"The Maid Congr.atulated His Fianc.ée — The Mafia Boss Saw Her Tears

The heavy steel door of the panic room hissed open.

Dante stood in the threshold, his shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing scarred forearms and fresh gunpowder smudges across his collarbone.

He looked tired.

Deadly tired.

I rushed forward, throwing my arms around his neck before I could stop myself.

Dante froze for a fraction of a second before his strong arms wrapped tightly around my waist, pulling me flush against his chest.

“You’re bleeding,” I whispered, feeling the damp warmth on his shoulder.

“It’s not mine,” Dante murmured into my hair.

He pulled back just enough to look down at me, his dark eyes searching my face.

“Your uncle is in custody. So is Richard Bennett. The federal indictments will be filed before dawn.”

“Arthur,” I choked out, fresh tears spilling over my lashes. “He helped them. He helped kill my father.”

“I know,” Dante said, his voice dropping to a rough, protective growl. “And he will spend the rest of his natural life in a maximum-security black site where the sun doesn't shine.”

I gripped his lapels, my voice shaking.

“Why are you doing all of this, Dante? You’re a mafia boss. You don't rescue maids. You don't dismantle billion-dollar syndicates for strangers.”

Dante reached up, his large calloused hand cupping my cheek, wiping away my tears with his thumb.

“You were never a stranger, Elena.”

“What does that mean?”

He let out a slow, heavy breath.

“Six years ago, before I took over the Moretti syndicate, I was a foot soldier in the Chicago docks,” Dante said softly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Your father’s lab used to hire out warehouse space near my sector. One night, a group of corrupt enforcers tried to shake him down for protection money.”

My breath caught.

“You were there?”

“I watched him stand up to them,” Dante whispered. “He told them his research belonged to the future, not to criminals. They beat him badly that night. I pulled them off him in the alley.”

I stared up at him, my eyes wide.

“My father never told me.”

“He didn't know my name,” Dante said. “And a week later, his laboratory burned down. I spent six years tracking down the paper trail, looking for the cowards who ordered it. When you applied for a domestic position in my mansion three months ago under an assumed middle name... I recognized your eyes immediately.”

The room fell completely silent.

The distant wail of police sirens faded into a dull hum.

“You hired me on purpose,” I whispered.

“To keep you safe,” Dante corrected. “And to make sure the men who destroyed your family paid in full.”

He leaned in closer.

His breath brushed against my lips.

“I told you some doors are dangerous to open, Elena.”

“I’m not afraid,” I breathed.