She Threw Flour at the Mafia Boss—Then He Returned Every Morning Just to See Her

Clara stared at the silver box, her heart beating wildly in her chest. "Roman..."

"Open it," he murmured softly.

Clara untied the red silk ribbon and lifted the heavy silver lid. Inside lay a black velvet ring box, and beneath it sat a signed legal document establishing a community trust fund designed to provide low-interest capital to small, family-owned businesses throughout the North End to protect them from aggressive corporate developers.

"You risked everything you had to keep this shop alive for your family," Roman said, stepping around the end of the wooden counter. This time, Clara didn't step back. He took her flour-dusted hands into his own, completely unbothered by the white powder rubbing off on his dark sleeve.

"I don't want to buy your bakery, Clara," he whispered, looking down into her eyes with undeniable devotion. "I want to protect it. I want to protect you, and Lily, and every bit of light you bring into my world."

The entire bakery went completely still. The old man in the corner held his espresso cup halfway to his mouth. Lily leaned forward from her coloring table, watching with wide, sparkling eyes.

Roman dropped down onto one knee on the clean hardwood floorboards, opening the velvet box to reveal a radiant-cut diamond ring that caught the morning sunlight streaming through the front window.

"Clara Evans," Roman said, his deep voice echoing clearly through the warm, flour-scented room. "Will you do me the honor of allowing me to spend the rest of my life coming back to you every single morning?"

Tears spilled over Clara's eyelashes, tracing soft lines through the faint dusting of flour on her cheeks. She looked down at the man who had entered her life as a dangerous legend and become her ultimate protector.

"On one condition," she whispered, a sob of pure joy catching in her throat.

Roman looked up at her, his silver eyes shining with happiness. "Name it."