The Mafia Boss Paid a Plus-Size Etiquette Coach to Fix His Wild Brother, but She Took One Look at Him and Said He’d Hired Her for the Wrong Man

The balcony outside the ballroom looked out over the dark, sprawling expanse of Lake Michigan. The winter air was cold enough to turn their breath into white plumes, but neither of them felt it.

Lucian had wrapped his heavy wool evening coat around Camille’s shoulders, leaving him in his tuxedo jacket, standing close beside her with his back to the icy wind, blocking the cold for her.

Below them, the sound of the party was a distant, muffled hum.

"Sal Valenti’s check cleared ten minutes ago," Lucian said, holding a small white slip of paper in his fingers before letting the wind carry it away into the night. "Five hundred thousand dollars. He called his lawyers from his car to execute the transfer before the press release went out."

Camille laughed softly, leaning her arms on the stone balustrade. "A very generous contribution to the community."

Lucian turned his back to the lake, leaning his hips against the railing, his gray eyes fixed entirely on her face.

"The gala raised six million dollars tonight," he said. "It is the largest single fundraising event in the history of the city."

"Congratulations, Mr. Moretti," she smiled. "Your foundation is secure."

"And your contract is finished," Lucian said quietly.

The smile on Camille’s lips faded slightly. The cold air suddenly seemed sharper, hitting her chest with a quiet, dull ache.

"Yes," she said softly. "My ten days are up."

Lucian reached into his inner pocket, pulled out a slender ivory envelope, and held it out to her. "Your fee. Plus the bonus Nico requested."

Camille looked at the envelope. She didn't take it.

"I don't want a bonus, Lucian," she said, her voice small against the vast expanse of the dark lake.

"Take it," Lucian murmured, taking her hand and closing her fingers around the paper. "You earned every cent. You changed my house. You saved my brother. You..." He broke off, his breath catching in his throat.

"I what?" she asked, stepping closer to him, her hazel eyes searching his face with intense, unyielding honesty.

Lucian reached out, his broad hands taking both sides of her face, his thumbs resting against her cheekbones. His touch was so light, so exquisitely gentle, that it made her heart tremble.

"You made me want to be a man worth knowing," Lucian whispered.

He leaned down.

This time, there was no falling vase. There was no brother interrupting. There was only the cold night air, the dark water of the lake, and the sudden, explosive heat of his mouth covering hers.

The kiss was not polite. It was not refined. It was the desperate, starving release of a man who had been locked in an iron cage for ten years and had finally found the key.

He pulled her against his chest, his hands sliding down her back to press her waist against his hips, taking her mouth with a deep, possessive demand that made Camille’s knees buckle.

She groaned into his mouth, her arms sliding around his neck, her fingers digging into the thick hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him down further until there was no space left between them.

When he finally pulled back, both of them were gasping for air, their foreheads resting together, their warm breath mingling in the cold dark.

"Don't go back to your apartment tonight," Lucian growled softly against her lips.

"Lucian..." she breathed.

"Come home with me," he whispered, his mouth trailing down her jaw to the sensitive spot beneath her ear. "Not as my coach. Not as an employee. As mine."

Camille closed her eyes, her body shivering with a pleasure so intense it felt like a fever. "Is that an order, Mr. Moretti?"