The first thing Daniel Whitfield noticed was the blood on his maid’s hand.

“He was never your husband, Vanessa,” Naomi said, stepping out from behind Daniel. Her fear had burned away, replaced by the righteous fury of a mother fighting for her child’s future. “And the fortune belongs to the people your father murdered.”

Vanessa laughed, high and hysterical. “Shoot the maid! Take the satchel!”

Before the hitmen could pull their triggers, Daniel stepped into the open, his weapon raised. But he didn't fire at the men.

He fired two rounds into the overhead suspension cables of the hydraulic lift holding a three-ton armored bank truck above the alley.

With a deafening screech of snapping steel, the truck plummeted.

It crashed onto the alley pavement, crushing the two flanking mercenaries and sending Vanessa flying backward onto the wet asphalt. The remaining two hitmen scrambled for cover as the impact shook the entire block.

Daniel lunged forward, disarming the third man with a brutal blow to the throat, while Marco’s backup SUV roared into the alley from the side street, screeching to a halt and pinning the last attacker against the brick wall.

Vanessa dragged herself up against a dumpster, her designer coat torn, blood trickling from her hairline. She looked up into the barrel of Daniel’s Glock.

“Daniel... please...” she sobbed, holding up her hands. “My father forced me! He told me if I didn't marry you, he’d kill me! He’s insane!”

Daniel looked down at her with pure disgust. “You tried to murder an innocent five-year-old child, Vanessa. You don’t get to beg.”

He glanced at Marco, who had leaped from the SUV. “Zip-tie her. Put her in the trunk. She’s going to be our star witness tonight at the Drake.”

“Yes, boss!”

Daniel turned to Naomi, who was leaning against the brick wall, gasping for air. He walked over, grabbed her face with both hands, and thoroughly inspected her.

“Are you hurt? Did any shrapnel hit you?”

“I’m fine,” Naomi breathed, her hands coming up to rest over his wrists. “Daniel... I’m fine.”

He looked into her eyes, his breathing heavy. The adrenaline of the battle was still coursing through his veins, but when he looked at her, the bloodlust vanished, replaced by an overwhelming, primal need to claim and protect.

Without another word, Daniel pulled her against his chest and kissed her.

It was fierce, possessive, and electric. Naomi gasped against his lips, then wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back with all the pent-up emotion that had built between them over two years of stolen glances, polite servitude, and unspoken longing.

When they finally broke apart, both breathless, Daniel rested his forehead against hers.

“No more maid uniforms,” he whispered. “Tonight, you walk into the Drake Hotel as the true owner of Chicago.”

Naomi smiled through her tears. “Only if you’re by my side.”