Everyone at the Gala Thought the Mafia Boss’s Wife Was Too Soft for His World—Until His Trusted Lieutenant Betrayed Him, Armed Men Closed In, and Vanessa Crossed the Ballroom in One Heel to Show Them Exactly What Damien Moretti Had Never Thought to Ask

By six o'clock the following morning, the storm clouds over Lake Michigan had broken, giving way to a magnificent sunrise that painted the morning sky in brilliant shades of gold, rose, and amber.

The Moretti estate was quiet once more.

The tactical gear had been cleaned and stored in the armory. The captains had been dispatched across the city to enforce the new territorial boundaries handed over by the fleeing Valenti syndicate.

In the grand master bedroom on the second floor of the estate, the French doors leading out to the private balcony were wide open, letting in the cool, crisp morning breeze carrying the scent of rain-washed pine.

Vanessa stood by the balcony railing, wearing a soft ivory cashmere sweater and white silk trousers. She held a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea in her hands, watching the golden sunlight glitter off the surface of the lake below.

Behind her, the bedroom door opened softly.

Damien walked out onto the balcony.

He was wearing a dark grey linen shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, his left shoulder neatly bandaged beneath the fabric. He looked tired, but the heavy, suffocating tension that had carried him for years seemed to have evaporated from his broad shoulders.

He walked up behind her, wrapping his right arm gently around her waist, pulling her back against his chest.

Vanessa rested her head against his shoulder, letting out a long, peaceful sigh.

"Your shoulder?" she asked softly.

"Mercer says I'll make a full recovery in three weeks," Damien replied, pressing his lips gently against her hair. "Thanks to my personal doctor's field dressing."

Vanessa smiled, turning slightly in his embrace to look up into his dark, handsome face.

"So," Vanessa murmured softly, tracing the line of his collarbone with her finger. "What happens now, Don Moretti?"

Damien looked out over the sparkling lake, taking a deep breath of the fresh morning air.

"Now," Damien said gently, "the entire underworld knows that my wife is the most dangerous person in North America. The Valentis are gone. Senator Blake is in a federal holding cell. The city is quiet."

He looked back down into her dark, beautiful eyes, his expression softening into a deep, profound devotion.

"Three years ago, Vanessa," Damien whispered, "I brought you to this house because I wanted to build a sanctuary for you. I wanted to keep you away from the blood, the fear, and the darkness of my life. I thought I was giving you a gift."

Vanessa reached up, her soft hand gently caressing his jawline. "It was a gift, Damien. The best three years of my life."

"No," Damien corrected gently, shaking his head. "It was incomplete. Because I was loving a ghost, and you were hiding half your soul to make me happy."

He leaned down, resting his forehead against hers.

"I don't want a sweet, fragile trophy wife, Vanessa," Damien rasped softly. "I want you. All of you. The woman who drinks tea on the balcony... and the woman who breaks a lieutenant's wrist with her bare hands."

Vanessa felt a tear swell in her eye—a tear of pure, unfiltered relief. The heavy burden she had carried for three years, the constant fear that he would reject her or fear her if he ever discovered the truth, melted away into the warm morning light.

"You're not afraid of me, Damien?" she asked whispered softly.

Damien let out a low, rough laugh, his right hand sliding up to cup the back of her neck, pulling her close.