**I KISSED THE MAFIA BOSS IN FRONT OF THIRTY DINNER GUESTS—BECAUSE MY HUSBAND WAS WALKING STRAIGHT TOWARD ME, AND I KNEW WHAT HE WOULD DO IF HE CAUGHT ME. BUT WHEN THE MAFIA BOSS HEARD WHY I WAS RUNNING, HE WOULDN'T LET ME GO.**

Lorenzo froze, his hands resting on my waist. The confident, relaxed demeanor he had carried into the kitchen instantly vanished, replaced by a sudden, sharp vulnerability.

“You don't want to go back?” Lorenzo repeated, his dark eyes searching my face for clarification. “Rebecca, this is your bakery. It’s your life’s work. You fought Eric tooth and nail for this.”

“I fought for it because it was all I had left of my father’s legacy,” I corrected gently, stepping closer to him. “And I am so incredibly grateful you got it back. We’ll hire a manager to run it. Dad can visit on weekends to check the cinnamon roll quality.”

I reached up and cupped his face, my thumbs tracing his strong jawline.

“But my life isn't there anymore, Lorenzo,” I said softly, looking deep into his eyes. “My life is here. With you.”

The breath caught in Lorenzo’s throat. A profound, overwhelming relief washed over his features, erasing the hard lines of the mafia boss and leaving only a man who was deeply, irreversibly in love.

He pulled me flush against his chest, kissing me with a fierce, desperate passion that left me breathless.

“I was terrified you were going to pack your bags and leave the moment you had the deed,” Lorenzo confessed against my lips, his voice slightly ragged.

“I’m never leaving,” I promised, resting my forehead against his.

The next few months were a whirlwind of transformation.

I officially moved into the master suite, no longer requiring the ballistic-glass guest room. Lorenzo and I began dismantling the toxic, violent aspects of the DeMarco syndicate. With Silas Romano dead and Don Falcone backing him, Lorenzo had the unprecedented power to legitimize his family’s massive wealth.

He sold off the illegal gambling rings and invested heavily in real estate and legitimate logistics companies. The transition was slow, difficult, and fraught with tension, but Lorenzo was unrelenting. He wanted a clean legacy.

For me. And for our future.

One crisp autumn afternoon, I was sitting in Lorenzo’s expansive study, reviewing architectural plans for a new commercial bakery location downtown. I was expanding the business, using Lorenzo’s legitimate real estate connections to build a massive storefront.

The heavy oak doors to the study pushed open.

My father walked in, leaning lightly on his cane, looking healthier and happier than he had in years.

“Busy, Becky?” Dad asked, smiling as he saw the blueprints spread across the desk.

“Just finalizing the kitchen layout for the new location,” I smiled, standing up to pull a chair out for him. “How was your physical therapy session?”

“Torture, as usual,” Dad chuckled, sitting down heavily. “But Matteo keeps threatening to carry me up the stairs if I don't do my exercises, so I push through.”

I laughed. Matteo had become fiercely protective of my father, treating him almost like a surrogate grandfather.

Dad looked around the luxurious study, his eyes lingering on a beautiful portrait of Lorenzo’s mother hanging above the fireplace.

“She would be proud of him,” Dad said quietly, his voice filled with nostalgia. “She ran to save him from this life, and now, he’s tearing it down himself to save you.”

I looked at the portrait. The woman who had left a fake ring to protect her son, sacrificing everything so he could survive.

“He’s a good man, Dad,” I said softly.

“I know he is, sweetheart,” Dad smiled. “Which is why I gave him my blessing this morning.”

I froze. My heart skipped a beat.

“Your blessing for what?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Dad simply smiled, a twinkle in his eye, and tapped his cane on the floor.

“You’ll have to ask him,” Dad winked, slowly standing back up. “I’m going to go harass the chef into making me a sandwich.”

He walked out of the study, leaving me entirely speechless.

I didn't have to wait long to find out.

That evening, Lorenzo told me to dress up. He was taking me out to dinner.

I wore a sleek, elegant black dress and curled my hair. When I walked down the grand staircase, Lorenzo was waiting in the foyer, wearing a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. He looked devastatingly handsome, but he also looked incredibly nervous.

The mafia boss who didn't flinch at gunfire was fidgeting with his cuffs.

“You look beautiful,” Lorenzo breathed, offering me his arm.

“Thank you,” I smiled, taking it. “Where are we going?”

“A special place,” he promised.

We didn't take the armored SUV. Lorenzo drove us himself in a classic, restored vintage convertible. The crisp autumn air felt amazing as we drove into the city.

He pulled up to a small, unassuming Italian restaurant tucked away on a quiet street.

I frowned, recognizing the building immediately.

It was the same restaurant where we had met exactly six months ago. The restaurant where I had kissed him to escape Eric.

Lorenzo had rented out the entire place. We were the only ones there.

He led me to the exact red leather booth where he had been sitting that night.

We ordered wine and ate a beautiful dinner, talking about the bakery expansion and my father’s recovery. But the tension in the air was palpable, thrumming with anticipation.

When the plates were cleared, Lorenzo reached across the table and gently took my hand.

“Six months ago, a terrified woman sat down in this booth, kissed my cheek, and asked me to pretend I knew her,” Lorenzo said, his voice low and incredibly tender.

I smiled, blushing slightly at the memory. “I’m still so sorry about that.”

“Don't be,” Lorenzo said, his dark eyes locking onto mine with absolute, unwavering certainty. “It was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

He stood up from the booth.

He didn't pull a gun. He didn't order a hit.

He dropped to one knee on the hardwood floor of the restaurant.

I gasped, my hands flying to cover my mouth as tears instantly flooded my eyes.

Lorenzo reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, vintage velvet box. He opened it.

Inside rested a stunning, classic diamond ring, flanked by two deep blue sapphires.

“I’ve spent my life building walls, Rebecca,” Lorenzo said, looking up at me, his voice thick with emotion. “I built an empire on fear because I thought it was the only way to survive. But you showed me that the only thing worth fighting for is love.”

He took a deep breath.

“I want to spend the rest of my life making sure you are safe, happy, and loved. Will you marry me, Rebecca Hayes?”

I didn't hesitate. I didn't think about the danger we had survived or the complexities of his past. I only thought about the man kneeling in front of me, offering me his heart.

“Yes,” I cried, sliding out of the booth and dropping to my knees right in front of him. “Yes, absolutely yes.”