The Exhausted Waitress Could Barely Stand—Then the Mafia Boss Changed Her Life

The departure was set for eleven o'clock. The penthouse had finally emptied of the soldiers, leaving just Luca, Dante, and me in the quiet living room. Emma was fast asleep in the back bedroom, entirely oblivious to the fact that her mother was about to act as bait in a mafia war.

I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the Seattle skyline. The rain had intensified, washing the city in a dreary, melancholic gray.

I felt his presence before he spoke. The scent of expensive cologne and ozone washed over me as Luca stepped up behind me.

“Are you terrified?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” I admitted, not turning around. “But I’m more tired than I am scared. I’ve been running and struggling for three years, Luca. I’m just so tired of being the victim.”

Luca gently placed his hands on my shoulders, turning me around to face him. He was already wearing a tactical Kevlar vest under a dark trench coat, looking every bit the lethal king of the underworld.

“You are not a victim, Ava,” he murmured, his hands sliding down to cup my face. “You are a survivor. You fought a war every single day just to keep your daughter fed and safe. What we do tonight is just the final battle.”

I looked up into his stormy eyes, the fear in my chest melting into something entirely different. The intense, magnetic pull between us that had been building since the diner finally reached a breaking point.

I didn't think about the consequences. I didn't think about the danger waiting for us in the rain.

I reached up, wrapping my hands in the lapels of his trench coat, and pulled him down to me.

Luca didn't hesitate. His mouth crashed down on mine with a desperate, consuming hunger. The kiss was not gentle; it was fierce and possessive, a promise written in fire. His arms wrapped around my waist, lifting me slightly off my injured ankle, pressing me flush against his chest.

For a brief, intoxicating moment, the mafia, Jake, and the impending violence completely vanished. There was only the taste of whiskey on his lips and the overwhelming safety of his embrace.

When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing heavily.