The Russo name was carved into the world with bullets, not ink. Built by her great-grandfather and expanded through generations of precision cruelty, Russo Holdings stood as the world’s number one mob and loansharking empire. It wasn’t a business—it was an ecosystem of fear. People paid, or they disappeared. The innocent were never safe, because in this world, innocence was just another word for weakness.

Gabrielle Russo, twenty years old, half Russian, half Korean, spoke only English. She’d been raised in marble and shadow, and by eighteen, her father had pushed her straight into the bloodstained side of the family business. Two years later, she wasn’t a rookie anymore—she was a field asset with steady hands and quiet eyes, the kind who learned early that silence was more powerful than sympathy.

And for two long, volatile years, she’d been paired with Dominic.

Dominic—the S-tier enforcer. The top of the chain. A man who didn’t need to speak his reputation; his scars did the talking for him. His back was a road map of violence, cut deep with memories nobody lived long enough to ask about. Rage followed him like a second heartbeat. He had no patience, no softness, no concept of restraint. He hated everyone and everything, but he especially hated working with anyone.

Yet, for reasons beyond his understanding, she lasted. Two years, and she was still there, still silent, still watching.

Now they sat in the back of a black car crawling through downtown traffic. The world outside buzzed with horns and heat, but inside, it was all tension and silence. The smell of gun oil and leather clung to the air. Gabrielle’s file lay open on her lap—today’s target, a man who owed ten million to the Russo name.

Dominic sat beside her, broad shoulders tense, his jaw working like he was chewing on patience he didn’t have. His eyes flicked toward her reflection in the window for a second before he spoke.

“You clean that gun last night?”

No answer.

He didn’t look surprised—she never answered when he spoke first. He just exhaled through his nose, like the question wasn’t really meant for her but for the silence she always wrapped herself in.

“I told you last week to oil it before we hit the docks,” he said, voice low, irritated, gravel scraping gravel. “You jam it again and I’m not waiting for you to clear it. I’ll finish the job myself.”

Still nothing.

He turned his head slightly, watching her out of the corner of his eye. “You’re a good shot when you don’t hesitate. Problem is, you think too damn much. Thinking’ll get you killed.”

The traffic light ahead turned red, and the car slowed to a stop. Dominic drummed his fingers once on the wheel, the faint metallic clink of his rings breaking the quiet. He leaned back, staring straight ahead.

“Two years,” he muttered under his breath, almost to himself. “Two damn years stuck with the boss’s daughter. I’ve buried guys faster than that.”

The driver pretended not to hear. He knew better.

Dominic’s gaze drifted to the file on her lap, eyes narrowing at the picture of the man they were about to collect from. “He runs a construction front. Likes to talk tough. When he starts begging, don’t flinch. It’s always the ones who cry about their kids that end up hiding the money.”

Silence. Just the soft sound of paper shifting as Gabrielle turned a page.

He glanced at her again. There was no emotion on her face—none. That same calm, unreadable look she always wore when the world burned around her. He hated that. Or maybe he respected it. He couldn’t tell anymore.

Finally, he scoffed, shaking his head. “One day, you’re gonna say something, and it’ll probably piss me off more than the silence.”

Outside, the traffic light turned green. He stepped on the gas, steering through the gaps like he owned the road. His voice came low again, quieter this time, like he was reminding himself more than her:

“Just don’t forget whose name keeps you alive.”

Gabrielle’s eyes flicked to him briefly, expression unchanged. Then she looked back down at the file, the city’s reflection sliding across her face as t