Fifty thousand dollars for three months of work sounded like salvation until I learned the job involved bathing, dressing, and rehabilitating a wheelchair-bound mob boss whose last three nurses had quit. I took it because losing my doctoral program terrified me more than any criminal ever could—but the first time I met Massimo Pascale, I realized the money was probably the least dangerous part of the arrangement.

Three months later, the spring sun shone brightly over the grand courtyard of the University of Chicago Medical Campus.

Hundreds of graduate students in black academic gowns and velvet hoods milled about the green lawn, celebrating with their families, holding bouquets of flowers and leather-bound degree scrolls.

Margot Hale stood near the central fountain, wearing her doctoral hood, her gold tassel swaying gently in the spring breeze.

"Dr. Hale!" a voice called out.

Renata Cole—her old lab classmate—rushed over, pulling her into a tight, exuberant hug. "You did it! Highest honors on the defense! The committee was raving about your spinal cord regeneration model for an hour!"

"Thanks to a very dedicated test subject," Margot laughed, adjusting her cap.

"Speaking of which," Renata whispered, nudging her elbow with a sly grin, "who is that man standing by the oak tree in the three-piece suit looking like he's ready to buy the entire university just to keep people from talking to you?"

Margot turned her head.

Standing beneath the shade of a flowering magnolia tree was Massimo Pascale. He was wearing an impeccably tailored navy suit, polished leather shoes, and holding a massive bouquet of dark red roses. He was standing straight, tall, and completely unassisted, looking like the most handsome, dangerous man on the planet.

Beside him, Isabella was taking photos on her phone, while Marco stood discreetly near a black sedan parked along the curb, watching the crowd with an easy, satisfied smile.

"That," Margot said, her face lighting up with a radiant, joyful smile, "is my private patient."

"He looks extremely cured," Renata observed dryly.

"He's making progress," Margot teased.

She walked away from the fountain, her black robe fluttering around her ankles, and headed straight across the green lawn toward the man under the magnolia tree.

Massimo watched her approach, his dark eyes fixed entirely on her face. As she reached him, he stepped forward, handing her the massive bouquet of roses, his arm wrapping securely around her waist to pull her close against his chest.

"Congratulations, Dr. Hale," Massimo said, his deep voice rich with immense pride.

"Thank you, Mr. Pascale," she replied, leaning her head against his shoulder. "How are your hamstrings today?"

"Sore," he admitted, pressing a soft, warm kiss against her temple. "My therapist insists on walking three miles every morning through Lincoln Park."