Dominic Russo didn’t move. His winter-sky eyes remained fixed on Harper, cold and calculating. The heavy leather door of the Escalade sealed them off from the freezing Chicago rain, turning the vehicle into an impenetrable sanctuary—or a rolling cage.

Dominic’s private compound was a sprawling, stone fortress hidden deep within the dense woods near Lake Forest, surrounded by twelve-foot high wrought-iron fences, motion sensors, and heavily armed guards patrolling every inch of the perimeter.

For three days, Harper was locked inside this gilded cage.

Yet, as terrifying as the situation was, Harper found herself observing Dominic in a new light. He wasn't just a brutal killer. He was an incredibly disciplined strategist. She watched him command his syndicate with absolute authority, managing legit shipping empires, construction firms, and legal charities while navigating the deadly waters of the underworld.

And then, there were the moments they shared in the dead of night.

Unable to sleep, Harper walked down to the estate’s grand library at 2:00 AM, only to find Dominic standing by the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, staring out at the snow starting to fall over the lake. He wore an unbuttoned black shirt, a tumbler of whiskey held loosely in his hand.

“You should be sleeping,” Dominic said softly without turning around.

“So should you,” Harper replied, stepping into the room.

Dominic turned to look at her. The harsh glare of the crime lord had softened into something far more human—and far more dangerous to her heart.

“I don't sleep well when my enemies are breathing,” he admitted, walking toward her. He stopped inches away, his towering frame casting a shadow over her. “You shouldn't have kissed me that night, Harper. You walked into a fire you can't extinguish.”

“I was desperate,” Harper whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs. “I thought you were just a rich guy in a nice suit.”

“And now?” Dominic raised a hand, his long fingers gently tracing the line of her jaw. His touch was shockingly tender for a man whose hands bore so much blood. “What do you think I am now?”

“I think... you’re a dangerous man who pretends to have no heart,” Harper said, her breath catching in her throat. “But you protected me. You could have left me at the club.”

“I protect what is mine,” Dominic murmured, his voice dropping an octave, heavy with implicit meaning.

The air between them burned. For a second, Harper thought he was going to kiss her again—not out of strategy or dominance, but out of raw, unfiltered desire.

Before their lips could meet, a sharp knock shattered the tension. Enzo stepped into the library, his face grave.

“Boss,” Enzo said, glancing nervously at Harper. “We intercepted a transmission from Palermo. Don Carmine is landing in Chicago tomorrow morning. He called an emergency meeting of the Commission.”