“CHECK THE CLOCK, MR. HALE,” THE HOUSEKEEPER’S FOUR-YEAR-OLD WHISPERED—SECONDS LATER, THE EAST COAST’S MOST FEARED CRIME BOSS FOUND A BLINKING SECRET THAT MADE HIM QUESTION THE WOMAN HE WOULD MARRY IN ELEVEN DAYS

Over the next seven days, the Hale estate was a masterclass in deception.

Jack Mercer was kept bound and gagged inside a subterranean holding cell beneath the armory, completely isolated from the outside world. Meanwhile, Dominic used Jack’s encrypted burner phone to send fake status updates to the Vane Syndicate, assuring them that Dominic remained entirely clueless, that Claire was still imprisoned, and that the internal security perimeter would be disarmed at precisely 2:00 p.m. on the day of the wedding.

In the public eye, the wedding of Dominic Hale and Claire Whitmore was the event of the decade.

High-society caterers, florists, and musicians flooded the grounds under the watchful eyes of Dominic’s newly appointed head of security—Marcus Vance.

On the night before the wedding, the estate was quiet under a blanket of heavy summer rain.

Claire stood in her private dressing room on the third floor, wearing a silk robe, staring at her ivory wedding gown hanging from the mahogany wardrobe.

The door opened softly, and Dominic stepped inside. He had discarded his suit jacket, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, looking tired but formidable.

“Paige is fast asleep in the panic room downstairs with Mrs. Parker and Lily,” Dominic said, stepping up behind Claire and resting his hands gently on her shoulders. “She’s safe, Claire. Tomorrow, this entire nightmare ends.”

Claire turned in his arms, resting her cheek against his broad chest, listening to the steady, comforting beat of his heart.

“Are you sure about tomorrow, Dominic?” she asked quietly. “Victor Vane is bringing thirty heavy operatives. If anything goes wrong—”

“Nothing is going to go wrong,” Dominic interrupted gently, lifting her chin with his finger so she had to look into his slate-gray eyes. “For three weeks, you carried the weight of the world on your shoulders to save your sister. Tomorrow, you just have to walk down that aisle and look at me. I’ll handle the rest.”

He leaned down, pressing his lips to hers in a slow, deep, possessive kiss that erased every lingering fear in her mind.

Unbeknownst to them, deep in the shadows of the estate’s outer gardens, a lone silhouette moved silently through the rain.

Victor Vane—the ruthless leader of the rival syndicate—wasn't waiting for 2:00 p.m. tomorrow. Paranoid by nature, he had sent an advance scout to verify that the mansion’s security grid was truly disarmed.

The scout slipped through the garden hedges, holding a silenced pistol, heading straight toward the power junction box behind the glass conservatory.

CLICK.

Before the scout could touch the junction box, a tiny voice echoed from behind a marble fountain.

“You’re not supposed to be in the flowers,” four-year-old Lily Parker said, standing beneath an umbrella, holding her stuffed rabbit.

The scout spun around, raising his silenced weapon toward the little girl. “Shut up, kid, or I’ll—”

THUD.

Marcus Vance stepped out from the shadows behind the scout, swinging a heavy tactical baton straight into the back of the man’s neck. The scout collapsed instantly into the mud.

Marcus caught the unconscious man before he hit the ground, dragging him quietly into the bushes. He looked down at Lily, offering a crisp, playful salute.