The cold barrel of the gun lifted away from my spine, but the sudden absence of steel didn't stop the shiver that rippled through my bones.

The library fell into a deep, heavy silence once Liam was gone, broken only by the crackle of burning birch logs in the marble fireplace.

I stood near the window, looking out over the dark, sprawling lawns of the estate where the moonlight caught the crest of the distant ocean waves. The ring on my left finger felt heavy, cold against my skin, yet it radiated an impossible warmth that came from the hand that had placed it there.

Footsteps echoed softly across the hardwood floor behind me.

Victor stopped two paces away. I didn't turn around, but I could feel his presence—the heavy, undeniable gravity of a man who had conquered a city and now stood watching me as if I were the only prize that mattered.

“Are you angry?” he asked quietly.

“About Liam?” I asked, finally turning around to face him. “No. You were too lenient. If it were up to me, breaking his hand would have been step one.”

A genuine, soft smile broke across Victor’s face—a rare, unguarded expression that made him look ten years younger and terrifyingly handsome.

“You surprise me more every hour, Clara,” he murmured, stepping closer until he was standing right in front of me. He reached out, his long fingers gently touching the side of my face, his thumb tracing the line of my cheekbone. “When I pulled you down onto my chest in the study three nights ago, I thought I was just holding onto a random instinct. I thought you were just another casualty of this house.”

“And now?” I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“Now,” Victor said, his gray eyes darkening with an intensity that made the air feel electrified, “I realize you were the only real thing in this entire fortress.”

He slid his arms around my waist, pulling me against him with a slow, deliberate motion. There was no rush, no urgency—just the absolute certainty of a man claiming what belonged to him.

I closed my eyes, resting my hands against the lapels of his tuxedo jacket, feeling the steady, powerful rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my palms.

The debt was gone. My brother was chained to a desk. The elite of Boston were terrified of my name. And the most feared man in the city was holding me as if I were the most fragile, precious thing on earth.

“Victor,” I whispered against his chest.

“Hmm?”