Cora Whitaker had stitched up gunshot wounds before, but never on a man who had just put a bullet in someone else.

Two weeks after the battle at the estate, New York had completely shifted.

With Marco Dresco dead and his organization dismantled, Julian Voss’s control over the city was absolute. The syndicate war was over, replaced by a quiet, profitable peace under the Undertaker's iron rule.

In the master suite of the estate, Cora stood before the long mirror, admiring a simple, stunning white linen dress Julian had bought for her.

She looked healthy, radiant, and loved. The dark circles under her eyes were gone, replaced by a soft, glowing beauty that filled the mansion with life.

A quiet knock sounded at her door. Tomas stepped inside, bowing respectfully.

"Miss Whitaker. Mr. Voss requests your presence in the courtyard."

Cora smiled. "I'll be right down, Tomas."

When Cora walked out into the sunlit stone courtyard, she found Julian standing near the central fountain, dressed in an open-collared navy suit.

Beside him stood two guards holding a frail, trembling man in handcuffs.

Walter Whitaker.

Cora froze, her smile instantly vanishing as she took in the sight of her broken, weeping father.

Walter looked up, his red eyes wide with terror as he saw his daughter. "Cora! Cora, please! Tell him to let me go! I'm your father!"

Cora walked slowly across the cobblestones, stopping beside Julian. Julian reached out, taking her hand in his, offering her his unyielding strength.

"We picked him up in Atlantic City three days ago," Julian said calmly, his tone completely neutral. "He was trying to use the money Felix gave him to play high-stakes poker."

Julian looked down at Cora. "He sold you to Marco Dresco. He placed your life on a roulette wheel for eighty thousand dollars. In my world, the punishment for such a crime is death."

Walter let out a pathetic scream, collapsing to his knees on the cobblestones. "Please! Cora, I raised you! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

Julian pulled a silver revolver from his suit jacket and handed it to Cora. The heavy cold steel rested in her palm.

"The choice is yours, my love," Julian whispered in her ear, his tone entirely free of judgment. "If you want him dead for what he did to you, pull the trigger. My men will dispose of the body, and no one will ever know. If you want him to live, he walks away today, but he will never touch a cent of your money or see your face again."

Cora looked down at the gun in her hand, then at the pathetic, weeping man kneeling in the mud before her.

She remembered the endless night shifts, the unpaid bills, the constant fear, and the final betrayal at the motel. She remembered the mother who had died while Walter gambled away their food money.

Slowly, Cora raised the weapon.

Walter covered his head, weeping hysterically. "Cora, please!"

Cora pointed the heavy barrel straight at her father's chest. Her hand was steady. Her eyes were hard as diamonds.

She held him in the balance between life and death for five long, agonizing seconds.

Then, slowly, Cora lowered the gun and handed it back to Julian.

"He isn't worth the bullet," Cora said, her voice completely calm, devoid of all anger, sorrow, or attachment. "He ceased being my father the night he sold me to Felix."

Cora turned to look at Walter, her gaze entirely cold. "I forgive you, Walter. Not because you deserve it, but because I am releasing myself from your debt forever. Take whatever money you have left and leave New York. If you ever come near me again, I won't stop Julian."

Walter sobbed, nodding frantically. "Thank you... thank you, Cora... I'm sorry..."