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

The estate's private gym was equipped with better gear than the clinic Clare worked at. At 6:00 AM sharp, Sebastian was there, dressed in athletic wear that highlighted the heavy musculature of his chest and arms.

Clare didn't hold back. If he wanted aggressive therapy, she was going to give it to him.

She dug her elbows into the deep, scarred tissues of his lower back, forcing the stagnant muscles to yield. Sebastian gritted his teeth, sweat pouring down his face, but he didn't utter a single sound of complaint.

“You’re holding your breath,” Clare reprimanded softly, her hands sliding down to his hips. “Breathe through it. Don't fight the pain, accept it.”

“Easy for you to say,” he ground out, his knuckles white as he gripped the mat.

“I’ve seen women in labor push through worse with a smile,” Clare teased lightly, trying to distract him from the agony.

Sebastian let out a harsh laugh that quickly turned into a groan as she hit a massive knot of scar tissue. “I could have you shot for insubordination.”

“You’d never find another therapist who puts up with your ego,” she replied smoothly.

For a second, the air between them shifted. The proximity was intense. She was leaning over him, her body heat mixing with his, the scent of his cologne and sweat wrapping around her. Sebastian turned his head, his face inches from hers. His blue eyes were dilated with pain, but there was something else there. A raw, masculine hunger that had nothing to do with physical therapy.

“You have very brave eyes, Clare,” he whispered.