The Mafia Boss Found Her Crying In The Kitchen At 3 A.M.—Then Locked The Door And Asked, ""Who Hurt You?

Elena’s heart stopped. The kitchen, the rain outside, the throbbing pain in her face—everything faded into a high-pitched ring.

"You... you knew?" she whispered, staring at him in disbelief.

"Julian Vance is a thorn in my side," Dante said smoothly, sliding his arm around her waist. Before she could process the movement, he lifted her effortlessly off the cold tile and placed her gently on the edge of the kitchen island. "He controls the docks in Brooklyn. He’s been trying to push his distribution lines into my city for three years. When his golden-haired runaway bride-to-be showed up on my door with a forged driver's license and terror in her eyes, I made a few phone calls."

"You knew who I was this whole time," Elena said, her voice rising in a mix of panic and betrayal. "And you let me scrub your floors? You let me live in a basement room?"

"I gave you what you wanted," Dante replied calmly. He walked over to a high cabinet, pulled down a glass, and filled it with water from the dispenser before walking back and handing it to her. "You wanted to be invisible. You wanted safety without debt. If I had brought you upstairs, if I had placed guards at your door seven months ago, Vance’s informants would have spotted you in a week. The safest place for a woman running from a monster is in plain sight, doing work no one pays attention to."

Elena gripped the glass of water with both hands. Her knuckles were white. "And now?"

"Now," Dante said, his gaze dropping to her mouth before returning to her eyes, "the monster’s dog crossed my property line. The rules have changed."

He reached out and tapped the lock on the kitchen door. It clicked open. Standing on the other side of the heavy oak frame was Leo, Dante’s second-in-command and head of tactical security. Leo was forty-five, built like an iron vault, and wore a full suit even at three in the morning. He didn't look surprised to see Elena sitting on the island with a ruined face. He looked furious.

"Boss," Leo said, his voice a low rumble. "We found the breach at the south perimeter fence. Sensor four was looped. It was an inside job—one of the night-shift guards on the outer gate took a payout from Vance's men."

Dante didn't turn around. His focus remained entirely on Elena. "Where is the guard?"

"In the basement structure under the garage," Leo replied coldly. "Awaiting your pleasure."

"Handle him," Dante said. "And the man named Cassian who laid hands on Elena? Is he still in Chicago?"

"Our street contacts say he’s staying at the Drake Hotel under an alias. Waiting for Vance's green light to pull her out of the city."

"Bring him to me," Dante ordered. "Alive. I want to look into his eyes before I break every bone in the hand he used to hit her."

Elena gasped, the glass shaking in her hands. "Dante—no. Julian has half the New York police department in his pocket. If you touch Cassian, Vance will bring a war to Chicago!"

Dante turned his head slowly to look at Leo. "Did you hear that, Leo? She thinks Vance can bring a war to my city."

A faint, lethal smirk touched the corner of Leo’s mouth. "The young lady hasn't seen you work yet, Boss."

"Go," Dante told Leo.

Leo nodded once and disappeared down the dark hallway, his footsteps silent despite his massive size. The heavy kitchen door clicked shut behind him, leaving Dante and Elena alone once more.

Dante stepped between her knees as she sat on the island. He took the glass of water from her shaking hands, set it aside, and gently unbuttoned the cuffs of his dark shirt, rolling them higher up his forearms.

"Your things in the basement are being moved right now," Dante informed her, his hands coming up to rest on the marble surface on either side of her hips, trapping her in a circle of heat and dark intent.

"Moved where?"

"To the master wing. Second floor."

Elena’s breath hitched. "The master wing is your private quarters. The staff isn't even allowed to clean up there while you're in the house."

"You aren't staff anymore, Elena," Dante said softly, leaning down until his forehead almost touched hers. "You’re the woman Julian Vance sent a hitman to steal from my house. Which means as of three-fifteen this morning, you are under my personal protection. You eat where I eat. You sleep where I sleep."

"In your bed?" she whispered, her pulse hammering wildly against her ribs.

Dante’s gaze darkened, a slow, dangerous embers stirring in the depths of his eyes. "I am a patient man, Elena. I don't take broken things, and I don't force women into my bed. You will have your own room connected to mine through the library. But you will be behind my doors, behind my locks, where no one can touch you without going through me first."

He reached out, his thumb catching a stray tear on her cheek.

"Do you understand me?" he asked softly.

Elena looked at his high cheekbones, the harsh blade of his nose, the unyielding strength in a man who could destroy an empire with a phone call, yet was holding her as if she were made of spun glass. For seven months she had lived in terror, waiting for the floor to drop out from under her. For the first time since she was a little girl, she felt a strange, terrifying sensation settling in her chest.

Safety.