Take off your apron. You're fired!" My manager humiliated me in front of an entire Chicago restaurant because I spent $12.40 of my own money buying lunch for an elderly woman.

The drive back from the Palmer House was dead silent.

Arthur drove with a laser focus, his eyes constantly darting between the side mirrors, monitoring the city streets for tailing vehicles. Behind us, two chase cars filled with Voss security followed at a close distance.

I sat in the back of the armored sedan, staring out the tinted window at the neon reflections dancing on the wet Chicago pavement. My heart was still hammering against my ribs.

I had just watched Adrian Voss physically throttle one of the most dangerous men in the Midwest in front of two hundred witnesses, and not a single person had dared to call the police. The sheer magnitude of the world I had tumbled into was finally settling over me like an iron blanket.

When we arrived back at the Lake Shore estate, Adrian dismissed the guards with a sharp nod.

"Arthur, double the gate sentries. Nobody enters without my direct retinal authorization."

"Understood, boss."

Adrian turned to me. "Walk with me."

It wasn't a request, but it wasn't an order either. It sounded like an appeal.

I followed him up the grand staircase to the fourth floor, entering a massive private library wrapped in dark mahogany, leather-bound books, and floor-to-ceiling French doors that opened out onto a sweeping stone terrace overlooking the lake.

The night air was crisp, carrying the sharp chill of the autumn lake breeze. Adrian shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket, draped it over an iron chair, and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt. He walked to the stone balustrade, leaning his heavy forearms against the cold granite, staring out into the pitch-black horizon where the water met the sky.

I walked up beside him, wrapping my bare arms around myself to ward off the chill.

Before I could shiver, Adrian moved. Without a word, he picked up his discarded tuxedo jacket and draped it gently over my bare shoulders. The heavy wool retained his body heat, enveloping me in the intoxicating scents of cedar, crisp air, and masculine warmth.

"Thank you," I murmured.

"You shouldn't have provoked Marcone," Adrian said quietly, his eyes still fixed on the dark water.

"He called me a stray dog and threatened to drown me," I retorted, tightening the jacket around myself. "I don't roll over for bullies, Adrian. I didn't roll over for Daniel Mercer, and I won't roll over for Julian Marcone."

Adrian let out a low, dry chuckle. "You really have no survival instinct, do you?"

"I have plenty of survival instinct. It's kept my mother alive and a roof over our heads for six years while the rest of the world ignored us," I said, turning to look at his sharp profile. "What's your excuse?"

"My excuse?"

"Why do you live like this?" I asked, gesturing to the guarded grounds below. "You have billions of dollars. You have brilliance. Yet you spend your life surrounded by bodyguards, waiting for the next bullet."

Adrian went quiet for a long moment. The only sound was the rhythmic crashing of the waves against the seawall below.

"When I was twelve years old," Adrian began, his voice dropping into a solemn, haunting cadence, "my father tried to run a clean shipping business. He refused to pay protection money to the syndicate that ran the docks back then. He believed the law would protect him."

He paused, his jaw tightening.

"One night, they cut the brake lines on his car. He and my mother went off the Skyway bridge. I survived because I was staying at my grandmother’s house that weekend."

A lump formed in my throat. "Adrian... I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," he said coldly. "It taught me the only lesson that matters in this life: mercy is a luxury paid for by the weak. In this world, you are either the hammer or the anvil. I swore to my grandmother that no one would ever make an anvil out of the Voss family again. So, I became the hammer."

He turned to look at me then. The moonlight caught the sharp angles of his face, revealing a vulnerability that he hid beneath layers of ruthless power.

"Until yesterday," he whispered, stepping closer to me, "I believed that everyone in this city was either a predator or prey. Everyone had a price. Everyone could be bought, broken, or buried."

His large hand lifted, hovering for a moment before his knuckles gently brushed against my cheek. His touch was unexpectedly tender, sending a current of fire straight down to my toes.

"And then you stood in that restaurant," Adrian murmured, his dark eyes searching mine with a hunger that made my breath catch. "You gave your last dollars to an old woman who could give you nothing in return. You looked death in the face and told me my power was worthless if it couldn't protect the weak."

"I was angry," I whispered, unable to look away from his gaze.

"You were right," he answered softly. "You reminded me of who I wanted to be before the world made me a monster."

The distance between us collapsed. Adrian leaned in, his gaze dropping to my lips. My heart thundered against my ribs, waiting, wanting—

A red laser dot suddenly danced across Adrian’s chest.

My blood ran cold. "Adrian—!"

Before I could finish the word, Adrian spotted the reflection in the glass behind us. With terrifying speed, he wrapped his arms around me and hurled us both violently to the stone floor.

*CRACK!*

A high-caliber sniper round tore through the heavy French door where we had been standing a fraction of a second earlier, sending shards of safety glass showering over us.

*CRACK! CRACK!*

Two more rounds tore into the library's bookshelves, exploding antique volumes into clouds of shredded paper.

Adrian kept his entire body covering mine, his weight pressing me into the stone floor, his broad back acting as an impenetrable human shield.

"Stay flat!" he hissed in my ear.

He reached beneath his shirt, pulling the Glock from his concealed holster. He rolled onto his back, aimed through the shattered balustrade toward the tree line at the edge of the estate, and squeezed off four deafening, rapid shots.

Alarms blared across the estate like air-raid sirens. Floodlights ignited, turning the grounds into blinding day. Shouts echoed from below as Voss security converged on the perimeter.

"Target fleeing north along the shoreline!" Arthur's voice boomed over the courtyard intercom.

Adrian didn't chase. He immediately rolled back over to me, his hands frantically checking my face, my neck, my arms. "Sophie! Look at me! Are you hit?!"

"I'm fine! I'm fine!" I cried, my hands finding his shoulders.

Then my fingers felt something warm, thick, and sticky.

I pulled my hand back into the harsh glare of the security floodlights.

My palm was covered in dark, crimson blood.

"Adrian," I gasped in absolute horror, looking at his torn white dress shirt where a dark red stain was spreading rapidly across his side. "You're bleeding!"

Adrian looked down at his wound, his face tightening with a grimace of pain, but his eyes never left mine.