Part 2: THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE ORDERED ME TO THROW HIS DEAD MOTHER’S WEDDING DRESS IN THE TRASH—BUT WHEN I CARRIED IT INTO THEIR ENGAGEMENT PHOTOGRAPHS, HE DROPPED TO HIS KNEES AND BEGGED ME NOT TO PUT IT DOWN.

Two days had passed since the bloody siege of Moretti Manor.

The blood had been scrubbed from the Italian marble, the shattered mahogany doors replaced with reinforced steel-core timber, and the bodies had vanished into the shadows of the underworld as if they had never existed. The Syndicate council had ruled unanimously in Luca’s favor after hearing Donna Isabella’s dying testimony. The Bellini empire was dissolved, its assets absorbed into the Moretti syndicate without a single bullet fired in protest.

Yet, despite the peace that had settled over the estate, the atmosphere inside remained charged with an electric tension.

I stood in Luca’s expansive, book-lined study, carefully arranging the restored antique items from the cedar chest. The wedding dress was now safely enclosed in a museum-grade glass display case in the corner of the room, preserved under soft, golden light.

The door opened with a quiet click.

I turned around to see Luca walking in. He had discarded his usual three-piece suit for a simple black silk shirt, the top buttons undone, revealing the edge of the white bandages wrapped around his shoulder. He looked rested, his color restored, but there was an unusual hesitation in his step.

“Mr. Moretti,” I said, instinctively smoothing down my uniform. “I was just finishing cataloging the letters. If you want privacy, I can—”

“Emma,” he interrupted softly, closing the heavy door behind him. “Stop.”

I froze. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Yes,” he said, stepping toward me with deliberate, unhurried strides. “You’re still wearing that uniform. And you’re still calling me Mr. Moretti.”

My pulse quickened as he closed the distance between us. “It’s my job, sir. I’m your maid.”

“Not anymore,” Luca said, stopping inches away from me. He reached out, his warm fingers lightly tracing the stiff white collar of my uniform. “You resigned the moment you dropped a thirty-pound bust onto an assassin's head to protect my mother’s name.”

I swallowed hard, looking up into his dark, mesmerizing eyes. “Then what am I doing here?”

Luca reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet jeweler’s box. My breath hitched in my chest.

“When my mother made that dress,” Luca said, his voice dropping into a low, intimate baritone, “she wrote in her journal that she prayed for the day a woman would enter this house who loved honor more than power. A woman who would protect what is sacred, even when the world told her to throw it away.”

He opened the velvet box. Inside lay a breathtaking ring—not an ostentatious, flashy diamond like the one he had given Vanessa, but a delicate, antique sapphire surrounded by a halo of tiny, brilliant pearls.

“This was my mother’s true engagement ring,” Luca said softly. “She took it off before she died and hid it inside the lining of the box. She told me to give it only to the woman who would stand by my side in the fire, not the one who waited outside for the ashes.”

Tears welled in my eyes. “Luca... I’m just an ordinary girl. I don't belong in your world. Your men, the council... they won't accept a maid as your Donna.”

Luca stepped closer, his hand cupping my cheek, his thumb catching a runaway tear.

“Let them try to dispute it,” Luca murmured, his voice fiercely protective. “In my world, loyalty is royalty. Courage is nobility. And you, Emma, have more nobility in your little finger than all the mafia princesses in this city combined.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing against mine in a tender, agonizingly sweet question. When I didn't pull away, his arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against his chest, and his kiss deepened—possessive, passionate, and filled with a raw, undeniable hunger that sent fire coursing through my veins.