The air in the library was heavy, smelling of old leather, fine bourbon, and the quiet despair of a man who had long since surrendered to his own cage.

Claire was in a cab on her way to the Lombardi estate when the radio crackled with breaking news. "...shootout on the I-90 expressway. Several black SUVs involved..."

Panic seized her. Sebastian.

When her cab reached the estate, the gates were locked down. It took Gabriel ten minutes to clear her to enter. When she walked into the grand foyer, it looked like a war zone. Men were bleeding. Medics were running around.

In the center of it all sat Sebastian in his wheelchair, his suit jacket torn, a bloody gash across his forehead. But his eyes were blazing with adrenaline.

"Claire," he said, spotting her.

"What happened?" she demanded, rushing over and instinctively checking his vitals.

"Moretti's men ambushed my convoy," he said grimly. "They boxed my car in. Tried to shoot up the vehicle."

Gabriel walked over, nursing a wounded shoulder. "The boss saved us. When they rammed the car, it rolled. He used his core strength to kick the jammed door open. A week ago, he couldn't have moved his hips enough to do that."

Sebastian looked at Claire, a fierce, triumphant smirk on his bloody face. "You gave me my center of gravity back, doc."