My mother’s hand squeezed my wrist so hard her manicured nails nearly bit into my skin, but I didn't wince. I simply looked at her—really looked at her—and saw the panic breaking through her carefully painted mask.

For three long weeks, I ruled Chicago with an iron fist.

I restructured the family's revenue streams, crushed two small street rebellions on the West Side with merciless efficiency, and expanded our corporate footprint into South American logistics. The capos who had once doubted me now approached my desk with bowed heads, calling me Donna Evelyn.

Yet every night, when I returned to the cold, quiet penthouse, I sat in Nikolai’s study holding his silver ring, staring out at the dark lake, refusing to believe he was gone.

A man like Nikolai Moretti didn't die in a river.

On a rainy Thursday night, at 2:00 AM, my baby’s nursery monitor flickered with static.

I immediately stood up from my study desk, drawing my gun, and slipped quietly down the hall toward the nursery.

The door was slightly ajar. A soft, dim light shone from inside.

I pushed the door open, my weapon raised.

Standing beside the crib, looking down at our sleeping son, was a tall figure wrapped in a heavy dark cloak. His posture was slightly weak, his left arm bound in a tight sling, and deep, faded scars ran along his jawline.

He turned slowly.

His sharp gray eyes met mine through the dim light.

"You're holding your gun too low, darling," Nikolai whispered, his deep voice raspy, bruised, but undeniably his.

The gun nearly slipped from my hand. My heart leaped into my throat as tears finally broke through my iron composure, spilling down my cheeks.

I rushed across the room, throwing my arms around his neck, burying my face in his chest, inhaling the scent of rain, leather, and cedar that belonged only to him.

"You bastard," I sobbed, laughing through my tears as I held him tight, careful of his injured arm. "You absolute, arrogant bastard! Where were you?!"

Nikolai wrapped his good arm around my waist, lifting me off my feet, kissing my forehead, my cheeks, my lips with a wild, desperate hunger.

"I had to go dark, Evelyn," Nikolai explained softly against my lips. "The ambush on the bridge was organized by Elder Marcus and the Russian Bratva. If I had returned immediately, they would have used a nuclear option against the estate. I needed them to believe I was dead so they would expose all their hidden sleeper agents inside our organization."

I pulled back slightly, staring at him as the realization dawned on me. "You let me take the throne..."

"I didn't let you do anything, my queen," Nikolai smiled proudly, his gray eyes shining with adoration. "I watched you on the hidden security feeds. You handled those capos better than I ever could. You proved to the entire world that even without me, the Moretti empire is unbreakable."

"Elder Marcus is locked in the basement right now," I said, a dark smile breaking across my face. "I was saving him for a special occasion."