless strength. He didn't let go of her hand.

"Unzip the gown, Miss Reyes," Julian ordered softly amidst the screaming alarms.

Emma blinked in utter shock, glass crunching under her boots. "What?!"

"The garment bag," Julian clarified, his eyes holding hers with a dark, unyielding fire. "If we leave it here, the rain will ruin the silk. And you said a broken gown is an insult to the tailor."

Emma let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh despite the terror surging through her veins. She reached into her tote bag, pulled out her heavy silver shears, slashed the canvas garment bag open, draped the silver gown over her arm, and locked her hand back into Julian's broad palm.

"Let's go, Mr. Vescari," Emma said, her hazel eyes burning with sudden, unshakeable steel.