Behind a locked mahogany door, the most feared man in the city woke with a gun in his hand and found me asleep on his chest. Men had disappeared for speaking to Victor Hayes the wrong way, yet somehow I had spent the night using him as a pillow—and when he realized who I was, everything changed.

Two years later.

The winter storm raged outside the Park Avenue estate, rain and snow hammering against the leaded glass windows of the private study forty-eight floors above the city lights.

Inside, the room was warm, filled with the cozy amber light of a roaring fire in the stone hearth.

The heavy mahogany desk where Victor used to count his illegal ledgers was now covered in my nursing school textbooks, medical research papers, and plans for the new free clinic we were opening downtown next month.

I sat in the middle of the plush leather sofa, wearing a warm cream-colored cashmere sweater, watching the firelight dance across the dark wood paneling.

The heavy double doors opened, and Victor stepped into the room.

He had removed his jacket, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing his broad, tattooed forearms. He carried a silver tray holding two mugs of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream.

He walked over, set the tray on the side table, and sat down beside me on the sofa.

He didn't sit at the other end. He pulled me directly into his lap, his strong arms wrapping around my waist, pulling my back flush against his broad chest.

"How are the exam studies going?" Victor murmured, resting his chin on my shoulder, his warm breath fanning across my cheek.

"I aced the pharmacology test," I smiled, leaning my head back against his shoulder. "The Dean said I'm on track to graduate top of the class in May."

"Of course you are," Victor said softly, kissing my jawline. "My wife doesn't do anything half-heartedly."

I reached up, my hand resting over his broad hand where it clasped securely around my waist. I brought his knuckles to my lips, pressing a gentle kiss to his skin.

"Do you know what time it is?" I asked softly, looking at the grandfather clock ticking quietly in the corner of the room.

Victor glanced at the clock. "It's 3:14 in the morning."

A quiet, meaningful silence settled between us.

Three years ago, at exactly 3:14 in the morning, I was a terrified, exhausted girl scrubbing floor wax off a rug in this very room, praying that my family would survive the week.

Now, I was wrapped in the arms of the man who had transformed my darkness into an endless, beautiful dawn.

Victor turned my face gently with his fingers, looking deep into my eyes with a love that had grown stronger, deeper, and more unshakeable with every passing day.

"Best night of my life," Victor whispered softly.

"Which one?" I smiled.

"The night you fell asleep on my chest," Victor murmured, leaning down until his lips brushed against mine. "The night you saved my life."

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him down into a soft, deep, loving kiss as the storm raged outside our windows.