At 9:17 P.M., I was the only waitress brave enough to approach table four, where Boston’s most feared mafia boss was slowly dying in front of everyone.

"Drop it, Lorenzo."

The voice didn't come from the garage ramp. It came from the shadows of the upper catwalk directly above us.

Lorenzo snapped his head up.

Dominic dropped from the catwalk twelve feet above, landing with feline precision on the roof of the flipped SUV. Before Lorenzo’s remaining mercenaries could swivel their barrels, Dominic fired four rapid, precision shots through the gloom.

Two men fell instantly. The third dove for cover behind a concrete pillar.

Lorenzo panicked. He abandoned his rifle, drew a sidearm, and lunged forward, grabbing me by the hair and pulling me against his chest as a human shield, pressing the barrel of his pistol hard against my temple.

"Don't move, Dominic!" Lorenzo shrieked, backing toward the harbor edge of the loading dock where the ocean churned twenty feet below. "Throw down your gun, or I blow her head off!"

Dominic froze. He stood twenty feet away, rain soaking through his ruined tuxedo, blood dripping from a cut on his cheek. His firearm was raised, but his eyes were fixed on the barrel pressed against my head.

"Let her go, Lorenzo," Dominic said, his voice dropping into a register of terrifying calm. "Your men are dead. The state police have sealed the perimeter. It’s over."

"It’s not over until I say it is!" Lorenzo screamed, saliva flying from his lips. "Drop the gun, or she dies first!"

I looked at Dominic. I saw the agony in his eyes—the mortal terror of a man who held the power of life and death over a city, completely paralyzed by the fear of losing the woman he loved.

I thought about my mother. I thought about the months of fear, the feeling of helplessness, the feeling of being discarded by the world.

*I am not a victim.*

With every ounce of strength left in my body, I drove my stiletto heel down onto Lorenzo’s instep, and simultaneously drove my elbow backward into his shattered ribs.

Lorenzo howled in agony, his grip slipping from my hair. The gun veered upward.

*Crack!*

The bullet fired harmlessly into the concrete ceiling.

"Chloe, drop!" Dominic shouted.

I threw myself flat against the wet concrete.

Dominic fired twice. The rounds caught Lorenzo squarely in the chest.

Lorenzo’s eyes widened in disbelief. He stumbled backward, his hands grasping at the air, before his legs hit the low safety railing. With a choked gasp, Lorenzo tumbled over the edge, plunging into the dark, churning depths of Boston Harbor below.

Silence descended over the loading bay, broken only by the sound of falling rain and the distant wail of sirens.

Dominic didn't look over the edge. He didn't check the water.

He threw his weapon aside, dropped to his knees on the wet pavement, and pulled me into his arms, crushing me against his chest with an intensity that knocked the breath from my lungs.

"I have you," he whispered, his voice breaking as he buried his face in my hair. "I have you, Chloe. It's over. You're safe."