THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME HIDE MY SWOLLEN FINGERS UNDER MY APRON WHILE SERVING HIS VEAL—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE CAUGHT THEM IN THE ICE CHEST LATCH,” BEFORE HE COULD EVEN SPEAK.

He picked it up, pressing the speaker toggle with a single click.

A calm, clinical voice filled the cabin:

“Mr. Caruso. This is Dr. Sterling from the St. Jude Pediatric Neurological Center in Queens.”

My heart seized in my chest. My water bottle slipped from my hand, splashing across the rubberized deck floor.

“Claire,” I gasped, lunging toward the console. “Is my sister okay?”

Dante caught my shoulder with gentle firmness, holding me steady against the bench.

“Speak, Doctor,” Dante ordered.

“Mr. Caruso, three armed men claiming to be private security from the Delacroix Maritime Authority attempted to breach the pediatric ICU twelve minutes ago,” the doctor reported, his voice remarkably steady. “They presented a forged legal guardianship transfer order demanding the immediate discharge of Claire Vance.”

Tears of pure, suffocating terror burned my eyes.

“Did they touch her?” I sobbed. “Please, God, did they hurt my sister?”

“They didn't make it past the reception desk, Miss Vance,” Dr. Sterling replied with a professional coolness that sounded almost casual. “Your family is under Mr. Caruso’s private medical registry. Two of Mr. Caruso’s security officers were stationed inside the ward. The three intruders were disarmed and are currently being held in the sub-basement security suite awaiting the state police.”

The breath rushed out of my lungs in a ragged, shuddering sob.

I collapsed back against the leather seat, covering my face with my uninjured hand, weeping with a mixture of raw terror and unimaginable relief.

They had gone after Claire.

Giselle had known from the very beginning that my twelve-year-old sister was my only pressure point. If Dante had delayed by even twenty minutes in discovering the truth, Claire would have been dragged out of her hospital bed and used as human collateral.

Dante didn't hang up the phone.

“Dr. Sterling.”

“Yes, Mr. Caruso?”

“Transfer Claire Vance to the private penthouse suite on the ninth floor. Double the armed guard on the elevator bank. If anyone approaches that floor without Marco’s private biometric clearance, terminate them on the spot.”

“Understood, sir. She is currently sleeping peacefully. Her vitals are completely stable.”

The line clicked dead.

The cabin was silent again, save for the rhythmic chug of the diesel engines and the sound of my weeping.

Dante didn't offer empty platitudes.

He stood up, crossed the narrow cabin, and sat beside me on the bench.

He wrapped his long, muscular arm around my shoulders, pulling me firmly against his side. He didn't care that my tears were soaking into the silk of his shirt. He simply held me with an absolute, unbreakable weight that made the world stop spinning.

“No one touches your sister, Maya,” he whispered, his voice vibrating through his chest against my temple. “Not Giselle. Not her father. Not the entire Canadian cartel. Her medical bills were settled in full two hours ago, and her trust fund is being registered under the Caruso family name tomorrow morning.”

I pulled back, looking up into his scarred, handsome face with disbelieving eyes.

“Why are you doing this for me, Mr. Caruso? I’m just a maid. I carried your dinner plates. I cleaned your floors.”

Dante looked down at me, his thumb reaching out to wipe away the tear tracks on my cheek.

“In my world, Maya, men with billions of dollars and private armies will sell their own brothers for an extra percentage of a shipping terminal,” he said softly. “You stood in my dining hall with broken bones and told the truth knowing it could get you killed. You are the only person who has entered this house in five years who didn't come to take something from me.”