The Feared Mafia Boss Rejected Every Woman—Until a Stranger Returned His Lost Watch

A week into the new routine, Clare found herself in the library late at night. She couldn't sleep. The vast silence of the estate was unsettling.

She turned the corner and found Sebastian sitting in the dark, a fire burning low in the hearth. He wasn't in his chair. He had dragged himself onto the leather sofa, a bottle of whiskey resting on his chest. He looked thoroughly defeated.

“You shouldn't be drinking while taking nerve medication,” Clare said quietly, stepping into the room.

Sebastian didn't look at her. “I didn't take the pills tonight. I wanted to feel it.”

“Feel what?”

“The failure.” He gestured angrily at his legs. “We tried the standing frame today. I couldn't even hold my own weight for two seconds. It’s been five years, Clare. Maybe I’m just torturing myself.”

Clare walked over and sat on the coffee table opposite him. “How did it happen?” she asked softly.

Sebastian took a long pull from the bottle. “Ambush. Rival family. They caught my car at a red light. Sprayed it with automatic fire. My wife died instantly. A bullet shattered my L4 vertebra. I woke up a widower and a cripple.”

The raw bitterness in his voice was heartbreaking. Clare reached out, gently taking the bottle from his grip.

“You aren't a cripple,” she said firmly. “You are a survivor. And survivors don't quit just because a standing frame kicked their ass on a Tuesday.”

Sebastian looked at her, his eyes tracing the soft curves of her face in the firelight. “Every woman I’ve met since the accident looks at me with pity. Or they look at my bank account. You just look at me like I’m a stubborn idiot.”