Nora Vale knew how to disappear in a house full of powerful men. Keep the floors polished. Keep her head down. Never speak first. Never stare at the black cars that rolled through the side entrance long after midni

Roman held Julian suspended on the brink of suffocation for three long seconds before dropping the chair back onto four legs with a heavy thud.

Julian gasped for air, coughing violently, his body shaking against the ropes binding him to the wood.

Roman stepped back, pulling a white linen handkerchief from his pocket and meticulously wiping his fingers, his face completely expressionless. He turned to look at Nora, who stood near the doorway, her hands trembling inside the pockets of the oversized leather coat.

“Are you alright, Eleanor?” Roman asked softly, his tone completely shifting from deadly warlord to gentle guardian.

Nora swallowed hard, forcing her gaze away from the floor and looking directly at Julian.

For three years, Julian Vance had been a terrifying demon in her mind—a monster whose memory held the power to reduce her to a shaking, crouched wreck on a marble floor. But sitting here in the dim yellow light of the cellar, bound with ropes, bleeding from the jaw, his eyes wide with pathetic fear... he looked small.

He was just a cowardly bully who had hidden behind heavy doors and weak excuses.

Nora took a slow, deep breath. She stepped forward, her shoes clicking against the damp stone floor, stopping two feet in front of Julian’s chair.

Julian looked up at her, trying to summon his old, menacing stare, but his chin quivered. “Eleanor... please. Tell him to let me go. We can figure this out. I still have offshore accounts in Grand Cayman. We can leave together—”

“Shut up, Julian,” Nora said.

Her voice wasn't loud. It wasn't hysterical. It was clear, calm, and steady—a voice she hadn't heard come out of her own mouth in three years.

Julian blinked in shock. “What?”

“I didn't take your money,” Nora said, looking down at him with an expression of profound pity. “You took it. You gambled it away on bad investments in Miami, and when your investors realized the books didn't balance, you blamed me because you were too cowardly to face the consequences.”

She leaned down slightly, her hazel eyes fixing on his bloodshot gaze.

“You hit me because you were afraid of me,” she continued softly. “You knew I was smarter than you. You knew I could read the balance sheets and see what a failure you were. So you broke my ribs and locked me in a basement so I couldn't expose you.”

Julian’s face turned an ugly, mottled red. “You worthless little—”

Roman took one step forward, his shadow engulfing Julian entirely. Julian’s mouth snapped shut instantly, his breath hitching in his throat.

Nora turned to Roman. “He doesn't have the encryption keys, Roman. He never had them. He was bluffing the Morettis to try and get a payout before fleeing to Europe.”

Roman nodded slowly. “I know.”

He pulled a thick folder from under his arm and dropped it onto Julian’s lap.

“What is this?” Julian rasped, trying to move his bound hands.

“That is the complete forensic audit of your offshore accounts,” Roman explained calmly. “Conducted by my financial team this afternoon. It proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that every dollar stolen from the Moretti family went into accounts under your name, authenticated by your biometric signatures.”

Julian turned white as paper. “No...”

“Old man Moretti’s legal representatives received a copy of that file twenty minutes ago,” Roman continued smoothly. “Along with a formal notice that your presence in Providence has been dealt with.”

Julian’s eyes went wild with panic. He began thrashing against the heavy ropes, the wooden chair scraping violently against the stone floor. “No! Roman, please! Don't give me to the Morettis! They’ll kill me! They’ll skin me alive!”

Roman didn't answer him. He walked over to Nora, placed his large, warm hand gently on the small of her back—never forcing her, giving her every opportunity to pull away—and guided her toward the cellar exit.

“Marcus,” Roman said over his shoulder as they reached the door. “Call the transport team. Julian Vance is being transferred to the federal authorities in Boston at dawn, along with the evidence of his grand larceny and fraud.”

Julian froze, staring at Roman in absolute shock. “Federal authorities? You’re... you’re turning me over to the FBI?”

Roman stopped at the doorway, looking back over his shoulder with a cold, mocking smile.

“The Morettis would have given you a quick death in an alley, Julian,” Roman said softly. “The federal government will give you thirty years in a maximum-security prison cell, where you will spend every single day reflecting on what you did to my wife.”

My wife.

The words echoed through the damp stone cellar like a thunderclap.