The heavy rhythmic hiss of the mechanical ventilator was the first sound that clawed its way through the fog of my subconscious. My lungs felt like they were lined with crushed glass, and every attempt to draw breath felt like a monumental battle against an invisible weight.

By evening, the hospital room had been transformed into an armed fortress. Two of Dominic’s men stood outside the door in plain clothes, while Enzo coordinated a perimeter sweep from the corner of the room. The medical staff had removed the breathing tube a few hours prior, leaving my voice raspy and weak, but my mind was sharper than ever.

Dominic sat in the chair beside my bed, methodically cleaning a secondary firearm with a lint-free cloth.

"You married me to use me as bait," I said, my voice cutting through the quiet hum of the monitors.

Dominic didn't look up from the weapon. "I married you to keep you alive. Under New York state law, a spouse cannot be compelled to testify against their partner in matters concerning financial crimes or syndicate operations. Furthermore, the moment you took my name, you stepped under the umbrella of the Rossi family protection. If Costa touches you, it’s an act of war against the five families, not just a personal vendetta."

"That’s a legal shield, not a marriage," I snapped, wincing as a sharp pain lanced through my side.

"It’s both," Dominic replied, finally raising his dark, inscrutable eyes to meet mine. "In our world, Clara, sentimentality is a death sentence. But necessity? Necessity is ironclad. You have the key in your head—even if you don't know it yet. Your father encoded his digital ledger using a linguistic pattern based on old poetry he used to read to you. Costa knows it. I know it. And until we decrypt it and empty those accounts into a blind trust, you are the most valuable target in America."

"I don't know any poetry," I lied, my pulse spiking.

The lie was clumsy, and Dominic saw right through it. A faint, humorless ghost of a smile touched the corners of his mouth.

"Think carefully, Mrs. Rossi," he murmured, rising from his chair and towering over the bed. "Because when Victor Costa comes looking for his money, he won't care about your grief, your rent, or your mother's heart condition. He’ll peel the secrets straight out of your mind. The only question is whether you want to face him alone, or behind the shield I’ve built for you."

Before I could answer, the overhead lights flickered violently and died. Emergency red backup strips flooded the room with a crimson glow.