The Mafia Boss Found Her Unconscious in the Freezing Rain—And Carried Her Away Without a Word

The ride back to the estate was silent, but it was not an uncomfortable silence.

Faith sat in the leather back seat of the SUV, staring out the tinted window at the passing city skyline. The rain had begun to fall again, streaking down the glass in endless grey streams.

She looked down at her wrist. The faint red marks were fading, but the memory of Vincent’s aggression remained.

Francesco reached across the seat and gently placed his hand over hers. His palm was warm, strong, and reassuring.

“He will never bother you again,” Francesco said softly.

Faith turned her head to look at him. “Did you have me followed today?”

“I had Marco watch over you,” Francesco corrected gently. “There is a difference. In my position, I cannot afford to be careless with the people I care about.”

The phrase the people I care about hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken meaning.

“You didn't have to handle it like that,” Faith said quietly, though there was no anger in her voice.

“A man like that only understands force, Faith,” Francesco replied, his eyes dark and sincere. “If I had asked him politely, he would have continued to harass you. Now he knows that reaching out to you carries a cost he cannot afford to pay.”

Faith let out a long breath, relaxing against the plush leather seat. “Thank you, Francesco.”

When they arrived back at the mansion, Maria met them at the door with a tray of warm tea and fresh pastries. She took one look at Faith’s calm expression and Francesco’s resolute stance and nodded approvingly.

Faith spent the afternoon in the estate’s glass conservatory, sitting among lush tropical plants while the storm raged outside. She felt a profound sense of relief. For months, she had lived under the constant pressure of Vincent’s expectations, constantly feeling inadequate. Now, surrounded by peace and protected by a man who treated her with absolute respect, she felt herself breathing freely for the first time in years.

Later that evening, Francesco joined her in the conservatory. He had shed his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves, revealing muscular forearms and a faint, silver scar running from his wrist up toward his elbow—a relic of his dangerous past.

He carried two glasses of dark wine, handing one to her as he sat in the wicker chair opposite hers.

“You start at the hospital on Monday,” Francesco noted, sipping his wine.

“Yes,” Faith said softly. “Dr. Williams emailed me the updated onboarding schedule. I’m assigned to the night shift on the cardiac unit.”

“It will be demanding work,” Francesco said. “Are you prepared?”

“I’ve worked my entire life for this, Francesco,” she said, looking directly into his eyes. “Nursing isn't just a job for me. It’s who I am. I want to help people who have no one else to fight for them.”

Francesco stared at her for a long moment, a look of profound admiration in his eyes.

“You have a rare heart, Faith Buchanan,” he said softly. “This city is full of people who take. You are one of the few who give.”

He set his glass down on the small table and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I want you to stay here,” he said, his voice low and intense. “At the estate. For as long as you wish. You will have your own space, your privacy, and complete freedom. But I want to know that you are safe when you return from your shifts.”