My Ex Mocked My Missing Engagement Ring—Then the Mafia Boss Slipped One on My Finger

Life at the estate had fallen into a strange, peaceful rhythm. For two weeks, I lived in a bubble of absolute security. Dante was often busy during the day, managing his empire from a secured office downtown, but he always returned by dinner.

Our evenings were spent together in the library or walking through the massive, snow-covered gardens. The tension between us was a living, breathing thing. Every brush of our shoulders, every lingering look across the dining table, felt incredibly charged.

One evening, I was standing in the kitchen, trying to make a pot of tea. The estate chef had gone home, and the house was quiet.

I reached for a mug on the top shelf, my fingers just barely grazing the ceramic handle.

Suddenly, a warm chest pressed against my back. Dante reached over my shoulder, effortlessly grabbing the mug and setting it on the counter. His proximity sent a shockwave of heat straight down to my toes.

“You could have asked for help,” Dante murmured, his voice low, his breath brushing against my ear.

“I’m used to doing things myself,” I whispered, turning around. I was trapped between the marble counter and his towering frame.

Dante didn't step back. He looked down at me, his eyes dark and hungry. He reached out, his thumb gently tracing the line of my jaw before resting against my lower lip.

“You don't have to do everything yourself anymore, Emma,” he said softly. “You just have to let me take care of you.”

I leaned into his touch, my eyes fluttering shut. I wanted to close the final inch between us. I wanted him to kiss me so badly my chest ached.

Before he could bridge the gap, the heavy oak doors of the kitchen swung open.

Silas stepped in, his face grim and entirely devoid of apology for the interruption.

“Boss,” Silas said, his voice urgent. “We have a problem. Volkov’s men just hit one of our warehouses on the South Side. They burned three shipping containers to the ground.”

Dante instantly stepped back, the romantic tension evaporating, replaced by the cold, lethal aura of the syndicate boss.

“Did we lose anyone?” Dante demanded.

“Two guards are in the hospital. Critical,” Silas reported.

Dante’s jaw tightened. He looked at me, a silent apology in his eyes, before turning back to Silas. “Prepare the convoy. I’m going to the South Side.”