She Thought the Mafia Boss Was Using Her to Practice on Another Woman—Until Gunmen Stormed Her Dress Shop and He Called Her His Fiancée

The Symphony Hall was a dazzling display of wealth, power, and hidden danger. Crystal chandeliers shed golden light over hundreds of high-society guests, city officials, and discreetly armed syndicate leaders representing the various families of the East Coast.

When Lorenzo Moretti walked through the grand entrance with Meline Hayes on his arm, the room went dead silent.

Whispers erupted like wildfire. Eyes darted toward Meline—taking in her bold, stunning presence, her custom navy velvet gown, and the eye-watering sapphire necklace resting against her chest. She did not look like the quiet, unassuming dressmaker the rumors had described. She walked with her head high, her hand tucked securely into the crook of Lorenzo’s arm.

"Smile, cara," Lorenzo murmured, inclining his head toward a Boston city senator who bowed politely as they passed. "You are breaking their hearts."

"I am trying not to trip on my train," Meline muttered under her breath, maintaining a radiant smile. "And half these people look like they want to stab us."

"Only half?" Lorenzo teased softly. "I am doing better than usual."

Before Meline could reply, the crowd parted. A tall, silver-haired man in a immaculate tuxedo stepped into their path, accompanied by a young woman in a pale pink designer dress.

The woman was thin as a rail, with striking, cold blue eyes and a permanent pout. Isabella Lombardi. Beside her was her father, Don Hector Lombardi, the head of the New York syndicate.

"Lorenzo," Hector Lombardi said, his voice like grinding stones. "You honor us with your presence. I was beginning to think you were avoiding my daughter."

Lorenzo’s grip on Meline’s hand tightened subtly, though his face remained a mask of polite indifference. "Hector. Isabella. I trust your stay in Boston has been comfortable?"

Isabella ignored Lorenzo entirely, her cold eyes sweeping down Meline’s body with open disdain. "So the rumors are true," Isabella said smoothly, her voice dripping with venom. "You skipped our dinner reservations on Tuesday for... this? I thought you had standards, Lorenzo. She looks like she ate your actual date."

A quiet gasp rippled through the nearby guests. Meline felt a sharp sting of humiliation, but before she could shrink back, Lorenzo moved.

His frame stiffened, a dark, lethal aura radiating from him so suddenly that Hector Lombardi instinctively stepped back. Lorenzo turned his head slowly toward Isabella, his silver eyes flashing with murderous absolute coldness.

"Isabella," Lorenzo said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that carried across the quiet hall. "You are a guest in my city. But if you utter another insulting word to my fiancée, I will have your family banned from every port from Boston to Miami. And I will personally ensure your father’s business suffers the consequences."

Isabella turned pale, stepping behind her father.

Hector Lombardi’s face flushed red with anger. "You dare threaten my daughter over a dressmaker, Moretti?"

"I am not threatening," Lorenzo corrected calmly, reaching out to wrap his arm around Meline’s waist, pulling her flush against his side. "I am establishing facts. Meline Hayes is the future mistress of the Moretti estate. She holds my heart, my power, and my total protection. Show her respect, or leave Boston tonight."

Meline looked up at Lorenzo, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. The absolute conviction in his voice was overwhelming. He wasn't just lying to protect her; he was declaring her worth to the entire world.

Hector growled under his breath, grabbing his daughter’s arm. "This isn't over, Moretti. The Lombardi family does not forget insults."

As the Lombardis retreated into the crowd, Lorenzo turned to Meline, his eyes softening instantly. "Are you alright?"