“Touch Him Again,” His Jealous Fiancée Snapped—But the Mafia King Refused to Let the Curvy Maid Leave His Side

Lena stared at the billionaire mafia king, her mouth slightly open.

"I... I work for the hotel management, Mr. Vale," she said, shaking her head. "I'm a third-shift housekeeper."

"Not anymore," Dante said. He reached into the small side drawer attached to his wheelchair, pulled out a black leather checkbook, and a heavy gold pen. He wrote quickly, the tip scratching against the paper with firm, precise strokes.

He tore the white slip from the book and extended it toward her.

Lena didn't reach for it. "What is that?"

"Ten thousand dollars," Dante said. "An advance on your first month's salary as my personal physical attendant."

Lena stepped back, pressing her hands against her apron. "I'm not a nurse, Mr. Vale. I don't have a medical license. I clean rooms."

"I don't need a nurse," Dante said, his voice turning dark and rough. "I have six board-certified neurologists who have spent seven years taking two hundred thousand dollars a year from me while telling me my legs are as dead as marble pillars."

He pointed down at the floor near his feet, where the damp towel still lay, cooling against the dark carpet.

"You dropped a hot towel on my leg, and for the first time in eighty-four months, my nervous system fired a signal," Dante continued, his eyes burning into hers. "I don't know if it was the temperature, the weight, the angle, or the shock. But I know that I am not letting you out of my sight until I figure out what happened in this room tonight."

Lena looked at the check sitting between his long fingers. Ten thousand dollars.

That was ten months of her father’s dialysis payments. That was a new heating unit for their tiny apartment. That was freedom from the crushing debt that kept her awake every night until her eyes burned.

"What... what would I have to do?" she asked softly.

"You move into the staff room connected to this suite," Dante instructed, his voice crisp and professional. "You prepare my heat therapy treatments three times a day. You stay present during my private medical evaluations. And whenever Julianna Vance or anyone else tries to corner you, you answer only to me."

"Miss Vance will hate me," Lena whispered. "She'll try to destroy my family."

"Julianna Vance is an inconvenience I am about to eliminate from my life," Dante said coldly. "She thinks she’s marrying an empire. She doesn't realize that an empire without a head is just target practice for my rivals. If I can walk again... if I can stand on my own two feet... the Vance family becomes entirely irrelevant to me."

He thrust the check closer to her.

"Take the money, Lena. Save your father. Help me take back my life."

Lena looked at the check. She looked at Dante’s pale face—a face carved from grief, power, and an incredible, terrifying hope that he was trying so hard to suppress.

Slowly, her hand reached out. Her fingers brushed against his as she took the slip of paper.

A tiny, static-like spark seemed to pass between their skin where they touched—a quick, electric pulse that made both of them draw a sharp, sudden breath.

Dante pulled his hand back, his slate-gray eyes widening slightly as he stared at her fingers.

"What is your full name?" he asked quietly.

"Lena," she said, her voice steadying. "Lena Maro."

"Well, Lena Maro," Dante said, leaning back into his headrest, a slow, dark smile creeping onto his lips for the first time since she had met him. "Welcome to the inner circle."

The suite door buzzed again.

Two heavy, broad-shouldered men in tailored charcoal suits stepped into the room, their hands resting naturally near the unbuttoned left sides of their jackets.

The lead guard, a tall man with a scarred jaw named Marcus, bowed his head slightly to Dante.

"Boss," Marcus said, his voice deep as a foghorn. "Miss Vance is downstairs in the VIP office. She’s demanding the general manager fire the maid from floor nine."

Dante didn't even look toward the door.

"Tell the general manager that Lena Maro has been transferred to my personal security detail," Dante said smoothly. "And Marcus?"