She Spoke Italian To Calm A Lost Child—Mafia Boss Freezes, Orders "Find Her Now"

For three days, the penthouse was a luxurious prison.

Paige was provided with clothes—expensive, impeccably tailored cashmere sweaters, silk blouses, and dark trousers that fit her perfectly, clearly sourced by someone who understood her exact measurements. Landon’s guards, led by the stoic Dominic, treated her with polite, deferential caution. She was not a prisoner locked in a cellar, but she was forbidden from approaching the elevators without an armed escort.

Yet, despite the gilded bars, she found an unexpected peace in the presence of Leo.

The little boy followed her everywhere. While Landon held marathon meetings in the secure lower floors with his capos, Paige sat in the penthouse library, reading Italian fairy tales to Leo. He still didn't speak, but his nightmares vanished. When he slept, he insisted on holding her hand until his breathing leveled into deep, restful slumber.

One evening, as rain lashed the floor-to-ceiling windows, Landon returned late. The scent of ozone, damp wool, and faint traces of gun oil clung to him.

Paige was in the kitchen, brewing an espresso on the commercial machine. She wore an oversized black sweater that fell off one shoulder, her dark hair pinned loosely on top of her head.

Landon walked in quietly, leaning against the marble kitchen island, watching her. His tie was undone, his collar open, the exhaustion of running a criminal empire etched deep into the lines of his face.

“The Council is demanding an audience,” Landon said, breaking the silence.

Paige didn't turn around. “The other families?”

“Yes. Word leaked that I’m harboring Salvatore Falcone’s daughter. They think you have the ledger. They want you handed over to a neutral tribunal to be interrogated.”

Paige turned, setting the small porcelain cup on the counter with a sharp click. “And what did you tell them?”

Landon took two slow, measured steps toward her. The air between them instantly grew thick, charged with the simmering tension that had been building since the night at the diner.

“I told them that anyone who sets foot on my property seeking to claim what is mine will leave in a body bag,” he said, his voice dropping an octave.

Paige swallowed, feeling the heat rising to her cheeks. “I’m not yours, Landon. I am not a piece of territory to be defended against rivals.”

“Aren't you?” Landon asked.

He was too close now. She could smell the crisp, masculine scent of his skin, could see the slight shadow of stubble along his sharp jawline. He reached out, his knuckles brushing lightly against the exposed skin of her shoulder, right where the sweater fell loose.

A violent shiver ran through Paige’s body. She wanted to pull away, to maintain the icy barrier that had kept her alive for three years, but her feet felt rooted to the floor.

“You’ve spent three years running from shadows,” Landon whispered, his dark eyes searching hers with breathtaking intensity. “Hiding in roach-infested apartments, serving drinks to scum who aren't worthy to breathe the air you exhale. Aren't you tired, Paige?”

“Of course I’m tired,” she whispered back, her voice catching. “I’m terrified. Every time a car slows down outside, every time someone looks at me twice, I wait for the bullet. That isn't living.”

“Then stop running,” Landon commanded gently. His hand slid from her shoulder to the nape of her neck, his long fingers tangling into her dark hair. His thumb stroked the curve of her jaw, his touch surprisingly tender for a man whose hands dealt in violence. “Stay here. Let me fight the war for you.”

Paige stared up into his eyes, torn between self-preservation and an intoxicating desire to surrender to the overwhelming strength before her.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, her voice barely a breath. “Is it just for the ledger? Just for revenge against Rossi?”

Landon’s gaze darkened. His thumb brushed across her lower lip, parting it slightly.

“I wanted revenge long before I saw you again,” Landon confessed, his eyes dropping to her mouth before rising back to meet hers. “The ledger gives me the ammunition. But you, Paige... you are the only piece of light Marco left behind. And I have never wanted anything in my life the way I want you right now.”

Before Paige could answer, before the tension could break into a kiss, the red emergency beacon above the kitchen archway began to pulse silently.

Dominic’s voice crackled through the intercom system with frantic urgency: