The Mafia Boss’s Fiancée Slapped the Plus-Size Waitress in Front of Everyone—But When Khloe Finally Fought Back, Dominic Stopped Four Armed Men From Touching Her, Then Discovered the Woman He’d Tried to Protect Was Far More Dangerous to His Enemies Than He Ever Understood

The car was a blacked-out, armored Lincoln Continental.

Dominic drove himself, navigating through the slick, rain-slicked streets of Boston with practiced ease. Khloe sat in the front passenger seat, her suitcase resting between her knees, watching the city lights blur through the rain-streaked window.

They pulled into the long, winding driveway of a secluded estate in Brookline, hidden behind high stone walls and wrought-iron gates.

"My personal residence," Dominic said, cutting the engine. "Only three people know this house exists. My underboss, my driver, and now you."

"Is Vivien’s father really that powerful?" Khloe asked, unbuckling her seatbelt.

"Senator Kensington controls the port authority oversight committee," Dominic said, stepping out into the rain and opening her door. "He uses his political office to shield shipping lanes for the Irish syndicate in South Boston. He wanted my family to merge with his enterprise through marriage. But he also wanted your father’s ledgers to take full control of the docks."

Khloe stepped out, her heavy shoes sinking slightly into the wet gravel.

They entered through a reinforced side entrance into a massive, warm kitchen featuring industrial steel appliances and exposed brick walls.

"Sit," Dominic commanded gently, pointing to a high leather stool beside the island.

He walked over to a cabinet, pulled out a medical kit, and retrieved a cold pack and an antiseptic wipe. He pulled up a stool beside her, opening the package with his teeth.

"I can do it myself," Khloe said, reaching for the wipe.

"I'm sure you can," Dominic replied smoothly, ignoring her outstretched hand as he gently touched the wipe to the bloody cut on her lip. "But I allowed a woman under my protection to get hit in my presence. Let me fix a fraction of my mistake."

Khloe stiffened at his touch, but his hands were surprisingly gentle. Up close, Dominic smelled of rain, dark coffee, and expensive sandalwood. His fingers were calloused, the knuckles bearing small, faint scars of an old life of violence.

"Why didn't you stop her at the table?" Khloe asked softly, looking directly into his dark eyes.

Dominic paused, his fingers resting near her jawline. "Because in my world, showing emotion makes you weak. Vivien was testing me. If I defended a waitress, she would have realized you meant something to the room. I was trying to keep you invisible."

"I don't like being invisible," Khloe murmured. "And I certainly don't like being hit."

"I noticed," Dominic said, a rare, genuine smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You threw her across a chair like a sack of flour. It was the most impressive thing I've seen in three years."

Khloe felt a faint flush of heat rise to her cheeks that had nothing to do with the bruise.

Dominic set the medical supplies down and leaned back, his expression turning serious once more. "Tomorrow, Senator Kensington is going to launch a full assault on my business territories. He’ll use the broken engagement as an excuse to declare war."

"And you need my father’s ledger to cut off his funding," Khloe concluded, her sharp mind putting the pieces together instantly.

"Yes," Dominic admitted freely. "Without the union funds, Kensington can't pay the Southie crews to fight for him. The war ends before it starts."

Khloe leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. "My father didn't leave me a book of numbers, Dominic. He left me a code based on old baker's recipes. Temperature settings, flour-to-water ratios, bake times. It’s all stored in my head."

Dominic stared at her, his eyes widening slightly in disbelief. "He memorized seventy million dollars worth of accounts in culinary notes?"

"My father was a genius," Khloe said proudly. "And if you want me to unlock those accounts for you, I have conditions."

Dominic folded his arms, amused. "A waitress negotiating with the head of the Costello family. Name them."

"One: Lorenzo gets his restaurant protected. He’s a coward, but he has a family."

"Done."

"Two: You give twenty percent of those recovered union funds back to the dockworkers' pension pool."

Dominic’s eyes softened slightly. "Done. What’s three?"

Khloe looked him square in the face. "When this is over, you buy me my own bakery. Clear title, no mob strings attached."

Dominic looked at her for a long, silent moment, taking in her bruised face, her wet clothes, and the fierce, unbreakable spirit beneath her soft exterior.