I hid a shattered forearm beneath my silk opera glove at a press shoot, knowing if my mob boss husband knew I took a hit meant for him, he'd burn the city to ashes.

The rain had cleared by the following afternoon, replaced by an oppressive, suffocating autumn fog that rolled off the Hudson River and blanketed the city in cold gray mist.

In the master suite of the Carretti brownstone, Clara stood before the three-way gilded mirror, her heart pounding a frantic cadence against her ribs.

On the marble vanity behind her lay an evening gown of midnight-blue velvet, designed specifically by Dominic’s private tailor over the last twelve hours. The left sleeve was a masterpiece of architectural deceit—cut broad and flowing in the medieval style, draping over her forearm in heavy, pleated folds of silk-lined velvet that completely masked the rigid bulk of the navy cast beneath.

Dominic stood behind her, adjusting the diamond-encrusted clasp of a platinum necklace at the nape of her neck. His fingers were warm against her skin, steady and deliberate.

“You don't have to do this,” he murmured into her hair. “I can leave you here under heavy guard. Marco can stay with you. You’ve endured enough pain for this family.”

Clara turned around in his arms, her good hand resting flat against his lapel, her hidden arm tucked securely against her side.

“If I stay home tonight, Leo will know something is wrong,” she said, her voice completely steady now, forged by the terrifying adrenaline of the impending confrontation. “For three days, I played the stoic wife who smiled for the portrait. If I suddenly vanish before the Gala, he’ll suspect you’ve discovered the truth. He might run. He might trigger whatever trap he’s set before you can dismantle it.”

Dominic looked down at her, a profound, reverent awe softening the hard lines of his mouth. “You are far stronger than I deserve, Clara.”

“Remember that when this is over,” she whispered with a faint, fierce smile. “Now tell me what’s happening tonight.”

Dominic stepped back, reaching into his inner jacket pocket and producing a small, encrypted ceramic earpiece no larger than a grain of rice. He gently slipped it into her right ear, tucking her auburn curls over it.

“Leo has four men stationed outside the Metropolitan Museum’s private catering entrance,” Dominic explained, his voice low and clinical. “They are armed with unregistered automatic weapons. According to Eli’s taps on Leo’s burner phone, the plan is simple: at 10:30 PM, when Salvatore Falco steps out onto the terrace for his customary cigar, Leo’s men will open fire on Falco’s security detail from our designated vehicle sector.”

Clara gasped softly. “He’s going to execute Falco in public?”

“He’s going to create an crossfire,” Dominic corrected grimly. “He wants Falco dead, and he wants the Commission to believe Falco struck first against us. Leo’s men will drop three of our own outer-perimeter guards to make it look like a coordinated Falco ambush. In the chaos, Leo will 'save' the Carretti honor by executing Falco’s surviving lieutenants and seizing the northern docks under the guise of emergency retaliation.”

“And you?” Clara asked, her throat tight. “Where are you supposed to be?”

“In the line of fire,” Dominic said simply. “Leo’s sniper has instructions to clip my shoulder. Just enough to put me in a hospital bed for three weeks while Leo acts as regent.”

The sheer monstrousness of the scheme left Clara breathless. “He would shoot his own cousin?”

“He would shoot God if it gave him a seat at the head of the Commission,” Dominic stated with cold certainty. “But his sniper won't be on the roof tonight.”

“Who will be?”

“Eli traced the sniper’s vantage point two hours ago,” Dominic said, checking the platinum watch on his wrist. “Vincenzo and three of my personal security team took the nest twenty minutes ago. The shooter is currently sitting in a holding cell beneath our garage. When Leo gives the signal at 10:30, the terrace doors will be locked from the outside. Leo will find himself alone with the men he tried to frame—and the man he tried to dethrone.”

Dominic offered her his arm—his right arm, leaving her uninjured side free to hold him.