They moved my seat at a luxury charity gala so I would sit beside the scarred mafia boss everyone was afraid to look at

The Vitali estate did not look like a mob boss's fortress.

Located on the rugged, wooded bluffs overlooking the St. Croix River, it was a sprawling masterpiece of black timber, glass, and stone. But as the iron security gates swung open, the hidden defenses became obvious. Security cameras swiveled from the stone pillars. Spotlights cut through the mist. And men in dark tactical gear stood watch along the winding driveway, their assault rifles held low and ready.

We arrived just before midnight.

Inside, the house was warm, expansive, and surprisingly welcoming. High timber ceilings, massive stone fireplaces, and walls lined with classical art and full bookshelves gave it the feel of an old-world lodge rather than a criminal stronghold.

"Signor Vitali," Dante greeted us in the grand foyer, holding an encrypted tablet. "Mrs. Donnelly is safely settled in the guest cottage at the east wing of the property. Our private physician checked her vitals; her blood pressure is normal, and she believes she is staying at a corporate retreat provided by Clare's new employer."

I let out a ragged breath of relief, clutching Leandro’s arm. "Thank you, Dante. Thank you."

"Of course, Miss Donnelly," Dante said respectfully. He then turned to Leandro, his jaw tightening. "The two men we apprehended on her mother's street are in the lower holding area. They carry tattoos from Viktor Morozov’s northern crew."

A terrifying chill settled over Leandro’s face. "Has Viktor claimed responsibility?"

"Not publicly," Dante replied. "But Harkort senior was seen entering Morozov’s club in Northeast Minneapolis two hours ago. They are pooling their resources. They know that without your development projects, Harkort is bankrupt, and Morozov loses his laundering channels."

"Take Clare to the master guest suite on the second floor," Leandro instructed softly. "Ensure she has everything she needs."

"Leandro," I grabbed his sleeve as he turned to leave. "Where are you going?"

He stopped, looking down at my hand on his arm. His expression was a storm of dark fury and protective tenderness.

"I have business in the basement, Clare," he said quietly. "It is not something you need to witness."

"You're going to hurt them."

"I am going to ensure they never think of threatening you or your mother again," he countered without flinching. "In this city, peace is not negotiated with words. It is purchased with consequences."

I looked into his eyes—the scarred man who had held me so gently on the dance floor, who had bought out a restaurant just so we could eat in peace, and who was now preparing to become the monster everyone whispered about.

"Don't lose yourself," I whispered.

Leandro paused, his hazel eye softening for a fraction of a second. He lifted his hand, cupping the side of my face with warm fingers. "I found myself again last night, Clare. I have no intention of losing what I just found."

He turned and disappeared down the stone corridor leading to the lower levels.

Dante escorted me up the grand staircase to a massive suite featuring a king-sized bed, a roaring fireplace, and private French doors leading out to a balcony overlooking the river. A change of comfortable silk loungewear had already been laid out for me, along with my favorite brand of tea.

I couldn't sleep.

For two hours, I sat by the fireplace, wrapped in a plush robe, listening to the crackle of the birch logs. My life had completely unraveled in less than forty-eight hours. Two days ago, I was worried about paying off my mother's credit cards and avoiding Blair Kensington’s sneers. Now, I was sheltered inside a fortified compound while men fought a shadow war over my safety.

Around three in the morning, the heavy wooden door of the suite clicked open.

Leandro stepped inside. He had removed his tie and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. He looked exhausted, the lines around his eyes deeply etched, but his posture was calm.

"Your mother is asleep," he said softly, closing the door behind him. "I checked on her myself."

I stood up, walking toward him. "And the men in the basement?"

"They will survive," Leandro said, though his tone was icy. "And they have provided me with the location of Harkort and Morozov's meeting tomorrow night."

"What happens tomorrow night?"

"The Annual Minneapolis Heritage Gala," Leandro said, a grim smirk touching his lips. "The city's biggest charity auction. Blair Kensington and her family are hosting it. Wesley will be there. His father will be there. And Viktor Morozov will be sitting in the VIP box, pretending to be a philanthropist."

"They're going to try to act like nothing happened," I realized.

"They believe they have put me on the defensive," Leandro said, stepping closer to me. The firelight flickered across his face, casting long shadows. "They believe that by threatening you, they have forced me into hiding. They don't know that my men intercepted their hit squad before they even crossed the city limits."

He reached out, his fingers gently brushing a stray curl behind my ear.

"Tomorrow night, Clare, I am going to finish what was started four years ago," Leandro whispered. "I am going to strip the Harkorts of every dollar they own, and I am going to run Morozov out of this state forever."

"Leandro..."

"I need you with me," he said suddenly, his voice thick with raw vulnerability. "I need the city to see that you are untouchable. I need them to see that anyone who dares look at you with malice will answer to me."

He looked down at me, his gaze searching my face. "Will you walk into the lion’s den with me, Clare?"

Looking at this fierce, broken, magnificent man who had put his entire empire between me and danger, I didn't hesitate.

"Only if you promise to dance with me again," I said.

A genuine, radiant smile broke across Leandro’s scarred face. He leaned down, his lips brushing mine in a kiss that was slow, reverent, and ignited a fire deep within my chest.