Every Woman Fled the Mafia Boss Before Dawn, but the Poor Maid Fell Asleep in His Arms and Woke the Secret That Could Destroy Him

The spring thaw came late to Brooklyn, bringing with it the smell of wet asphalt, blooming lilacs, and the salt-heavy breeze of the harbor.

Inside the grand dining room of the Marchetti mansion, the heavy mahogany table was no longer used just for reviewing shipping manifests and legal briefs. On a sunny Tuesday morning in April, it was covered with fresh pastries, a pot of steaming Italian roast coffee, and two airline tickets to Geneva.

Ellis Draper sat at the end of the table, his color vastly improved, wearing a brand-new grey hoodie and tapping excitedly on a high-end laptop that had been delivered by courier three days earlier.

"The physical therapy clinic in Switzerland accepted my enrollment," Ellis said, looking up with a wide, incredulous grin. "Noel, they have a specialized neurology program. The tuition is... it’s fully covered by some anonymous foundation grant."

Noel stood by the window, watching the tugboats move down the river. She wore a tailored dark blue silk dress that hugged her frame, her dark hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders.

Behind her, standing in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, was Cassian. He looked healthy, the gray threads at his temples offset by the deep, restful sleep he had finally learned how to claim every single night.

"An anonymous foundation grant," Noel said, turning around with a dry, knowing smile as she looked at Cassian. "Imagine that."

"Philanthropy is a vital part of our corporate responsibility, Miss Draper," Cassian said smoothly, walking over to join them at the table. He rested a heavy, possessive hand on the small of her back. "Especially when the beneficiary has such promising software development skills."

Ellis looked between his sister and the most feared man in New York City with a mixture of awe and teenage skepticism. "You know, Mr. Marchetti, for a guy who controls the docks, you're surprisingly decent about education funding."

"Don't let it get out, Ellis," Cassian said, a rare, genuine smile touching his lips. "It would ruin my reputation."

Later that afternoon, after Ellis had been driven to JFK airport by Arthur in the armored Lincoln, the mansion grew quiet again.

Noel stood on the rear stone terrace, looking out over the iron gate and the river beyond. The city of Manhattan glittered across the water, its glass towers catching the afternoon sun like diamonds scattered on velvet.

Cassian stepped out onto the terrace behind her, wrapping a thick cashmere shawl around her shoulders against the spring breeze. He pulled her back against his chest, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"You're quiet today," he murmured.

"I was just thinking about the Ashcroft Hotel," Noel said, leaning back into his warmth. "About Raymond Pike. About how terrified I was the night they fired me."

Cassian’s arms tightened around her waist. "If you ever want to buy the Ashcroft, just say the word. We can turn it into a parking lot by Friday."

Noel laughed—a light, musical sound that had been entirely absent from her life before she crossed his threshold. "No, Cassian. Let them keep their hotel. I think I prefer this real estate much better."

She turned in his arms, wrapping her hands around his neck, looking up into his river-gray eyes which were now entirely clear of shadows.

"Besides," she whispered against his lips, "every great empire needs a good housekeeper to keep things running."