THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME STRUGGLE TO CARRYs HIS ENGAGEMENT DINNER WITH ONE ARM PRESSED AGAINST MY RIBS—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE FELL IN THE SERVICE COURTYARD,” BEFORE HE HAD EVEN ASKED WHY I COULDN’T STAND STRAIGHT.

The sterile, fluorescent lights of the precinct holding cell buzzed overhead, a monotonous hum that matched the throbbing ache behind Luca’s eyes.

It had been four hours since the raid at the railyard.

His lawyers, a team of ruthlessly efficient men in expensive suits, had descended on the precinct like a swarm of locusts. Within hours, they had secured his release, citing a lack of physical evidence tying him to the shootout and pointing out that he had surrendered his weapon peacefully. The police knew who he was, but without a confession or a cooperative witness, they couldn't hold him. Marco, sobbing hysterically in an interrogation room, was currently being charged with everything from illegal weapons possession to conspiracy to commit murder, thanks to the burner phone Daniel had anonymously slipped to the detectives.

The heavy steel door of the holding cell clattered open.

"You're free to go, Mr. Moretti," a tired, annoyed desk sergeant announced, holding a clipboard.

Luca didn't say a word. He stood up, adjusted his ruined, blood-stained suit jacket, and walked out of the cell.

Daniel was waiting for him in the lobby, looking exhausted but relieved.

"The car is outside, Boss," Daniel said quietly, handing Luca his confiscated belongings—his watch, his wallet, and his primary cell phone.

"Take me to the safe house," Luca ordered, his voice gravelly from exhaustion.

The drive across the waking city was silent. The first pale streaks of dawn were breaking over the Chicago skyline, painting the clouds in bruised shades of purple and gold.

When they arrived at the crumbling industrial warehouse on the South Side, the perimeter was heavily secured by Luca's most trusted men.

Luca walked into the building, his heavy footsteps echoing in the cavernous space.

He pushed open the heavy steel door to his private office.

Teresa was asleep on the plush leather sofa, a thick wool blanket pulled up to her chin. She looked small and frail in the morning light, the reality of her age finally catching up with her after the trauma of the night.

But I wasn't on the sofa.

I was sitting in Luca's heavy desk chair, my knees pulled up to my chest, wrapped in a large, oversized tactical jacket someone had given me to keep warm. I was staring blankly at the wall, the heavy painkillers Dr. Harris had given me wearing off, leaving a sharp, fiery throbbing in my ribs.

When the door clicked, my head snapped up.

I saw Luca.

He looked terrible. His face was smudged with dirt and soot, his suit was torn, and there was a dark bruise forming along his jawline.

But he was alive.

"Luca," I breathed, the word slipping out before I could stop myself, forgetting all formalities in the overwhelming relief of the moment.

I tried to stand up, but a sharp spike of pain radiated through my chest, forcing me to gasp and sit back down heavily.

Luca moved instantly, crossing the room in two massive strides.

"Don't move, Emily," Luca commanded softly, his voice thick with a profound, aching tenderness. "Stay seated."

He knelt on the floor beside the desk chair, completely ignoring the grime on his suit. He reached out, his large, warm hands gently resting on my knees over the thick tactical jacket.

He looked up at me, his dark eyes searching my pale face.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly—a vulnerability I had never heard from the terrifying mafia boss.

"I'm fine," I lied, my voice shaking. Tears pricked the back of my eyes, the adrenaline of the long night finally crashing down on me. "I was just... I was so worried about you."

Luca’s expression softened, a profound, overwhelming gratitude washing over his hardened features.

"My mother told me what you did," Luca whispered, his thumb gently stroking the fabric over my knee. "She told me you figured out Marco's plan. She told me you told her to call Yuri."

I looked down, feeling a sudden rush of heat to my cheeks, embarrassed by the praise. "I just wanted to help. I knew he was walking into a trap."

"You didn't just help, Emily," Luca corrected firmly, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that stole the breath from my lungs. "You saved my life. And you saved my mother's life in that cellar. You risked everything for a family that isn't even yours."

He reached up, his fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His touch sent a jolt of electricity straight to my core, momentarily overriding the pain in my ribs.

"Why did you do it?" Luca asked softly.

I looked into his eyes, seeing the exhaustion, the pain, and the incredible, crushing weight of the empire he carried on his shoulders. I thought about Vanessa, who had treated him like an ATM. I thought about Marco, who had treated him like a stepping stone.

"Because nobody else was going to protect you," I whispered honestly.

Luca’s breath hitched. He stared at me, completely undone by the simple, fierce loyalty in my words. For a man who spent his entire life protecting everyone else, having someone protect him was a profoundly shattering experience.

He leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against my knee, his eyes closing as a long, shuddering breath escaped his lips.

For a few minutes, we just stayed like that. The silence in the office was no longer suffocating; it was safe. It was peaceful.

Eventually, Teresa stirred on the sofa. She opened her eyes, groaning softly as she sat up, adjusting the blanket around her shoulders.

She looked across the room, seeing her powerful son kneeling on the floor beside the housemaid.

A small, knowing, genuinely warm smile spread across Teresa's wrinkled face.

"I see you survived, Luca," Teresa said, her voice raspy with sleep.

Luca slowly lifted his head, turning to look at his mother. He stood up, walking over to the sofa, and leaned down to kiss her forehead.

"I survived," Luca confirmed softly. "Thanks to you."

Teresa chuckled, waving a dismissive hand. "Don't thank me. Thank the girl. She's the one who realized Marco was the leak. I just dialed the phone."

Teresa looked at me, her sharp eyes twinkling with a newfound, profound respect.

"You are going to need a new job, Emily," Teresa announced briskly, throwing off the blanket and standing up, her formidable matriarchal energy returning in full force.

My heart sank. A new job? Was she firing me? After everything?

"Ma'am?" I asked, my voice trembling, suddenly terrified about my rent and my empty bank account again.

"You can't be a housemaid anymore," Teresa stated matter-of-factly, smoothing the wrinkles in her ruined dress.

"Mom," Luca warned, his voice instantly dropping into a protective, dangerous rumble, stepping between his mother and me.

Teresa rolled her eyes at her son.

"Oh, relax, Luca. I'm not firing her," Teresa huffed, walking past him toward the door. She stopped and looked back at me, a brilliant, genuine smile on her face.

"I'm promoting her," Teresa declared. "From now on, Emily, you are my personal executive assistant. Double the salary. Full benefits. And you don't carry a single silver platter ever again."

I stared at her in absolute shock, my mouth hanging open. "Mrs. Moretti... I... thank you. I don't know what to say."

"Just say yes, and let's go home," Teresa smiled. "I smell like river water and betrayal, and I desperately need a hot shower."

Teresa walked out of the office, calling for Daniel to prepare a car.

Luca turned back to me, a massive, genuine smile breaking across his handsome face. He walked over, leaning down so his face was inches from mine.

"Are you ready to go home, Emily?" Luca asked softly.

"I'm ready," I whispered.

He didn't ask if I could walk. He just reached down, carefully sliding one arm under my knees and the other around my back, lifting me effortlessly into his arms, mindful of my broken ribs.

I rested my head against his broad chest, listening to the steady, strong beat of his heart.