**I SAT IN THE MAFIA BOSS’S RESERVED CHAIR AND WHISPERED, “PLEASE PRETEND I CAME WITH YOU”—BECAUSE MY HUSBAND WAS WALKING THROUGH THE RESTAURANT DOORS WITH TWO POLICE OFFICERS.**

The heavy rain battered the windows of Sebastian’s armored SUV as we drove through the empty Chicago streets.

I sat in the back seat, still wrapped in Sebastian's oversized coat, staring at the shattered silver pocket watch resting on the leather console between us.

Sebastian hadn't spoken since we left the restaurant.

He stared out the window, his jaw clenched so tightly I thought his teeth might shatter. The air in the car was thick with a terrifying, suffocating tension.

"Sebastian," I said softly, breaking the silence.

He didn't turn his head. "Don't."

"I didn't know," I pleaded, tears threatening to spill. "I swear to you, I didn't know Graham was involved with Marcus Vance back then. Three years ago, Graham was just a junior partner at the firm. He was working late every night."

Sebastian finally looked at me. His dark eyes were hollow, haunted by a grief he had carried for three years.

"My brother Dominic was twenty-two," Sebastian said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "He wasn't involved in the family business. He was studying architecture. He wanted to build things, not destroy them."

My breath caught. Architecture.

"Dominic was investigating Marcus Vance because Vance had been extorting small construction firms on the South Side," Sebastian continued. "Dominic thought he could expose Vance's shell companies. I told him to stay out of it. I told him it was too dangerous."

Sebastian picked up the broken watch, his thumb tracing the shattered glass.

"They found Dominic in an alley behind a warehouse," Sebastian whispered. "Shot twice in the chest. The police ruled it a random mugging because his wallet and his watch were missing."

He looked at the photograph we had found inside the watch.

"But it wasn't a mugging," Sebastian said coldly. "Dominic took this photograph. He found out who was helping Vance launder the money. He found Graham. And Graham killed him to protect his secret."

"Graham is a coward," I argued gently, my mind racing. "He manipulates people. He poisons his wife. But he doesn't pull the trigger himself. He hired someone."

"It doesn't matter who pulled the trigger," Sebastian growled. "Graham is holding my brother's watch. He kept it as a trophy. Or leverage."

The SUV slowed down, turning onto a private, tree-lined road that led to the Romano compound.

Massive iron gates swung open as we approached. Armed guards patrolled the perimeter. The house itself was a sprawling stone mansion, imposing and impenetrable.

As we pulled up to the front steps, Daniel opened the car door.

"We have a problem, Boss," Daniel said immediately.

Sebastian stepped out into the rain. "What is it?"

"The audit committee," Daniel reported, holding up a tablet. "Graham just pulled a massive maneuver. He didn't just go home to hide. He went straight to the media."

Daniel handed the tablet to Sebastian.

I stepped out of the car and looked over Sebastian's shoulder.

It was a live local news broadcast. Graham was standing on the steps of the police precinct, looking disheveled, soaking wet, and playing the victim perfectly.

"My wife, Mara, is suffering from severe psychiatric delusions following a traumatic brain injury," Graham said to the cameras, his voice shaking with feigned emotion. "Tonight, she was abducted by known organized crime affiliate Sebastian Romano. Romano is attempting to force a hostile takeover of my architectural firm by holding my mentally unstable wife hostage and threatening to release fabricated financial documents."

I gasped.

Graham was spinning the narrative. He was preemptively discrediting the audit files by claiming they were fake mafia extortion tactics.

"He's insulating himself," Sebastian muttered, staring at the screen. "If I release the embezzlement files now, the audit committee will assume they are forged."

"And if you keep me here," I realized with horror, "the police will have to raid the compound. He's framing you for kidnapping to force a standoff."

Daniel nodded grimly. "The police commissioner just called. He says his hands are tied. Given the media attention, if Mara isn't presented at a precinct by sunrise to confirm she is safe and coherent, they will breach the gates."

Graham was cornered, so he had set the entire board on fire.

"I have to go to the police," I said, stepping forward. "I have to show them I'm not crazy. I have to give a statement about the pills."

Sebastian shook his head.

"If you walk into a precinct right now, Graham's lawyers will demand an immediate psychiatric evaluation. They will drug test you. And you will fail."

My stomach dropped.

"The sleeping pills," I whispered.

"Exactly," Sebastian said. "You still have fifty milligrams of heavy sedatives in your system from last night. The toxicology report will show a massive overdose. The doctors will declare you a danger to yourself. You'll be committed before you even finish your statement."

Graham had planned for every contingency.

"So we're trapped," I said, panic rising in my chest. "If I stay here, they raid the compound. If I leave, I get locked in a psych ward."

Sebastian stared at the broken pocket watch in his hand.

Then, he looked up at the massive stone mansion.

"No," Sebastian said, his voice entirely calm. "Graham thinks he controls the board because he controls the information. We just need to change the information."

He turned to Daniel.

"Where is Chloe?"

"She's at the safehouse hotel, Boss," Daniel replied.

"Get her," Sebastian ordered. "Bring her here immediately."

I frowned. "Chloe? What is she going to do? The press won't care about a pregnant mistress when they think I've been kidnapped."

Sebastian looked at me, a dark, brilliant plan forming in his eyes.

"Graham said I abducted his mentally unstable wife to force a hostile takeover, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, he's half right," Sebastian said smoothly. "I am forcing a hostile takeover."

Sebastian walked up the steps of the mansion.

"Daniel, call my lawyers. I want the incorporation documents for Graham's firm ready in an hour. And call the police commissioner back. Tell him my wife will hold a press conference at 6:00 AM."

"A press conference?" I asked, hurrying after him into the grand foyer. "Sebastian, what are you doing?"