She Confronted Him in Bunny Slippers... Now The Mafia Boss Is Obsessed

Three weeks later.

The autumn air had turned sharp and crisp, coating the city in brilliant hues of amber and gold.

The penthouse had been fully restored. The bullet holes in the walls were gone, replaced by smooth plaster and elegant dark molding. The floor-to-ceiling windows were clean, offering a brilliant view of the sun setting over the river.

In the center of the living room, mounted on a custom museum-grade display stand, sat Jacopo Bassano’s The Lamentation of Christ.

The restoration was complete.

The muddy yellow varnish was gone, revealing the breathtaking, luminous blues and deep crimson glazes the master had painted four centuries ago. The Virgin Mary’s face glowed under the soft spotlight, vibrant, emotional, and immortal.

I stood before the canvas in a simple dark green dress, holding a glass of red wine, admiring our work.

Behind me, soft footsteps sounded on the Persian rug.

Gabriel walked up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling my back against his broad chest. He was fully healed, wearing a crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, smelling of cold autumn air and dark cedarwood.

"It looks like a miracle," Gabriel whispered into my hair, resting his chin on my shoulder.

"It's not a miracle," I smiled, leaning back into his embrace. "It's just patience, proper chemistry, and a refusal to give up on something damaged."

Gabriel smiled against my neck, his hands resting warm against my stomach. "Sounds like a description of us."

Before I could answer, Gabriel's phone buzzed on the coffee table.

A single, encrypted text message flickered on the screen.

Gabriel didn't move to pick it up, but I could feel the subtle shift in his muscles—the quiet tension of the tiger returning to his posture.

"Who is it?" I asked gently.

"Lev," Gabriel answered calmly. "They found your father."

My breath caught in my throat. I turned in his arms, looking up into his face. "Where?"

"A small harbor town near Marseille," Gabriel said, his voice flat and unreadable. "He was trying to sell another forged manuscript to a French syndicate under a fake passport. Lev has him in a safehouse."

I looked down at my hands, feeling a strange, hollow sensation in my chest. For years, Julian Vance had been the ghost haunting my life—the architect of my fear, the man whose reckless greed had nearly gotten me killed.

"What are you going to do to him?" I asked softly, searching Gabriel's eyes. "He owes you three hundred thousand dollars, Gabriel. For your brother."

Gabriel looked at me for a long moment. He reached out, his long fingers gently playing with a lock of my dark hair.

"Three weeks ago, I would have had my men throw him into the Mediterranean," Gabriel admitted honestly, his dark eyes filled with absolute sincerity. "I spent three years nursing that hatred, Elena. I made it the foundation of my life."

He pulled me closer, resting his hand over my heart.

"But then a brave, furious woman marched into my foyer in pink slippers and threw my own money at my feet," Gabriel murmured, a soft, beautiful smile touching his lips. "She showed me that some things are worth saving. And that vengeance is a cold, useless meal compared to what we can build right here."

My eyes welled with warm tears. "Gabriel..."

"I had Lev buy him a one-way ticket to a secluded farm in South America," Gabriel revealed smoothly. "He has been given a comfortable house, a small stipend, and an absolute prohibition from ever returning to Europe or North America. His access to the art world is permanently revoked. He will live out his days in quiet obscurity, unable to hurt anyone ever again."

I wrapped my arms around Gabriel's neck, standing on my tiptoes to press my lips firmly against his.

"Thank you," I whispered against his mouth.

Gabriel kissed me back—a slow, deep, possessive kiss that made my knees go weak and my heart soar into the clouds.

"Don't thank me, Elena," he murmured, his dark eyes burning with fierce, eternal devotion. "I didn't do it for him. I did it for my wife."

I pulled back slightly, blinking in surprise. "Your wife?"

Gabriel reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. He opened it, revealing a stunning, three-carat oval-cut dark sapphire ring surrounded by microscopic diamonds, glowing like a piece of midnight sky set in platinum.

"You restored my home, Elena," Gabriel whispered, taking my left hand in his. "You saved my life. And you turned a monster into a man. Marry me. Rule this empire with me."

I looked from the glowing sapphire to the man holding my hand—the giant, the mob boss, my protector, my love.

"On one condition," I said, a mischievous spark lighting up my eyes.

Gabriel laughed, a rich, deep sound that filled the entire room. "Name it, my queen."

"You stop stomping around at three in the morning," I smiled, letting him slide the heavy ring onto my finger.