TAKE THAT LITTLE GIRL'S MICROPHONE AWAY, YOU IGNORANT LITTLE MAID! SHE HAS NOTHING IMPORTANT TO SAY!”

The assault on the Moretti estate was crushed by dawn. Falcone’s mercenaries had underestimated Luca’s personal guard and the brutal loyalty of the Chicago underbosses who had rallied to their Don’s defense.

The bodies were cleared. The estate grounds were secured.

In Luca’s private master bathroom on the third floor, the steam from hot water filled the air with eucalyptus and lavender.

I sat on the edge of the marble bathtub, wincing slightly as a private syndicate doctor finished applying butterfly stitches to the cut on my cheek. Isabella was already sound asleep in the adjoining room, completely exhausted after the ordeal, clutching the silver key under her pillow like an amulet.

“You have a mild concussion, Miss Carter,” the doctor said quietly, packing his medical kit. “Take these painkillers and rest for forty-eight hours.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” I whispered.

The door opened, and Luca stepped inside. The doctor instantly stood, bowed his head respectfully to his boss, and exited without a word, pulling the heavy door shut behind him.

Luca had showered. He wore simple black sweatpants and a dark t-shirt. The sight of him in casual clothes made him seem less like an untouchable mob monarch and more like a mortal man carrying the scars of war.

He walked over to the bathtub, pulled a wooden stool from the vanity, and sat directly in front of me.

For a long time, he just looked at me. His gaze traced the purple bruise blooming along my jawline, the cut on my cheek, and the raw red marks Vanessa’s fingers had left on my throat.

When he reached out, his hand was astonishingly gentle. His fingertips barely skimmed the skin of my bruised neck. He flinched, as if the injury were his own.

“I failed to protect you,” he murmured, his deep voice thick with self-reproach.

“You killed her before she could hurt Isabella, Luca,” I said softly, leaning into the warmth of his palm before I could stop myself. “You didn't fail anyone.”

“Vanessa had a key to the old service tunnels beneath the wine cellar,” Luca explained, his jaw tightening. “My father built them during Prohibition. Only the Bellinis had the blueprints from the 1970s. I should have collapsed the tunnels the moment Antonio rebelled.”

“It’s over, Luca. She can never hurt Bella again.”

Luca shook his head slowly. “It’s not over. Antonio is still alive. Dominic Falcone has mobilized his entire syndicate in Manhattan. A war is starting, Emily. A bloody, prolonged war. And you shouldn't be in the line of fire.”

My chest tightened with sudden panic. “Are you sending me away?”

Luca hesitated, his dark eyes searching mine with a profound, aching vulnerability. “I told myself that after Elena died, I would never bring another woman into this life. This world is poison, Emily. It consumes innocence. Look at what happened to you tonight. You almost died because of my sins.”

“I fought for Bella because I love her!” I said, my voice rising with emotion. “Not because you pay me! Not because I'm under your orders! I fought for her because she has become my family!”

Luca’s breath hitched. He leaned closer, until his face was inches from mine. “And what about me, Emily?”

The question hung in the warm, steamy air between us like a spark in a dry forest.

My heart thumped wildly against my ribs. “What about you, Luca?”

“Do you see me as a monster?” he whispered, his thumb lightly stroking my lower lip. “Like the rest of this city does?”

I looked deep into his dark, tormented eyes. I saw the ruthless Don who could execute his enemies without blinking. But beneath that iron veneer, I saw the grieving husband who had mourned in silence, the devoted father who knelt on the floor to listen to his daughter’s whispers, and the lonely man who had carried the burden of an empire on his shoulders with no one to hold him when he broke.

“I see a man who loves his daughter,” I whispered honestly. “I see a man who bled to keep us safe. I see Luca.”

A low groan rumbled in Luca’s chest. He couldn't resist any longer. His hand tangled into the hair at the nape of my neck, pulling me forward as his lips crashed onto mine.

The kiss was fierce, desperate, and intoxicating. It tasted of danger, relief, and undeniable passion. Every ounce of fear from the night’s violence melted away beneath the fire of his touch. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, letting out a soft sigh into his mouth as his large hands gripped my waist, lifting me effortlessly from the edge of the tub.

When he finally broke the kiss, both of us were breathing heavily. He pressed his forehead against mine, his chest heaving against my breasts.

“Emily,” he breathed against my lips. “If you stay with me... there is no turning back. You belong to me now. To this family. To this life.”