“No One Will Save You,” Her Ex-Husband Warned—Then The Mafia Boss Heard Every Word

Vivienne’s breath trapped in her throat. The paper felt like a burning coal in her gloved palm.

*I’m already out.*

Nathan had been transferred to a federal detention facility in Brooklyn barely twelve hours ago. Federal agents—men with badges, guns, and government mandates—had taken him. How could he possibly be out?

“Vivienne?”

Roman’s deep voice shattered her spiraling thoughts. He was watching her intently, his gray eyes narrowing as he registered the sudden draining of color from her face.

“What is that?” he demanded, his hand reaching out.

Without hesitation, Vivienne handed him the crumpled note. In this world, keeping secrets from the man protecting her was a death sentence.

Roman unrolled the paper. As his eyes scanned the frantic scrawl, the air around him grew so cold that the violin music seemed to fade into nothingness. His jaw set into stone, and his hand crushed the note into dust.

“Matteo,” Roman barked, not looking back.

His scarred lieutenant materialized from the shadows near the balcony archway instantly. “Boss?”

“Find the boy who just served the left quadrant,” Roman ordered in a voice dripping with venom. “Break his fingers until he tells you who paid him. Then lock down every federal contact we have in Brooklyn. I want to know who signed the release papers for Nathan Cross.”

Matteo gave a single, curt nod and vanished into the crowded ballroom.

“Roman,” Vivienne whispered, stepping closer to him, her fingers trembling slightly against his lapel. “How could he escape? The feds—”

“The feds have a price, just like everyone else,” Roman said, his voice deadly calm, though his pale eyes burned with feral fury. “Nathan didn't escape. Someone pulled strings to get him out. Someone who wants to use him as a weapon against me.”

Before Vivienne could respond, the lights across the Grand Ballroom suddenly flickered.

A sharp, violent *crack* echoed from the high ceiling.

The colossal crystal chandelier directly above the center floor shattered, sending hundreds of heavy glass spears raining down upon the crowd. Panic erupted instantly. Screams tore through the air as wealthy socialites and syndicate lieutenants scrambled for the exits, overturning champagne pyramids and velvet chairs.

“Get down!” Roman roared.

In a split second, Roman shoved Vivienne behind the thick marble pillar, throwing his heavy, muscular frame over hers like an impenetrable shield.

*Pop! Pop! Pop!*

Suppressed gunfire tore through the smoke and darkness. Splinters of marble rained down on Roman’s shoulders as bullets slammed into the other side of their pillar.

Vivienne pressed her back against the cold stone, Roman’s chest crushing against hers, his scent of cedar and gunpowder filling her senses. Even in the middle of an assassination ambush, his breathing was rhythmic, controlled, and calculating.

He reached inside his tuxedo jacket, unholstering a sleek, black semi-automatic pistol.

“Stay behind me,” Roman commanded, his lips brushing her forehead. “Do not move from this pillar, Vivienne. If anyone other than me steps around this stone, aim for their eyes.”

He thrust a compact silver pistol into her trembling hands.

Vivienne looked down at the weapon. It was small, heavy, and lethal. Nathan had once threatened to shoot her with a hunting rifle in their country home. Now, Roman was giving her the tool to defend herself.

“I won’t move,” she said, cocking the slide back with a sharp, practiced click that surprised even Roman.

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Good girl.”

Roman stepped out from behind the pillar, raising his gun with terrifying precision.

*Bang! Bang! Bang!*

Three muzzle flashes lit up the smoke-filled ballroom. Across the room, two masked gunmen perched on the mezzanine fell like sacks of wet cement, crashing over the gilded railing to the marble floor below.

Roman moved like a panther through the shadows, firing in steady, devastating bursts. Every shot found meat. Every trigger pull was an execution.

Vivienne stayed pressed against the pillar, her senses on fire. Amidst the screams and the smoke, she heard footsteps approaching from the blind side of the balcony.

Soft, rapid, deliberate.

She gripped the silver pistol with both hands, her heart pounding in her ears.

A shadow rounded the marble pillar—a man dressed in tactical black, his suppressed rifle raised.

He didn't expect the woman in the emerald dress to be armed.

Vivienne didn't scream. She didn't hesitate. Remembering every moment of terror Nathan had put her through, every bruise, every insult, she leveled the silver barrel straight at the attacker’s chest and pulled the trigger.

*Bang!*

The recoil kicked her wrists back hard. The gunman stumbled backward, a red blossom exploding across his throat. He collapsed onto the shattered crystal shards, choking on his own blood before going still.

The gun smoke drifted past Vivienne’s wide green eyes. Her hands shook violently, but she didn't drop the weapon.

A second later, Roman appeared, stepping over the dead gunman. Blood smeared his cheek—not his own—and his tuxedo shirt was stained with soot.

He looked at the dead hitman on the floor, then at the smoking barrel in Vivienne’s hands.

His eyes locked onto hers with a fierce, intoxicating awe.

“You’re safe,” Roman whispered, stepping forward and pulling the gun gently from her shaking fingers. He hauled her into his arms, wrapping his bloody, powerful frame around her so tightly she could barely breathe. “You’re safe, Vivienne. I have you.”

Vivienne buried her face in the crook of his neck, the scent of him grounding her as the sirens began to wail in the distance.

She had just killed a man.