"BECAUSE OF HIS SIZE, THE MAFIA BOSS WAS REJECTED BY EVERY WOMAN — UNTIL A CLUMSY BAKER AGREED TO BECOME HIS BRIDE

Morning brought a sharp, bright sunlight that turned the waters of Lake Como into a blinding sheet of silver.

I woke up in the high-canopied bed of the east wing suite, the white linen sheets soft against my skin. For a second, I forgot where I was—until I heard the distant, muffled sound of gunshots echoing through the trees behind the estate.

I sat up instantly, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I threw on a heavy knit sweater, pulled my boots on without tying the laces, and ran down the grand staircase into the foyer. Nonnie was there, wiping down a marble console table with a damp cloth, looking entirely unbothered.

"Nonnie!" I panted, holding my chest. "Is someone attacking the house?"

The old woman looked up, her expression as calm as a frozen pond. "It is seven in the morning, Sophia. Luca is at the range. He shoots every morning before breakfast."

I blinked, my adrenaline fading into a strange, confused sense of relief. "The range?"

"Behind the old stables," Nonnie said, pointing her cloth toward the rear glass doors. "Take him his coffee. He takes it black. No sugar. Don't drop the tray."

Five minutes later, I was walking along a gravel path lined with tall, slender cypress trees. The air was crisp, smelling of pine, morning dew, and the faint, sharp bite of cordite.

The firing range was cut into the limestone cliffside behind the estate. Luca stood in the center of a concrete booth, wearing black noise-canceling headphones and a dark gray henley that stretched tight across his massive shoulders. He held a heavy black handgun in both hands, his body locked in a stance that looked as solid as the stone wall behind him.

CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.

Three shots fired in rapid succession, the spent brass casings flying through the air and hitting the concrete floor with a metallic clatter.

I stopped ten feet away, holding the small silver tray with both hands to keep the china cup from rattling.

Luca didn't turn around, but he lowered the weapon, flicking the safety on with a swift movement of his thumb. He pulled the headphones down around his neck, his dark hair damp with sweat at the temples.

"You walk loud, Sophia," he said, turning his head slightly.

"I’m wearing unlaced boots and carrying china," I replied, stepping into the shade of the booth. "You walk too quiet for a man your size."

Luca looked down at the silver tray, then at my face. A faint, almost invisible soften touched the hard lines around his mouth.

"Nonnie sent you?"

"I came because I thought someone was trying to kill you," I admitted, setting the tray on a wooden bench nearby. "I was prepared to hit them with a frying pan."

Luca let out a low, deep chuckle—a sound that seemed to vibrate straight through the concrete beneath my feet. "A frying pan?"

"It’s copper," I said, leaning against the wooden frame of the booth. "It’s very heavy."

Luca set the pistol on the counter, picking up the small espresso cup between his thumb and forefinger. He looked absurd holding something so small—like a giant trying to drink out of a doll’s teacup—but he moved with a fluid, terrifying grace that made it impossible to laugh.

"Silvano’s men will be at the docks this afternoon," Luca said, taking a sip of the dark coffee. "They want to inspect the shipment coming from Marseilles."

"Are you going to let them?"

"I don't have a choice," Luca said softly. "Not until the syndicate council confirms my position next Tuesday. If I refuse them entry, they will claim I am hiding illegal cargo."

"Are you?"

Luca looked me straight in the eye, his gaze unwavering, clear, and intensely dark. "I run logistics, Sophia. I move olive oil, wine, and marble. I do not move human beings, and I do not move poison. That was my father’s business. It is not mine."

I looked at him—really looked at him—and I knew he was telling the truth. The scars on his arms weren't from ambition; they were from fighting the very legacy his family had left behind.

"Then let’s go to the docks," I said.