A gun pressed against my temple while Chicago’s most feared Mafia boss bled out beneath my hands, and his enforcer whispered, “If his heart stops, yours stops with it.” Instead of begging, I shoved the weapon away and snapped, “Then get out of my light before you kill him yourself.”

I looked down at the paper, then up at Evan Mercer.

"You're holding the scalpel wrong, Evan," I said, my voice eerily calm, cutting through his hysteria.

Mercer blinked, confused. "What?"

"A number ten blade requires a pencil grip to achieve precision across the flexor tendons," I said quietly, deliberately leaning forward. "You're holding it like a kitchen knife. You always were sloppy in the OR."

Mercer flinched, his ego stung even in his madness. "I taught you everything you know—"

"No," I whispered. "My mother did."

Before Luca could react, I slammed my head forward, cracking my forehead directly into Mercer’s nose with all the force I could muster.

*CRACK.*

Mercer shrieked in agony, dropping the scalpel as blood sprayed from his shattered nose. He stumbled backward, clutching his face.

The distraction lasted one second. But one second was all Dante Rossi needed.

*BOOM!*

The corrugated steel loading doors of the warehouse blew inward with the force of high-grade breaching charges. Smoke and flame tore through the entrance.

Through the fire and debris came Dante.

He was a vision of absolute fury. His tuxedo jacket was gone, his dress shirt covered in soot and blood, an automatic rifle cradled in his right arm. Behind him, Matteo and a dozen heavily armed loyalists flooded the facility, their weapons barking in coordinated, brutal rhythm.

Luca’s guards were cut down before they could raise their rifles.

"Dante!" Luca screamed, grabbing me by the hair and pulling me out of the chair, wrapping his arm around my neck as a human shield, pressing his revolver against my temple. "Drop your weapon, or I paint the concrete with her brains!"

The warehouse fell into a terrifying standoff. Smoke drifted between the rusted pillars.

Dante stopped ten yards away.

His eyes locked onto mine. There was no hesitation in his gaze, only a profound, silent communication. The connection that had been forged in blood, in operating rooms, in midnight kisses, passed between us in a fraction of a second.

*Trust me,* his eyes said.

I looked down at the floor near my foot. The dropped scalpel lay on the concrete, its sharp silver tip reflecting the orange light.

"Let her go, Luca," Dante said, his voice terrifyingly quiet. "This is between you and me."

"It was always between you and me!" Luca yelled, spit flying from his lips. "You took my birthright! You think this doctor whore loves you?! She's Antonio’s pet’s daughter! She's—"

I didn't wait.

Using my medical knowledge of anatomy, I slammed the sharp heel of my shoe directly into the anterior tibial nerve of Luca’s shin, simultaneously driving my elbow upward into his solar plexus.

Luca gasped, his grip loosening for a split second.

I dropped to the floor, rolling away.

*BANG.*

Luca fired blindly, the bullet grazing Dante’s right bicep.

Dante didn't even flinch. He raised his Beretta and fired twice.

Two hollow-points shattered Luca Rossi’s kneecaps.

Luca collapsed to the concrete, screaming in agony, his revolver skittering across the floor.

Dante advanced slowly, like the god of death himself. He kicked the gun away, towering over his uncle.

"Dante... please..." Luca wept, clutching his shattered legs. "I'm your blood! I'm your father's brother!"

"My father died ten years ago," Dante said, his voice cold as the grave. "And tonight, Catherine Caroline finally rests in peace."

Dante raised his weapon and pulled the trigger.

***

Silence fell over the warehouse, broken only by the distant wail of approaching sirens and the steady drip of rain through the shattered ceiling.

Dante turned away from the body. He dropped his weapon, his cold, terrifying mask completely shattering as he ran toward me.

"Stella!"

I threw myself into his arms. Dante swept me up off the concrete, crushing me against his chest with a desperate, trembling intensity. He buried his face in my hair, his body shaking with raw, unchecked emotion.

"I thought I lost you," he whispered, his voice cracking. "God, Stella... I thought I lost you."

"I'm here," I sobbed, clutching his broad shoulders, kissing his neck, his jaw, tasting the rain and salt on his skin. "I'm here, Dante. It's over."

Matteo walked over, kicking Mercer’s groaning, cowering form toward two waiting Rossi enforcers. "The CPD and the feds are two minutes out, Boss. We need to move."

Dante looked down at me, his slate eyes shining with fierce, eternal devotion. He gently touched my bruised cheek, his thumb catching my tears.