My groom looked me straight in the eyes at the altar and said, “I can’t marry you. I never loved you.” The room erupted in whispers as I stood frozen in my wedding dress, fighting back tears. Then a cold voice came from the front row. “Then she’s mine.” I turned—and the most feared mafia boss in the city was walking toward me, offering his hand. What he whispered next made me realize my humiliation was about to become someone else’s nightmare.

*BANG.*

The deafening report of the .38 caliber round shattered the silence of the room.

I didn't shoot to kill. I shot Adrian directly through his right shoulder.

The force of the bullet spun him around like a rag doll. His Beretta clattered across the hardwood floor, sliding beneath a mahogany credenza as a sickening spray of blood hit the wall. Adrian collapsed onto his knees, screaming in agony, clutching his shattered shoulder as dark red soaked through his expensive cashmere coat.

Vanessa shrieked, backing into the burning trash barrel and knocking it over. Burning papers scattered across the floor, catching the edge of the curtains.

"You shot me!" Adrian shrieked, his face twisted in disbelief and horror. "You crazy bitch, you shot me!"

I leveled the smoking barrel directly at his forehead.

"Get on your stomach, Adrian," I commanded, my voice flat, icy, and completely steady. "Or the next one goes between your eyes."

Before Adrian could answer, the glass door to the office was kicked off its hinges with a thunderous crash.

Lucian Moretti stormed into the room like an avatar of death.

He wore no coat, only his black dress shirt drenched in rain, his eyes wild with a terrifying, homicidal fury. Behind him were six heavily armed operatives, their submachine guns raised, sweeping the room in three seconds flat.

Lucian’s eyes immediately found me. When he saw the smoking revolver in my hand and Adrian bleeding on the floor, he stopped.

A slow, terrifying realization washed over his face, followed by an expression of pure, unadulterated awe.

"Elena," Lucian breathed, walking toward me.

"I'm fine," I said, lowering the gun. "He tried to burn the evidence."

Lucian didn't look at the fire. Two of his men immediately smothered the flames with tactical blankets, while Marco dragged Vanessa by her hair into the corner, throwing her against the wall like a sack of garbage.

Lucian stopped in front of Adrian, who was sobbing on the floor in a pool of his own blood.

Lucian leaned down, grabbed Adrian by the collar of his ruined coat, and lifted him effortlessly off the ground with one hand, slamming him against the mahogany bookcase.

"You touched my wife’s family," Lucian whispered, his voice like the grinding of stones beneath a glacier. "You sent a sniper to my home. And you thought Nikolai Volkov was going to save you?"

Adrian gasped for air, blood bubbling at the corner of his lips. "Volkov... Volkov will kill you, Moretti..."

"Volkov is dead," Lucian said plainly.

Adrian’s eyes bulged with terror. "What?"

"Three hours ago, while you were playing with matches in an empty office, my men hit Volkov’s Brooklyn compound," Lucian said coldly. "Nikolai Volkov’s body is currently wrapped in plastic at the bottom of the East River. His organization has been dismantled. And your mother, Camille..."

Lucian paused, pulling out his encrypted tablet and turning the screen toward Adrian’s face.

On the screen was live news footage from the lobby of the Vale family estate in Westchester. Camille Vale was being led out in handcuffs by six federal agents from the IRS Criminal Investigation Division, her designer blouse rumpled, her face covered in tears as dozens of news cameras flashed in her face.

"No..." Adrian choked out. "No, no, no..."

"The federal warrants were executed thirty minutes ago based on the files Elena extracted," Lucian said. "Every bank account tied to the Vale name has been frozen. Every property has been seized under the RICO Act. Your father’s foundation is gone. Your family’s name is a synonym for fraud and treason."

Lucian dropped Adrian onto the floor like a piece of refuse.

Adrian looked up at me, his eyes pleading, tears mixing with the blood on his cheeks. "Elena... please. Forgive me. I did it for the family... I was under pressure... please, you loved me!"

I looked down at the man who had destroyed my life, who had murdered my father, and who had stood at the altar and called me an act of charity.

I felt nothing. No anger. No sorrow. Only the cold, clean finality of justice.