My husband had just snapped my arm inside our apartment, and while I hid in the bathroom bleeding, I made one desperate phone call to the most feared Mafia boss in New York. He laughed outside the door, convinced no one would ever risk their life for a broken waitress like me. What he didn't know was that the man on the other end had already answered—and he was already coming.

Choosing to stand beside Vincent Moretti didn't mean my old life disappeared overnight. In the real world, evil left paper trails.

Three days after our kiss in the library, Vincent called me back down to his study. Seated on the leather sofa was an impeccably dressed woman in a sharp pinstripe suit, her hair pulled back into a severe bun, surrounded by thick legal folders.

"Lena, this is Evelyn Cross," Vincent introduced. "She is the managing partner of the premier criminal and civil litigation firm in the state. And she works exclusively on my payroll."

Evelyn offered a professional, reassuring smile and stood to shake my good hand. "A pleasure, Lena. Vincent has instructed me to clean up your legal footprint entirely."

I sat across from her, the heavy plaster cast on my arm resting on my lap. "What does that mean?"

Evelyn opened the first folder. "Gregory Miller officially vanished three weeks ago. However, his family—specifically his estranged brother, Thomas, who happens to be a captain in the NYPD's organized crime division—has begun asking questions. He filed a formal missing persons report and is attempting to seize your joint bank accounts, your name on the Queens lease, and is pushing for a grand jury subpoena regarding Vincent's business interests."

A cold pit opened in my stomach. "Thomas? Greg always said his brother had real power downtown. He used to threaten me with him whenever I talked about going to the precinct."

Vincent stepped behind the sofa, resting a warm, grounding hand on my shoulder. His touch instantly dissolved the rising panic in my chest.

"Thomas Miller is a dirty cop who has been taking kickbacks from the Valenti family for a decade," Vincent said coldly. "He doesn't care that his brother is gone. He cares because Gregory was his conduit for laundering money through those Queens betting parlors. He thinks he can use you as leverage to squeeze me."

"He wants to depose Lena," Evelyn explained, tapping a legal summons. "He’s claiming you conspired with organized crime figures to eliminate your husband over a domestic dispute. He’s trying to build a narrative where you are the perpetrator, not the victim."

The sheer audacity of it took the breath from my lungs. "He wants to blame me? Greg broke my arm! He beat me until I couldn't walk!"

"The justice system in this city does not care about the truth, Lena," Vincent said, his voice flat and dangerous. "It cares about who controls the narrative."

He looked down at me, his hazel eyes offering an unspoken choice.

"I can end this today," Vincent said quietly. "Thomas Miller can suffer a tragic car accident on the Brooklyn Bridge tonight. His files will disappear, and the investigation will die with him. Say the word, and it’s done."

I looked from Vincent’s lethal, steady gaze to the stacks of legal papers on the desk.

Six months ago, I would have begged for someone else to solve my problems. I would have hid in the closet and let men with guns handle the ugliness of the world. But that girl had died on the bathroom floor in Queens.

The woman sitting here had survived.

"No," I said firmly, lifting my chin.

Vincent’s eyebrows rose slightly in surprise. Evelyn watched me with keen, evaluating eyes.

"No car accidents," I continued, my voice steadying with a newfound strength. "Greg spent five years making me feel like a criminal in my own life. He made me feel like every bruise was my fault. If his brother wants to drag this into the light, I want to meet him there. I want the medical records from the ER. I want the photographs of my broken arm. I want the police reports I filed three years ago that Thomas swept under the rug."

I turned to look at Vincent.

"I don't want to hide behind your shadows, Vincent. I want to face them. Legally. Publicly. And when Thomas Miller is ruined, I want him to know it wasn't just your power that crushed him. It was the woman he thought was too weak to fight back."

A slow, dazzling smile spread across Vincent Moretti's face—a smile of pure, unadulterated admiration.

"Evelyn," Vincent said, never taking his eyes off me.

"Yes, Vincent?"

"Unleash everything we have on the NYPD internal affairs bureau. Hand them the offshore accounts, the surveillance photos of Miller taking cash from the Valentis, and every suppressed domestic abuse file Lena ever generated. Subpoena the district attorney himself if you have to."

Vincent leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, his voice sending shivers of power down my spine.