Seven bullets were still inside my body when Dominic Rossi married me, and I didn’t even know it was happening. While surgeons questioned whether my heart could survive another operation, New York’s most feared crime boss slipped a gold ring onto my swollen finger and told my unconscious body, “Anybody who comes for you comes through me.”

By three o'clock in the morning, the Rossi estate had transformed into a military command post.

Dozens of armed men in dark suits patrolled the perimeter, clearing away the bodies of Costa’s strike team. Two private ambulances sat in the driveway, their red lights flashing silently against the wet stone facade. Isabella was sitting in the grand drawing room, wrapped in a blanket, drinking tea while a private doctor treated a minor cut on her arm.

Dominic sat behind the massive desk in his study, surrounded by his six remaining capos—the senior bosses who controlled his territories across the five boroughs.

I sat in the armchair in the corner, a warm wool blanket wrapped around my shoulders, refusing to leave the room.

"Costa’s main stronghold is a private shipping terminal on the Red Hook waterfront in Brooklyn," Marco, a scarred veteran capo, explained, spreading a large blueprint across the desk. "He’s got thirty men guarding the perimeter, fully armed with military-grade weapons."

"He thinks I’m wounded," Dominic said, leaning over the blueprint, his eyes burning with cold ambition. "He thinks Enzo succeeded in destabilizing my inner circle. He’s expecting a defensive lockdown, not an offensive strike."

"Dominic," Marco warned, leaning in. "A direct assault on Red Hook means open warfare on the streets of New York. The Commission will step in. The federal prosecutors will issue indictments."

"Let them," Dominic said flatly. "Victor Costa broke the cardinal rule: he came into my home and tried to murder my family. If I don't wipe his bloodline off the map tonight, every low-level street soldier in this city will think they can take a shot at the Rossi name."

He looked up from the table, his eyes locking onto mine across the room.

I stood up slowly, letting the wool blanket slide off my shoulders. I walked over to the desk, standing directly beside him in front of six of the most feared mobsters in the state.

"If you go to Red Hook," I said, my voice steady and completely devoid of fear, "you take me with you."

The capos gasped, looking at me as if I had suddenly grown a second head.

"Absurd," Marco spat. "Dominic, control your wife. This is war council, not a—"

Dominic held up a single hand, instantly silencing the entire room. He turned to look at me, his eyebrow lifting slightly.

"Why, Clara?" Dominic asked softly.

"Because the fifteen-million-dollar trust fund is stored in a private biometric digital vault located inside Costa’s main office at Red Hook," I said, leaning over the map, pointing directly at the top floor of the terminal building. "My father designed the security system before he died. He built a trap into the vault code. Costa thinks he needs my signature to open it... but if he tries to force it without my personal biometric key, the entire drive wipes itself forever."

Dominic looked at the map, then looked back at my face. A slow, dark smile spread across his lips—a look of pure pride.

"You want to use yourself as bait," Dominic said.

"I want to finish what my father started thirty years ago," I replied, reaching out and resting my hand—and the gold wedding ring on my finger—flat on the table. "I’m not a helpless waitress anymore, Dominic. I’m your wife. And we take what belongs to us."