The scent of yeast, burnt sugar, and cheap cleaning fluid was thick enough to chew on, but inside the small kitchen of Lombardi’s Bakery, Maya’s world had narrowed to the steady,

Happiness in a world like Julian Croft’s was a dangerous target.

Three weeks after the Drake Gala, the blow fell.

It was a rainy Tuesday afternoon. Maya was in the penthouse kitchen preparing lunch when the glass windows of the living room exploded inward in a shower of deadly shards.

The deafening crack of high-powered rifle fire echoed through the apartment.

Maya screamed, dropping to the marble floor as bullets tore through the furniture, shattering artwork and splintering wood.

Before she could process the terror, Julian hit her like a freight train, wrapping his body around hers, rolling them behind the solid quartz kitchen island as more bullets hammered against the reverse side of the stone.

"Derek!" Julian roared into his wrist communicator, his body completely covering Maya’s small frame, his arm locked around her head. "Sniper on the North building roof! Initiate Lockdown Alpha now!"

"Julian!" Maya cried out, terrified, seeing blood soaking through the sleeve of his jacket. "You're hit!"

"It's a graze," Julian growled, his face dark with lethal fury. "Stay down! Don't move an inch!"

Within ninety seconds, the penthouse heavy steel shutters slammed down over the ruined windows, cutting off the light and sealing the apartment into an impenetrable steel vault.

Derek burst into the kitchen, a tactical weapon in hand, accompanied by four armed security guards. "The sniper's down, boss! We located the roost. It was a hired rig out of Detroit."

"Who paid?" Julian spat, rising slowly, his face terrifying in its absolute coldness.

"Sal Moretti," Derek replied grimly. "He knew he was losing his distribution contracts to you next month. He made a desperate play."

Julian looked down at Maya, who was trembling on the floor, covered in flour and glass dust—a haunting echo of the night he had first brought her home.

The sight of her fear smashed through Julian’s heart like cold steel.

He knelt down, lifted her into his arms, and carried her gently to the safe room at the back of the master suite. He set her down on the comfortable sofa inside, kneeling before her.

"Listen to me," Julian said, holding her hands in his. "Sal Moretti made the last mistake of his life. I am going to end this today. You are safe in this room. No one can break this door."

"Julian, don't go!" Maya pleaded, tears streaming down her face, clutching his blood-stained sleeve. "Don't go out there into the violence! Let the police handle it!"

Julian leaned forward and pressed a hard, passionate kiss to her lips—a kiss that tasted of iron, rain, and absolute devotion.

"The police don't govern my world, Maya," he murmured against her skin. "I do. And when someone shoots at my wife, I don't call the authorities. I rebuild the hierarchy."