**The most powerful Mafia boss in New York was about to be blown apart by the woman he planned to marry—but my six-year-old daughter exposed her secret. Minutes later, he claimed us in front of five Mafia dons and declared a war that would change everything.**

The force of the blast slammed our armored vehicle sideways. The driver fought the wheel, screeching to a halt against a rocky embankment as burning debris rained down on the dark highway.

“Ambush!” the driver roared, drawing his sidearm.

Multiple automatic weapons opened fire from the tree line, bullets rattling against our bulletproof glass like heavy hail.

Damiano’s tender expression vanished instantly. He grabbed a tactical submachine gun from beneath his seat, his hand operating the action with terrifying speed despite his injured shoulder.

“Stay low on the floor!” he commanded, pushing me down over Emma. “Cover her!”

Damiano threw his door open, using the heavy armored door as a shield as he returned fire into the black woods. The thunderous roar of his weapon filled the night air. Outside, Moretti enforcers poured out of the trailing vehicles, returning fire in disciplined tactical wedges.

“Vance!” Damiano shouted into his radio comms. “He tracked our GPS from the estate!”

Within three minutes of ferocious, deadly firefight, the woods went silent. The ambush team had been wiped out.

Damiano leaned back inside the SUV, his face covered in soot and sweat, his weapon smoking. He looked down at us. “Is everyone okay?”

“We’re fine,” I gasped, clutching Emma, who was crying softly into my neck.

Damiano leaned down, kissing Emma’s forehead, then pressing his lips hard against mine. “We can’t stay on the highway. The safehouse is compromised. We go to the neutral grounds.”

An hour later, we arrived at the Plaza Hotel in Manhattan—the historical neutral territory governed by the Commission. No blood could be shed within its walls without invoking the death sentence of all Five Families.

Damiano had summoned an emergency night summit of the Commission.

We were escorted up to the grand ballroom on the top floor. The remaining four Dons sat at a massive mahogany round table, surrounded by their elite consiglieri and bodyguards.

When Damiano walked into the room, holding my hand firmly in his, with Emma sitting securely on his uninjured arm, the room fell into stunned silence.

I wore a floor-length emerald silk dress that Damiano’s team had retrieved from the car—it clung to my curves, elegant and regal. My hair was styled up, revealing the sparkling diamond necklace Damiano had personally fastened around my neck before we walked in.

Don Rossini stood up, his white eyebrows drawn tight. “Moretti... what is the meaning of bringing a woman and a child into the Commission chamber? This is sacred ground.”

Damiano walked straight to the head of the table. He set Emma gently down on a plush velvet chair beside his own, then pulled out the chair next to it for me.

“This woman and her daughter saved every man sitting at this table from being blown to pieces by Arthur Vance,” Damiano said, his voice echoing with absolute authority. “And tonight, I am making my stance clear.”

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a heavy velvet box. He opened it, revealing a breathtaking ten-carat emerald-cut diamond ring that caught the crystal light of the chandeliers.

He turned to me, dropping to one knee right in front of the four most feared mob bosses on the East Coast.

The room gasped.

“Sophia,” Damiano said, looking up at me with eyes filled with fierce, unyielding devotion. “You brought truth into my house when I was surrounded by snakes. You brought warmth into a life that was cold and empty. I don't offer you a cage. I offer you my empire, my name, and my heart.”

He extended the ring. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife and the Queen of the Moretti family?”

My heart hammered so hard against my ribs I thought it would burst. Tears filled my eyes. I looked down at this lethal man—the Don who commanded armies, yet knelt before me with utter reverence.

I looked at Emma, who was smiling softly, nodding her head enthusiastically.

“Yes,” I whispered, my voice trembling with profound emotion. “Yes, Damiano. I will.”

Damiano slid the heavy diamond onto my finger, stood up, and pulled me into his arms, kissing me deeply in front of the entire Commission.