SHE TOOK A BULLET FOR THE MAFIA BOSS’S TWINS — THEN HE REALIZED THE WOMAN HE HIRED WAS SENT TO SAVE HIS SOUL

Recovery was slow, painful, and tedious, but the environment in which Clara recovered was unrecognizable from the cold, sterile fortress she had entered two months prior.

Julian moved her from the basement medical suite up to his personal master suite in the west wing—the sunniest, most luxurious room in the mansion, featuring grand floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the autumn woods.

He personally oversaw her care.

The terrifying mob boss, whose name made politicians and rival cartel leaders tremble, spent his mornings carefully feeding Clara warm soup, helping her sit up in bed, and adjusting her pillows with a gentle, obsessive precision.

“You’re terrible at making tea,” Clara teased him one afternoon, two weeks after she had woken up. Her arm was supported in a sleek black sling, but the color had returned to her cheeks, and her brown eyes were bright again.

Julian sat on the edge of her oversized king bed, holding a porcelain cup. He glared at the tea bag floating in the hot water.

“I am a Don,” he said dryly, though a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I do not make tea. I order people to make tea.”

“Well, the Don needs to learn how to steep Earl Grey for more than ten seconds,” Clara laughed, then winced slightly as the motion pulled at her healing shoulder stitches.

Julian set the cup down instantly, his hand moving to support her back. “Don't move so fast,” he chided softly, his gray eyes filled with instant concern. “Vance said your shoulder needs another three weeks of complete rest.”

“Julian, I’m fine,” Clara said, looking into his eyes. “You’ve been hovering over me like a mother hen for fourteen days. Don't you have an empire to run?”

Julian’s face softened. He reached out, his long fingers gently tucking a lock of dark hair behind her ear.

“I resigned,” he said quietly.

Clara blinked in utter shock. “What?”

“I stepped down,” Julian explained, his voice calm and steady. “I transferred the operational control of the Calveti syndicate to my cousin Marco. I liquidated my shares in the dark markets and converted everything into legal real estate and legitimate global investment funds. The blood money is gone, Clara.”

Clara stared at him, her mouth slightly open. “You gave up your empire?”

“It wasn't an empire,” Julian said, taking her hand and holding it against his chest, right over his beating heart. “It was a cage. I built it to protect myself after my wife was killed, but all it did was turn me into a monster and endanger my children. The night you took that bullet... the night I thought I had lost you... I realized that an empire means nothing if the throne is empty.”

Tears welled in Clara’s eyes. “Julian...”

“You told me I was dying inside this house,” he whispered, leaning down until his lips were a hair’s breadth away from hers. “You were right. But you brought me back to life, Clara. You saved my children, you saved my home, and you saved me.”

He didn't wait for her to answer.

Julian leaned in and kissed her.

It was not a cold, aggressive kiss. It was deep, tender, and filled with a desperate, reverence-filled devotion that made Clara’s head spin. She lifted her good arm, wrapping her hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, kissing him back with all the love she had buried in her heart since the storm on the garden lawn.

When he finally pulled back, both of them were breathing heavily, their foreheads resting together in the quiet room.

“I love you, Clara Mitchell,” Julian rasped, his gray eyes burning with an unshakeable truth. “Not as my children's nanny. As my equal. As my heart. As the woman I want to spend the rest of my life protecting.”

Clara smiled, tears of pure joy spilling down her cheeks.

“It’s about time you admitted it, Mr. Calveti,” she whispered.

The door to the bedroom creaked open.

Toby and Bella peeked in, carrying a large tray covered in messy, homemade drawing papers.

“Can we come in?” Toby asked loudly. “Mommy—I mean, Clara—is it time for afternoon stories?”

Clara froze, her eyes widening as she looked at Toby.

The little boy had called her Mommy.

Bella walked over to the side of the bed, climbing up carefully so as not to touch Clara’s sling, and rested her small head on Clara’s lap.

“We made a new rule,” Bella said, looking up at Clara with dark, happy eyes. “You’re not allowed to leave. Ever.”

Julian looked at Clara, a broad, handsome smile breaking across his sharp face—a real, radiant smile that completely erased the cold tiger he had once been.