"You are the shame of my name," the mafia boss whispered—completely unaware his silent wife was walking out before dawn.

Concrete shattered from the stone pillars, spraying dust and sharp debris over Adrian’s back as he shielded Sophia with his own body.

A sharp, searing pain tore through his left shoulder as a round grazed his flesh, but he didn't let go. He held her tight against his chest, feeling the wild, rapid beat of her heart against his ribs.

"Castiglione's hit squad," Adrian gritted out through clenched teeth, pulling his snub-nosed revolver from his ankle holster. "He realized you locked down his cargo. He's clearing the board tonight."

"They aren't targeting me, Adrian," Sophia whispered calmly against his neck, her voice chillingly steady amid the chaos. "They're targeting you. I knew Sal would make a move the moment your harbor authority fractured."

Adrian stared at her in the dim, smoky light. "You knew?"

"I planned the gala's emergency evacuation routes two years ago," she said, slipping out from beneath him and crawling toward the maintenance service hatch concealed behind the terrace ivy. "If you want to live, Don Moretti, you follow me."

She pulled the bronze lever hidden behind the stone molding. A heavy iron panel popped open, revealing a spiral staircase descending into the hotel's utility tunnels.

Gunfire chewed through the doorframe above them. Adrian fired three blind shots to suppress the shooters, then dropped through the hatch behind her, slamming the iron door shut and throwing the deadbolt.

They tumbled down the narrow stairs into the subterranean steam tunnels beneath Manhattan.

Adrian leaned against the damp brick wall, clutching his bleeding shoulder, his breath coming in shallow, agonizing gasps. He looked at Sophia. Her green gown was torn at the hem, dust smeared across her porcelain cheek, but her eyes were ablaze with pure, unyielding command.

"Why did you save me?" Adrian whispered, his vision beginning to blur from shock and blood loss. "You could have let them kill me. You would have inherited the entire Moretti syndicate by morning."

Sophia walked over to him. She didn't offer comfort. She didn't kiss him. She simply reached out and gently straightened the collar of his ruined suit jacket.

"Because death is too easy for you, Adrian," she whispered, her breath brushing his ear. "I want you to live. I want you to sit in that great, empty mansion on the hill, and every single time you look at your family's empire, I want you to remember that you only have a pulse because the shame of your name chose to spare your life."

Before Adrian could answer, heavy footsteps echoed down the tunnel corridor ahead.

Adrian raised his gun with his good arm, preparing for a final stand.

Out of the steam stepped Victor Moretti, flanked by a dozen heavily armed mercenaries wearing unmarked tactical gear.

"Put the gun down, cousin," Victor said with a dangerous, triumphant smile.

Adrian looked between Victor and Sophia, his stomach plunging into an icy abyss as the pieces clicked together in the shadows of the underground tunnel.

Victor stepped forward and extended his hand—not to Adrian, but to Sophia.

"Everything is in place, Miss Vance," Victor said respectfully. "Castiglione's warehouses are burning as we speak. The council has just voted to strip Adrian of his seat. Your car is waiting at the river exit."

Sophia took Victor’s hand and stepped away from Adrian.

Adrian tried to lunge forward, but his knees buckled from the blood loss, sending him crashing onto the wet concrete floor.

"Sophia!" Adrian roared, his voice cracking with agony, reaching out a trembling, bloodstained hand toward her retreating figure. "Sophia, don't do this! Who are you working with?!"

Sophia stopped at the edge of the tunnel light. She turned her head, looking down at her broken husband in the dark.