The gin was the tell. Trent only drank gin when he wanted an excuse. It made his eyes look like dirty glass, and it made him brave in the way that cowards get brave — loud, and certain, and entirely without aim.

Within minutes, the kitchen was cleared.

Two of Vincent’s men hauled Trent’s unconscious body up off the floor and dragged him out toward the waiting vehicles like a sack of garbage. The broken glass at the back entrance was already being assessed by the estate’s maintenance crew.

Gemma sat on a high stool by the kitchen island, wrapped in a heavy wool blanket, staring blankly at the spot where Trent had just stood. The adrenaline was slowly ebbing away, leaving behind a profound, hollow exhaustion.

Vincent walked back into the kitchen, having washed his hands in the utility sink, and poured two glasses of neat bourbon. He set one down in front of her.

"Drink it," he commanded gently. "It will stop the shaking."

She picked up the heavy crystal glass, took a small sip, and felt the raw, liquid fire burn all the way down to her stomach. She let out a long, ragged breath.

"How did he find this place?" she whispered, her voice cracking. "I thought you said he was gone."

"He was," Vincent replied, leaning against the counter beside her. "My men put him on a bus to Chicago three weeks ago with explicit instructions never to return. But desperation makes fools reckless. He must have liquidated whatever scraps he had left, rented a car under a fake name, and tracked my vehicle logs from the downtown office."

Vincent turned his dark eyes toward her, filled with a fierce, protective intensity. "He made his final mistake today, Gemma. He violated my sanctuary. And more importantly, he terrified you again."

"What are you going to do to him?" she asked, her voice barely a murmur.

"He is never coming back," Vincent said simply, leaving no room for argument. "Not to this city. Not to your life. The chapter is closed permanently."

Gemma looked up at him, studying the hard lines of his face—a man feared by criminals, politicians, and business tycoons alike. Yet, in this fortress, he had become her absolute protector.

She reached out, placing her hand gently over his knuckles resting on the marble counter.

"You didn't have to keep me safe, Vincent," she said, using his first name for the very first time. "You gave me an out, but I'm still just... me. A survivor of a life I'm still trying to forget."