“Arya! Oh, thank God, I thought—I didn't know where you were!” Leo stammered, his arms gripping me back with equal desperation. “Some men in suits just walked into my apartment, took out Marcus’s security detail without making a sound, and told me my sister sent them.”

“I’m sorry, Leo, I’m so sorry dragged you into this,” I sobbed softly into his shoulder, feeling the nightmare of the past few months begin to lift just an inch.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” a deep, calm voice interrupted gently.

We turned to see Damiano standing near the doorway, watching us with hands clasped behind his back. Leo instinctively stiffened, staring at the older man with wide eyes. Everyone in the city knew who Damiano Ricci was; seeing him in person—and realizing he was the one protecting us—was a shock to any ordinary citizen.

“Mr... Mr. Ricci,” Leo stammered, swallowing hard. “Is this... are we safe here?”

“As safe as anyone can be on this earth,” Damiano replied evenly, stepping forward. “Your sister is under my direct protection, Leo. Which means anyone who wishes to harm you now has to answer to me.”

Before Leo could process the magnitude of that statement, my phone—sitting on the coffee table—suddenly began to ring violently.

The caller ID flashed a private, blocked number.

The room went dead silent. Every eye turned toward the screen.

“Answer it,” Damiano instructed quietly, walking over to stand directly behind the sofa, placing one hand on the back of the cushion. “Put it on speaker.”

My fingers shook as I swiped the screen and hit the speakerphone icon.

“Arya,” Marcus’s voice hissed through the tiny speaker, dripping with absolute poison. “You clever little bitch. You sent your little thugs to take your brother? Do you honestly think you can hide from me behind some rented muscle?”

“I’m not hiding, Marcus,” I said, my voice surprising me with its sudden, cold steadiness. The terror was gone, replaced by a burning, incandescent wrath. “And those aren't thugs. That is the reality check you’ve needed for eight months.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line—a heavy, stunned silence as Marcus processed the fact that I was no longer whispering, no longer trembling, no longer afraid.

“You think you’ve won because you got your brother back?” Marcus laughed, a harsh, manic sound. “Listen to me very carefully, Arya. I own half the city council. I have warrants being drawn up for your arrest right now for corporate espionage and theft. By midnight, every bank account you touch will be frozen, and you’ll be running from federal marshals. You belong to me! You hear me? You belong to me!”

Damiano slowly leaned down, his face inches from the phone, his voice a low, terrifying rumble that carried across the entire room.

“She belongs to no one,” Damiano spoke into the receiver, each word deliberate and glacial. “And as for your warrants, Marcus? Try filing them. By sunset, your corporate partners are going to discover that your primary accounts have been liquidated, your warehouses seized, and your name blacklisted across every financial institution on the eastern seaboard.”

Marcus gasped on the other end. “Who... who is this? What did you—?”

“You should have stayed in your own weight class,” Damiano cut him off smoothly. “Enjoy your final hours of freedom, Marcus. Because the war you wanted? It just arrived at your front door.”

Damiano tapped the screen, ending the call with a definitive click.