Fifty thousand dollars for three months of work sounded like salvation until I learned the job involved bathing, dressing, and rehabilitating a wheelchair-bound mob boss whose last three nurses had quit. I took it because losing my doctoral program terrified me more than any criminal ever could—but the first time I met Massimo Pascale, I realized the money was probably the least dangerous part of the arrangement.

The fallout was swift and absolute.

With Rossi dead and Dante arrested by loyal Pascale enforcers—permanently exiled to an overseas prison cell—Massimo spent the next month systematically cleaning his organization.

He stripped the syndicate of its illegal narcotics and weapons trades, pivoting the entire multi-billion-dollar enterprise into commercial real estate, international shipping, and green energy technology. The criminal underworld of Boston was quietly, permanently dismantled, transformed into a legitimate corporate empire.

And through it all, our rehabilitation work continued.

Two months after the harbor ambush, the three-month service contract officially expired.

I sat on the edge of the examination table in the estate's medical wing, wearing my regular civilian clothes—a simple sweater and jeans. My bags were packed by the front door.

The heavy oak door opened, and Massimo walked into the room.

He didn't use a wheelchair. He didn't use a cane.

He walked smoothly, with a slight, almost imperceptible hitch in his stride, wearing a sharp grey suit.

In his hand, he carried a thick white envelope.

"Your contract ends today, Dr. Fitzgerald," Massimo said softly, stopping a few feet in front of me.

My heart felt heavy, a cold ache spreading through my chest. "Yes. Three months."

He handed me the envelope. I opened it. Inside was a cashier's check for fifty thousand dollars, along with an official letter of recommendation signed by the chief of neurology at Massachusetts General Hospital, guaranteeing me a head research position upon completing my doctorate.

"Your tuition is settled," Massimo said, his voice strangely devoid of emotion. "Your career is secured. You are free to go back to your life in Boston."

I stared at the check, then looked up into his dark, enigmatic eyes. "Is this what you want, Massimo? You're giving me my check and sending me away?"

Massimo took a step closer, his hands resting on his hips.

"I swore to myself that when I could stand on my own two feet again, I would give you a choice," he said softly, his voice trembling slightly. "You came here because you were desperate for money. You stayed because you were good at your job. But I won't keep you hostage in my world, Tessa. You deserve a normal, peaceful life."

I stood up from the exam table, walked over to him, and tore the fifty-thousand-dollar check directly down the middle.

I tore it again, throwing the white scraps of paper onto the floor between us.

Massimo stared at the falling paper, his jaw dropping. "Tessa... what are you doing?"

"I don't care about the check, Massimo," I said, tears shining in my eyes as I reached up and grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him down to my level. "I don't want a normal, peaceful life without you. I love you, you stubborn, arrogant idiot."

Massimo let out a ragged, choked breath. He wrapped his arms around my waist, lifting me off my feet, pressing his forehead against mine.