She Endured Three Years of Torment Until a Merciless Underworld Kingpin Shattered Her Door and Unveiled the Bloodshed Behind Her Twelve-Million-Dollar Marriage

"My studio is in the West Village," Elena said, tracing the rim of her coffee cup. "But Julian owns the building. The security is tied directly to his private firm."

"Dante and Silas can breach it," Gabriel said.

"No," Elena shook her head. "The painting is in a climate-controlled vault in the basement. It requires my biometric thumbprint and a retinal scan to open. You can't just kick the door down without triggering a lockdown that will destroy the contents with fire-retardant foam."

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. "You are in no condition to be in the city."

"I am the only one who can get you in," Elena countered, standing up. She winced, but forced her posture straight. "Julian killed my father. He beat me for years. I am not hiding in a castle while you fight my war."

Gabriel studied her. For the first time, he saw the District Attorney's fire in her eyes. "Fine. We go tonight. But you follow my orders exactly. If things go south, you run. Understood?"

"Understood."

That night, Gabriel drove a nondescript black SUV into the city. Elena sat in the passenger seat, dressed in dark clothes provided by Gabriel’s staff. Her heart hammered against her ribs as they parked an avenue away from her studio.

Silas, a lean, heavily tattooed hacker, disabled the exterior cameras. Gabriel and Elena slipped through the alleyway and picked the lock on the back door.

The studio smelled of turpentine and old canvas. It felt like a lifetime since Elena had been here. They moved silently to the basement elevator. Elena pressed her thumb to the scanner and leaned into the retinal reader.