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

By the third day at Ashford Manor, the bruising around Elena’s face had begun to fade from violent purple to a dull, sickly yellow. Her left eye had opened completely, revealing the full, striking brilliance of her gaze.

Yet the psychological scars remained raw.

Every sudden creak of the floorboards outside her room made her muscles lock. Every shadow cast by the pine trees outside her window looked like an assassin with a suppressed pistol.

She spent her mornings sitting on the plush window seat, wrapped in a thick cashmere blanket Dominic’s housekeeper had provided. Below her window, she could see the estate’s courtyard—patrolled by broad-shouldered men in dark tactical gear, carrying automatic rifles with practiced ease.

This was not a home; it was a sovereign fortress.

A gentle knock sounded at the door.

Elena braced herself. "Come in."

The door opened, and Dominic walked in. Today, he wore a tailored charcoal three-piece suit, his dark hair neatly slicked back. In his hands, he carried an ultra-secure, custom-built laptop.

"You're out of bed," he noted, stepping inside.

"The doctor said I needed to walk if I wanted my ribs to heal properly," Elena replied, keeping her voice neutral. "And I was going crazy staring at the ceiling."

Dominic set the laptop on the small glass table by the window and pulled up a chair opposite her.

"How is the pain?"

"Manageable," she lied.

Dominic reached out, his warm, calloused fingers brushing gently against the side of her jaw, tilting her face upward into the light. The gesture was shockingly tender, completely at odds with the deadly aura he carried. Elena’s breath hitched, her skin tingling where his fingertips touched her flesh.

"You're a terrible liar, Miss Vance," he murmured, his dark eyes scanning the faint yellow bruise along her cheekbone. "Your pulse is racing."

"Because you're dangerous, Dominic."

"To my enemies, yes," he said, slowly withdrawing his hand. "To you? Never."

Elena pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, trying to steady her erratic heartbeat. "Why are you here?"

Dominic tapped the lid of the laptop. "Caldwell made his first move this morning."

Elena’s posture stiffened instantly. "What did he do?"

"He sent a crew of six men to probe my southern warehouse district in South Boston. They torched two delivery trucks and left a message painted on the concrete."

Dominic turned the laptop toward her and opened the screen. A photograph of a charred brick wall appeared. Painted in dripping red spray paint were the words:

GIVE BACK THE BIRD, ASHFORD, OR WE BURN THE ENTIRE NEST.

Elena felt the blood drain from her face. Her stomach twisted into knots of pure terror.

"He knows," she whispered, her hands beginning to shake. "He knows I'm here. He’s going to attack this house. He’s going to kill everyone who stands between him and me."

"Elena," Dominic commanded, his voice firm and steady. "Look at me."

She looked up, her amber eyes swimming with panic.

"Caldwell knows you are somewhere in my territory. He doesn't know you are inside these walls. And even if he brought an entire army to this gate, they would die in the driveway before they took ten steps."

Dominic leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his presence commanding the entire room.

"I did not bring you here to hide you like a frightened child. I brought you here so you could recover, stand on your own feet, and help me eradicate him. But to do that, I need to know what we are dealing with."

Elena stared at the screen, then looked back at Dominic. The sheer conviction in his eyes was intoxicating. For six months, she had been hunted, beaten, and reduced to an object of barter. No one had ever offered to fight for her. No one had ever looked at her like she was a partner rather than a victim.

Slowly, Elena reached out and pulled the laptop toward herself.

"The master drive isn't in a bank vault," she said, her voice finding its steady, professional cadence for the first time. "I knew Caldwell would monitor my bank accounts, my family's estate, and my safety deposit boxes."

"Where did you put it?" Dominic asked.

"Inside the Metropolitan Museum of Art," Elena revealed, looking directly into his eyes. "In the restoration wing. Behind the false backing of an 18th-century Venetian landscape painting that my family donated to the city ten years ago. It’s stored on an air-gapped, biometric flash drive."

Dominic smiled—a genuine, predatory smile that sent a shiver down Elena’s spine.

"Clever girl," Dominic whispered. "Hidden in plain sight amidst high society."

"It requires my fingerprint and a six-digit rolling algorithm that regenerates every twelve hours," Elena added. "You can't just send your goons to smash the glass and steal the frame. If the drive is removed without the bypass code, the internal memory triggers an electromagnetic pulse that fries the silicon chips instantly."

Dominic stood up, buttoning his suit jacket.

"Then it seems you and I have a date at the museum."

Elena’s eyes widened. "Are you insane? Caldwell has scouts watching every public venue in the city!"

Dominic walked toward the door, turning back with a look of supreme, lethal arrogance.

"Let them watch. Tomorrow night is the annual Winter Benefactor Gala at the Metropolitan. The entire elite of this city will be there—including politicians, judges, and Vincent Caldwell himself."