THE MAFIA BOSS ENTERED THE MARITIME SHIPYARD AS A TYCOON'S FIANCÉE TORE HIS MASTER DESIGNER'S APRON—THEN WHISPERED TO THE ADMIRAL, “FETCH A SILK CLOAK FOR MY WIFE BEFORE I SINK THIS ENTIRE F..LEET.”

Before Camilla could take two steps across the Persian rug, Julian’s hand shot out with blinding speed, catching her wrist in a grip of iron. He twisted her arm upward with surgical precision, disarming her instantly and sending the silver blade clattering against the polished floorboards.

Camilla let out a sharp cry of pain, collapsing to her knees as one of the tactical guards stepped forward to secure her wrists in heavy nylon zip-ties.

“Take her down to the holding cells with her father,” Julian ordered coldly, his voice devoid of any human warmth. “And make sure federal prosecutor Vance is notified that we have a signed confession in motion.”

As the guards dragged a screaming, hysterical Camilla out of the study, the heavy oak doors slammed shut once more, plunging the room back into a heavy, suffocating silence.

I stood frozen near the window, my fingers clutching the warm fabric of Julian’s cloak. I had known the New Orleans underworld was dangerous, but seeing the sheer ruthlessness with which Julian dismantled his enemies right before my eyes sent a shiver straight down my spine.

Julian turned away from the door, running his fingers through his dark hair as he walked slowly toward the desk. He stopped a few feet from me, his expression softening instantly as he looked down at my pale face.

“Are you frightened of me, Elena?” he asked quietly, his voice losing its icy edge.

I looked up into his striking green eyes, shaking my head slowly. “No, Mr. Cross. Not of you.”

Julian let out a low sigh, stepping closer until I could feel the warmth radiating from his broad shoulders. “You saved my mother’s memory tonight, Elena. You walked into a den of wolves, endured their abuse, and refused to let them bury the truth. In this city, loyalty like that is rarer than gold.”

Before I could find the words to reply, the secure desk phone buzzed sharply.

Julian picked up the receiver, listening intently as federal prosecutor Vance’s voice crackled through the speaker.

“Julian,” the prosecutor said urgently. “We’ve intercepted Charles Dupont’s offshore transfer logs. He was attempting to liquidate the remaining maritime assets and board a private charter flight to the Cayman Islands by dawn. The federal arrest warrants have been signed by the judge. We’re moving in on the airfield now.”