SHE BEGGED: "JUST KILL ME FAST"—THE BILLIONAIRE MAFIA KINGPIN FOUND HER BROKEN IN CHAINS AND UNLEASHED HELL UPON THE CITY TO CLAIM HER AS HIS QUEEN

The Ashford estate was locked down under absolute red-alert protocols when they returned at three in the morning.

Rain lashed against the tall panoramic windows of Dominic’s private master bedroom suite. A roaring fire crackled in the massive stone fireplace, casting dancing amber shadows across the dark hardwood and leather furniture.

Elena stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling bathroom mirror, slowly unzipping the ruined black silk gown.

Her body was exhausted, her muscles aching from the violent combat in the museum, but miraculously, her healing ribs had held. She stripped off the gown and slipped into a soft, dark silk robe, tying the sash tightly around her waist.

When she walked back into the bedroom, Dominic was sitting on the edge of the bed.

He had removed his tuxedo shirt, revealing his broad, heavily muscled chest and back. His skin was a tapestry of violence—a jagged white scar ran across his right shoulder from a past knife fight, and two distinct bullet entry marks were visible near his lower ribs.

He was holding an ice pack against a deep bruise on his shoulder where a stray bullet had grazed his tactical vest.

Elena walked over to him, her bare feet silent on the rug.

She gently took the ice pack from his hand. "Let me."

Dominic looked up at her, his dark eyes vulnerable in a way he had never shown to another living soul. He didn't speak; he simply let her sit beside him on the edge of the bed.

Elena pressed the ice gently against his shoulder, her other hand resting softly on his bare chest. She could feel the steady, powerful thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palm. Her eyes traced the scars on his skin, then looked down at the fading marks on her own wrists.

"We match," she whispered softly.

Dominic reached up, his large, calloused hand cupping the side of her neck, his thumb brushing against her cheekbone.

"You shouldn't have these scars, Elena. You belonged in the light. In high glass offices, solving puzzles that didn't involve blood."

"I was living half a life, Dominic," Elena replied, looking directly into his piercing eyes. "I was hiding behind spreadsheets and corporate lies. When Caldwell took me, I thought the world was entirely evil."

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a tender, breathless whisper.

"And then you kicked the door down. You walked into that freezing warehouse and showed me what a real man looks like."

Dominic’s jaw tightened, a storm of suppressed desire and raw protective instinct flaring in his gaze.

"Elena... you need to know who I am," he warned, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "I am not a hero. I have killed men. I rule an empire built on fear and iron. If you stay with me, the shadows will follow you forever."

Elena leaned forward until her lips were a fraction of an inch from his.

"I don't want a hero, Dominic. I want you."

Dominic couldn't hold back any longer.

He pulled her into his lap, his mouth crashing down onto hers in a fierce, passionate kiss that stole the breath from her lungs. It was not gentle; it was hungry, desperate, and filled with the ferocious intensity of two people who had stared death in the face and chosen each other.

Elena tangled her fingers in his thick dark hair, pulling him closer, surrendering completely to the heat of his touch. The silk robe slipped from her shoulders, and for the first time in six months, her skin felt not pain, not fear, but the intoxicating, reverent worship of a man who would burn the world to keep her safe.