Waitress Shielded a Little Girl From Gunfire — Then Woke Up Married to a Mafia Boss

Three weeks passed in a blur of recovery, intense lessons, and high-tension domestic life.

Emma’s wounds healed under the care of top-tier private doctors, leaving pale, silver scars across her shoulder and side—constant reminders of the night her old life died.

She quickly realized that living in the Volkov estate was like walking through a minefield lined with velvet. Dominic was the absolute monarch of the empire, handling shipping lines, real estate, and underground territories that stretched across three states. His family respected his power, but hated his decisions—especially his marriage to an unknown waitress.

Yet, despite her initial anger, Emma found herself drawn to Dominic.

He was a monster to his enemies, ruthless and unforgiving, but with her and Sophia, he was entirely different. He personally ensured her bandages were changed, sat with her during late-night nightmares, and listened to her speak about her late parents without ever interrupting.

One evening, after Sophia was put to bed, Emma walked down the grand mahogany staircase toward Dominic’s private study. The door was slightly ajar, warm light spilling across the polished floor.

She reached out to knock, but stopped when she heard voices inside.

"...the Castiglione patriarch is demanding a sit-down, Boss," Victor, Dominic’s loyal second-in-command, was saying. "They know you married the girl. They think she's your weak spot."

"She is not a weak spot," Dominic’s voice boomed softly. "She is under my protection."

"They're planning to test her," Victor insisted. "The annual Winter Gala is in three days. Every syndicate head will be there. If she stumbles, if she looks weak or terrified, the council will challenge your leadership."

Emma stepped back, her chest tightening. She looked down at her hands—hands that used to carry heavy trays and scrub tables. Now, the fate of an empire seemed to hinge on whether she could pretend to be a mob queen.

She pushed the door open completely.

Dominic and Victor both turned instantly, Victor’s hand moving reflexively toward his belt before he recognized her and bowed his head respectfully. "Mrs. Volkov."

Dominic stood up from his heavy mahogany desk, his dark eyes searching her face. "Emma. You should be resting."

"I heard," Emma said quietly, walking into the room. She stood straight, lifting her chin. "You need me to go to this Gala."

Dominic walked around his desk, stopping inches away from her. "You don't have to go. I can handle the council."

"No," Emma said firmly, her dark eyes locking onto his. "If I stay hidden in this house, they'll always see me as your vulnerability. They'll think I'm a victim you're keeping in a cage."

Dominic looked at her for a long moment, a slow, breathtaking smile spreading across his sharp features—a genuine smile that reached his dark eyes.

"You really are something else, little bird," he murmured. "Fine. But if we go, we go together. And you will wear the Volkov crest."

He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a velvet box, opening it to reveal a magnificent necklace made of blood-red rubies set in blackened gold—the ancestral jewelry of the Volkov matriarch.

Dominic stepped behind her, pushing her soft hair aside. His warm fingers brushed against her neck as he fastened the heavy necklace around her collarbone. A shiver ran down Emma’s spine at his proximity.

He leaned down, his lips hovering inches from her ear.

"Let them look at you," Dominic whispered, his breath warm against her skin. "Let them see the woman who survived three bullets and didn't even flinch. Show them who rules this city."

Emma turned in his arms, her breath catching as she found herself pressed against his hard chest. His dark eyes burned with an intensity that made her heart race—not out of fear, but out of something far more dangerous.