"They beat my housekeeper nearly unconscious because she wore my family crest, then left her bleeding in the rain as a warning to me. But the men who attacked Emma Carter made one fatal mistake: they thought hurting someone under my protection would frighten me.

By three in the morning, the east wing of my mansion had been transformed into a sterile, state-of-the-art medical facility.

I sat in a leather armchair beside the bed, watching the slow, steady drip of the IV fluid. Emma’s face was swollen, a stark contrast to the quiet, beautiful woman who used to hum softly while dusting my library.

The bedroom door clicked open. My younger sister, Lucia, rushed in. She wore a silk trench coat thrown hastily over her pajamas, her eyes wide with terror.

"Dominic," Lucia gasped, rushing to the side of the bed. She covered her mouth, a stifled sob escaping her throat when she saw the extent of Emma’s injuries. "Oh my God. Is she going to live?"

"She is stable," I said, my voice flat and devoid of the rage simmering beneath my skin.

Lucia turned to me, tears spilling over her lashes. "This is my fault. I knew she was exhausted. I tried to tell her to stay, to just eat dinner with me in the kitchen. But she said she needed the money for her brother's physical therapy. I should have forced her to stay."

"You couldn't have stopped her, Lucia," I said, standing up and placing a reassuring hand on my sister's shoulder. "Emma is driven by a loyalty to her family that most of the men in my syndicate couldn't comprehend. This is not on you."

"They did this to send you a warning," Lucia whispered, looking at the dark bruises on Emma's arms. "Kolov wants the southern distribution routes."

"Kolov is a fool," I replied coldly. "He thought I cared so little for the people under my roof that I would simply replace a maid and surrender the routes to avoid a war."

I looked down at Emma. Even battered and unconscious, there was a quiet, unyielding strength about her. She worked three jobs. She carried the weight of her dying mother and her crippled brother without a single complaint. She was braver than half the mob bosses in New York.

"I am going to pay for her mother’s treatments," I told Lucia. "And her brother's medical bills. Every last dime."