“Don't Touch Me!” She Cried—The Mafia Boss Froze When He Recognized the Ring on Her Finger

Gabriel woke up to the shrill sound of flatlining monitors—not his own, but the panic in the hallway.

He forced his eyes open, groaning as the pain in his abdomen flared. He reached out his hand, expecting to feel Madeline’s warm fingers.

The chair next to his bed was empty.

"Dominic!" Gabriel roared, tearing the IV line from his arm.

Dominic burst through the doors, his face pale. "Boss, you shouldn't be moving—"

"Where is she?" Gabriel demanded, his storm-gray eyes wild with panic.

"She's gone, Gabriel. She slipped past the guards three hours ago. The Romanos... they sent a message. They have her."

Gabriel froze. His eyes fell on the small metal bedside table.

Resting perfectly in the center was the oxidized rose gold ring. The square Colombian emerald gleamed under the harsh hospital lights. Madeline had left the ring behind, surrendering herself entirely to the wolves so Gabriel could keep his legacy.

"Get my guns," Gabriel whispered, a terrifying, homicidal calm settling over him.

"Gabriel, it's a suicide mission. They have a hundred men fortifying their compound."

"Get. My. Guns."

Across the city, in a windowless room, Madeline sat in a hard wooden chair, her hands bound. The door opened, and a shadowy figure stepped in, racking the slide of a pistol.

"Any last words, sweetheart?" the man laughed.

Madeline closed her eyes, thinking of storm-gray eyes and the smell of bourbon.

Outside the heavy steel doors, the sudden, deafening roar of automatic gunfire erupted. Screams echoed through the hallway. The door to Madeline’s room blew off its hinges.