The rain-slicked streets of Boston blurred into long, red ribbons of brake lights as Vincent drove his heavy, armored SUV up the winding road toward the northern hills.

At 5:30 A.M., the rain outside intensified, hammering against the high stained-glass windows of the Ipswich estate. Inside the library, Claire sat wrapped in a wool blanket by the roaring fireplace, a mug of hot tea resting untouched on the mahogany side table.

She wasn't stupid. She knew what happened in Vincent’s world when someone betrayed the family. She had worked for Moretti Enterprises for six years, keeping her head down, strictly managing the corporate face of the business while turning a blind eye to the whispers of dark deeds that took place in the shadows.

She had told herself for years that she was just an accountant. Just a secretary.

But as she looked at Vincent standing by the window, his tall, imposing silhouette framed by the flashing lightning outside, she knew she had crossed the line long ago. She hadn't stayed because of the six-figure salary or the stock options.

She had stayed because of him.

Because Vincent Moretti, despite his brutal reputation, had treated her with a fierce, quiet respect no other man ever had. When her mother passed away three years ago, Vincent had quietly paid for the best medical care in Boston, sent a massive arrangement of white lilies to the funeral, and told her to take a month off with full pay. When a high-paying corporate rival tried to recruit her last year, Vincent hadn't threatened her—he had doubled her salary and personally hand-delivered a vintage fountain pen with her initials gold-embossed on the barrel.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Vincent’s deep voice shattered the silence.

He walked over to the fireplace, holding two crystal glasses filled with two fingers of amber bourbon. He handed one to her, his fingers brushing against hers.

“I don't drink bourbon, Vincent,” she said quietly.

“Tonight you do,” he replied, taking a seat in the leather chair across from her. He took a slow sip, his dark eyes never leaving her face. “It warms the blood. Helps with the shock.”

Claire took a tiny sip. The liquid burned down her throat, but a wave of warmth spread through her chest. “What happens when Dominic brings Arthur to the pier?”

“We get your hardware drive from your apartment first,” Vincent said. “Then we go to Pier 4. Vance will confirm the transfer protocol, sign over his corporate shares to you, and then he will be dealt with.”

“Sign over his shares... to me?” Claire looked up, startled. “Vincent, Arthur owns twelve percent of Moretti Real Estate Holdings. That’s worth millions—”

“And it should have been yours three years ago,” Vincent said flatly. “You run that company, Claire. Vance was just a figurehead living off my father’s legacy. He got greedy. He thought because you were soft, because you wore pretty dresses and smiled at the security guards, you were weak.”

Claire looked down at her lap. “I was terrified, Vincent. When they dragged me out of the car... when that man held the iron bar... I thought I was going to die in that rainy ditch.”

Vincent set his glass down on the table with a sharp clink. In one swift motion, he rose from his chair and knelt on the hardwood floor right in front of her.

The sight of the most feared crime boss in New England kneeling at her feet made Claire’s breath catch in her throat.

Vincent reached up, gently taking her bruised face between his large, warm hands. His thumbs stroked her cheekbones with absolute reverence.

“Listen to me, Claire Bennett,” he rasped, his voice thick with raw emotion. “You are the strongest, most intelligent woman I have ever known. You took a hit that was meant for my empire, and you threw it back in their faces. You didn't break. You froze eight million dollars and walked into a hospital on your own two feet.”

Her eyes welled with tears. “Vincent...”

“If anyone in this city ever touches a hair on your head again,” he whispered, his face closing the distance until his lips were inches from hers, “I will burn Boston to the ground until there is nothing left but ash. Do you understand me?”

Claire looked into his dark, swirling eyes—eyes that usually held nothing but cold calculation, but were now filled with an overwhelming, terrifying tenderness.

“I understand,” she whispered.

Before she could process the moment, the heavy double doors of the library burst open.

Dominic stood in the doorway, his coat soaked with rain, his face grim.

“Vince, we have a problem.”

Vincent stood up smoothly, his hand lingering on Claire’s shoulder for one last second before he turned around. “What happened?”

“Vance isn't at his townhouse,” Dominic said, pulling a encrypted tablet from his pocket. “And he didn't fall for the emergency meeting trick. He just pulled three million dollars out of his personal secondary reserves and dispatched a crew of heavy hitters to Claire’s apartment building.”

Claire gasped, standing up despite the pain in her ribs. “The hardware drive! It’s hidden inside the dummy electrical panel behind my desk!”

Vincent’s face hardened into a mask of pure death.

“He knows where the drive is,” Vincent realized, looking at Claire. “He doesn't just want the money anymore. He wants to destroy the evidence and eliminate the only person who can unlock it.”