They hunted a wounded stranger through the rain, never realizing he had crawled into my little diner with two babies strapped to his chest. By sunrise, I discovered the man I had risked everything to save wasn't an ordinary victim—he was the most feared crime boss in Boston, and protecting his children instantly made me his enemies' next target.

The morning passed in a blur of terrifying paranoia.

Every time a car slowed down in the street, my heart leaped into my throat. Every time the front door bell chimed, I reached under the counter for the iron poker I had hidden beside the cash register.

By noon, I couldn't take it anymore. I flipped the sign on the front door to CLOSED, locked the deadbolts, and drew the heavy blinds across the windows.

I ran upstairs, shoved the heavy icebox aside, and lifted the cellar trapdoor.

The smell of rubbing alcohol and fresh coffee drifted up from the hole.

Viktor was awake. He was sitting upright against the brick wall, the lantern glowing softly beside him. He had managed to change his bandage using the supplies I’d left, and he was currently holding little Sofia in his left arm while feeding Alexander a bottle with his right.

Seeing the most dangerous crime boss in Eastern Massachusetts meticulously burping a baby while sitting in a coal cellar was a sight so surreal I almost forgot I was being hunted by mobsters.

"They came," I said, dropping down into the cellar and shutting the trapdoor behind me.

Viktor’s posture hardened instantly. "Who?"

"A guy with a scar from his ear to his neck," I said, leaning against the wooden support beam. "He had two guys with him. He gave me a hundred bucks and a card with a gold phone number."

"Mickey 'The Blade' O'Hanlon," Viktor growled, his amber eyes narrowing into slits of pure venom. "He’s Leo’s chief enforcer. If Mickey is patrolling the West End personally, it means Leo is getting desperate."

"He looked at the ceiling, Viktor," I said, my voice trembling. "He knows I live upstairs. He used my name before I even introduced myself."

Viktor set the bottle down, carefully laying Alexander back into the wicker basket before looking up at me.

"Leo’s men went through my private files at the compound," Viktor said, his voice laced with bitter anger. "They know every property, every vendor, and every shipping route associated with my business. Your diner used to buy its meat from a distributor owned by one of my shell companies three years ago. It’s on an old paper trail."

"So I'm already on their list," I said, sinking onto a wooden crate. "It wasn't a coincidence that you crawled into my back alley, was it?"

Viktor looked away, a rare flash of guilt crossing his hard features.

"I was hit three blocks from here," Viktor admitted quietly. "My driver was killed in the car. I knew your diner was closed on Monday nights, and I remembered from the old security reports that the owner was a young woman who lived alone. I was aiming for your back door because I knew it had an overhang where I could hide the twins from the street cameras."

"You used my diner as a safe house," I said, the realization hitting me like a physical slap.

"I was dying, Maya," Viktor said, his voice dropping into a rough, desperate whisper. "My children were freezing in the rain. I didn't care about your diner. I didn't care about your life. I only cared about keeping Alexander and Sofia breathing."

He looked up at me, his amber eyes burning with an intense, unyielding sincerity.

"I was wrong," Viktor continued. "I brought the war to your doorstep. And for that... I am sorry."

I stared at him. Men like Viktor Vance didn't apologize. They didn't say "sorry" to small-town girls who ran bankrupt diners. They ordered people around, bought politicians, and eliminated obstacles.

Yet here he was, bleeding in a dark cellar, admitting his weakness to me.

Before I could answer, a sudden, heavy thud echoed from the floorboards directly above us.

CREAK.

Footsteps.