I tried to shrink further behind the concrete pillar, holding my breath, but my freezing limbs betrayed me. My boot scraped against a stray piece of gravel. It was a tiny sound, barely audible over the howling wind, but Dominic’s head snapped toward my direction instantly.
For a terrible, suspended second, neither of us moved.

The guards reached for their weapons, their flashlights cutting through the sleet to illuminate my huddled, pathetic form. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the shouts, the rough hands grabbing my arms.
“Stand down,” a voice ordered. It was low, raspy, and carried an authority that left absolutely no room for hesitation. The flashlights clicked off. The weapons were lowered.
I opened my eyes to see Dominic crossing the icy pavement. He didn’t walk with caution; he closed the distance between us in heavy, deliberate strides. When he reached the concrete pillar, he stopped. He looked down at me, taking in my soaked hair, my hollow cheeks, the violent tremors wracking my body. I expected anger. I expected him to demand answers, to ask why I had disappeared into the night ten months ago without a single word. I expected the cold, ruthless mafia boss that the city feared.
Instead, Dominic Moretti dropped to his knees on the freezing sidewalk.
The collective gasp from the security detail was audible. Dominic did not kneel. Not for rival bosses, not for the politicians he kept in his pockets, and certainly not for priests. He was a man made of pride and violence. Yet here he was, ignoring the slush soaking into his tailored trousers, ignoring the shocked stares of his most trusted enforcers, throwing his arms around my freezing body.

He pulled me against his chest, burying his face in my icy, damp hair. “Clara,” he breathed, the word cracking in his throat.

And as he held me, I felt something that shattered my heart completely. He was shaking. The most dangerous man in Illinois was trembling so hard that the men with guns standing ten feet away could see it.
“You’re alive,” he whispered, his hands desperately moving over my arms, my back, trying to rub warmth back into my frozen limbs. “I thought… I tore the city apart looking for you. I thought they killed you.”
Tears, hot and fast, finally spilled over my freezing cheeks. I hadn’t let myself cry in months. I hadn’t let myself feel anything but the primal instinct to survive. But hearing his voice, feeling the solid, desperate warmth of him, broke the dam.
“I couldn’t tell you,” I choked out, my teeth chattering so violently I could barely form the words. “The Falcone family… they knew. They found out my apartment. They were coming that night. If I stayed, they would have used me against you. Or worse.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened, a flash of pure, murderous rage crossing his eyes at the mention of his rivals. But the anger vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by an overwhelming, terrified tenderness. “You should have come to me. You should have let me burn their houses to the ground.”
“I was protecting something more important,” I whispered.