"THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME SERVE HIS ENGAGEMENT DINNER WITH MY HAIR COVERING ONE EYE—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE HIT HER FACE ON THE PANTRY DOOR,” BEFORE HE HAD EVEN ASKED WHAT HAPPENED.

The next morning, the mansion was completely transformed.

The snowstorm had passed, leaving the estate grounds covered in a pristine, blinding blanket of white under a bright winter sun.

I woke up in the grand third-floor guest suite. The bed was softer than anything I had ever slept on, wrapped in heavy Egyptian cotton sheets. For the first time in nine months, I didn't wake up to an alarm at 5:00 A.M. I didn't have to put on a stained apron. I didn't have to count the change in my pocket to see if I could afford bus fare.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

"Come in," I called out, sitting up and pulling the velvet robe around my shoulders.

Mrs. Carter entered, carrying a silver breakfast tray piled high with fresh berries, warm croissants, smoked salmon, and a pot of steaming coffee.

"Good morning, Miss Olivia," Mrs. Carter smiled warmly, setting the tray across my lap.

"Mrs. Carter, please," I stammered, blushing. "You don't have to call me 'Miss.' I'm still Olivia."

"Not anymore, child," Mrs. Carter chuckled gently, arranging the linen napkins. "Mr. Moretti spent the morning restructuring the entire household staff operations. He assigned two new head maids for the guest rooms. And your personal belongings from your apartment in Lincoln Park are currently being moved into the master wing on the second floor."

My cup of coffee stopped halfway to my mouth. "The master wing?"

"Directly across from his private study," she confirmed, her eyes twinkling with affection. "He wants you close by."

After breakfast, I dressed in a soft cream-colored cashmere sweater and dark trousers that had been delivered to my wardrobe. I walked down the grand staircase, my feet silent on the thick oriental rugs.

Luca was standing in his study, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the snow-covered gardens. He was wearing a dark charcoal suit, holding a silver pen in one hand and a thick sheaf of legal documents in the other.

When he heard my footsteps, he turned around. His gaze swept over me, a warm light kindling in his dark eyes.

"Good morning, Olivia," he said, his voice deep and smooth. "Did you sleep well?"

"Better than I have in years," I admitted, stepping into the room. "Luca... Mrs. Carter said you're moving my things to the master wing."

"I am," Luca said, stepping away from the window and walking toward his desk. "Your apartment in Lincoln Park was unsafe. After what happened last night, the Bellini family knows who you are. Out there, you would be a target for anyone trying to gain leverage against me. Here, you are protected by thirty armed guards and four feet of reinforced concrete."

He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a sleek black leather binder, sliding it across the mahogany surface toward me.

"What's this?" I asked, opening it.

Inside were legal deeds, employment contracts, and a stock transfer certificate bearing my name.

"That is your new contract," Luca explained smoothly. "You are officially appointed as Chief Operating Officer of Moretti Real Estate Holdings. You will draw a salary of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year, plus five percent equity in our downtown commercial developments."

I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth. "Luca... no. That's... that's too much! I don't know how to run a real estate corporation!"

"You listened through a door, recognized corporate espionage, secured stolen evidence, and stood toe-to-toe with the Bellini family without flinching," Luca said, walking around the desk until he stood directly in front of me. "I have executives with MBAs from Stanford who would have fainted if Don Vito slammed his fist on the table. You didn't even drop your fork."

He reached out, his hand gently lifting my chin so I had to look into his eyes. His touch was warm, solid, and filled with an undeniable, intoxicating gravity.

"I don't pay for degrees, Olivia. I pay for character," he whispered. "And your character saved my life."

My heart pounded violently against my ribs. "Luca..."

"There is one more thing," he murmured, his thumb softly tracing the edge of my cheekbone, where the purple bruise had already begun to fade into a light amber yellow.

"What?" I breathed.

"The engagement is over," Luca said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming impossibly intimate. "Which means I am a free man. And for the first time in four years, I find myself wanting something purely for myself."

He leaned in closer. I could feel the warm heat of his breath against my lips, smell the rich scent of cedar and espresso that clung to his skin.

"May I kiss you, Olivia?" he asked softly. "Not as your boss. Not as Don Moretti. Just as Luca."