A single touch brought life to the paralyzed crime boss’s lifeless foot—and within seconds, the most feared men in Chicago realized everything they believed for the past twenty years might be about to change. A desperate single mother had walked into a mansion looking for money to save her son. She had no idea she was about to awaken a legend the city prayed would never rise again.

Progress could not be hidden forever.

By the end of the second month, Dominic was standing. He couldn't walk yet, but with the aid of parallel bars, he could pull himself up and support his own weight for a few agonizing minutes. His muscles were rebuilding, fueled by sheer, unrelenting willpower and Sarah’s brilliant hands.

But as Dominic’s body grew stronger, his grip on the Boston underworld momentarily slipped.

He was spending three hours a day in therapy. He was missing midnight meetings. Rumors began to swirl among the Irish factions in Southie and the Russian bratva operating out of the ports. The King is distracted. The King is weak.

It came to a head on a freezing Tuesday evening.

Sarah was in the estate's massive kitchen, baking cookies with Leo. Leo was laughing, a sound that echoed down the marble hallways—a sound the fortress hadn't heard in decades.

Suddenly, the glass of the kitchen window shattered.

Sarah screamed, tackling Leo to the floor as a bullet buried itself into the mahogany cabinetry. Alarms blared instantly, a deafening wail that tore through the estate.

Within seconds, Julian and three heavily armed guards flooded the kitchen. "Get them to the vault!" Julian roared.

As Sarah scooped up a terrified Leo, she saw Dominic rolling furiously down the hallway. He wasn't the vulnerable man on the therapy table; he was the devil incarnate. He held a customized Glock in his hand, his eyes burning with a murderous rage.

"Are you hurt?" Dominic demanded, his voice shaking with a terrifying intensity as he looked at Sarah and Leo.