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

They returned to the estate at midnight.

The rain had finally stopped, leaving a clear, star-lit sky over the quiet pine forest. The house was quiet, lit only by the warm amber lamps in the grand hallway.

Elena walked into the library, unbuttoning the heavy sapphire necklace and setting it carefully on Dante’s mahogany desk. She stood by the grand window, looking out over the gardens, her shoulders relaxed for the first time in years.

Footsteps sounded behind her. Dante walked into the room, having discarded his tuxedo jacket and tie, his white shirt unbuttoned at the throat, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms.

He stopped two feet behind her.

"Julian left the city twenty minutes ago," Dante said softly, his deep voice filling the quiet room. "Leo confirmed he boarded a private jet back to New York. By tomorrow morning, the federal indictment regarding his offshore accounts will hit the news. He’s finished, Elena. He will never touch you again. He will never even be able to look in your direction."

Elena turned around slowly to face him.

"It's over," she whispered, as if trying to convince herself the nightmare was truly gone.

"It's over," Dante confirmed.

He stood there, watching her with a burning, intense focus that made the air in the room feel thick and sweet.

"You don't have to stay here anymore," Dante said quietly, though every muscle in his broad frame was tight with tension. "You have your freedom now. I can set up an account for you, buy you a home anywhere in the world—London, Paris, Italy. You don't ever have to hide in a maid's quarter again."

Elena stared at him. "You're offering to let me go?"

Dante swallowed hard, his dark eyes flickering with an agonizing raw vulnerability that he had never shown to another human being.

"I promised you that I don't force women into my life," Dante said, his voice husky and strained. "I brought you upstairs to protect you. I destroyed Julian to free you. But I won't hold you captive here, Elena. You deserve a life without shadows. Without men like me."

Elena took a step toward him. Then another.

She stopped right in front of his chest. She reached up, her small hands resting flat against the warm, solid expanse of his shirt, feeling the fast, heavy thud of his heart against her palms.

"Do you know why I came down to the kitchen at three in the morning four weeks ago?" she asked softly, looking up into his dark eyes.

Dante held his breath. "Why?"

"Because even when I was scrubbing your floors, even when I thought I was invisible, I felt safer in your house than I had ever felt in my entire life," Elena confessed, tears shining in her blue eyes like stars. "I don't want Paris, Dante. I don't want London. I don't want a life without shadows if those shadows don't belong to you."

Dante’s breath hitched. "Elena..."

"I love you, Dante," she whispered, speaking the truth that had been blooming in her heart since the moment he locked that kitchen door and asked who had hurt her. "I don't want to run anymore. I want to stay here. With you."

Dante let out a ragged, choked sound. He didn't hesitate for another second.

His arms wrapped around her waist like bands of iron, pulling her flush against his body as his mouth came down on hers in a deep, desperate, possessive kiss.

Elena gasped against his lips, her arms wrapping around his neck, burying her fingers in his dark hair as she surrendered completely to the heat of his touch. The kiss was fire and storm—months of unspoken desire, buried pain, and fiercest protection exploding into a passion that swept them both off their feet.

Dante lifted her effortlessly, setting her onto the edge of his mahogany desk, pushing aside papers and books as he pulled her closer between his thighs. His hands trailed down her velvet dress, mapping every curve of her body with reverent intensity, his mouth moving from her lips to her jaw, down the long, sensitive line of her exposed throat.