88The Mafia Boss Came Home to Find His Fiancée Beating the New Maid, but the Maid’s Silence Was Hiding the One Debt He Could Never Buy His Way Out Of

Six months later.

Spring had finally arrived in Chicago, bringing warm breezes off Lake Michigan that carried the scent of blooming tulips and fresh rain through the open glass walls of the east conservatory.

Eleanor Moretti sat in her velvet armchair, looking healthier than she had in ten years. Her pulse was a steady seventy beats per minute; her skin was bright, her laugh genuine as she watched the gardener plant white roses along the stone balustrade.

The front doors of the mansion were open, letting in the golden afternoon light.

The Moretti family was no longer a shadow organization operating in the dark corners of the docks. The testimony provided by Dr. Hannah Reed had completely dismantled the Ironhead Syndicate, securing federal immunity for Hannah and elevating the Moretti shipping firm into a legitimate, multi-billion-dollar logistics empire.

Vanessa Whitmore and her father had fled to Europe three months ago to avoid federal tax indictments.

In the grand library on the second floor, Hannah sat behind a massive mahogany desk covered in medical textbooks, surgical research papers, and blueprints for the new free clinic being built in South Chicago—a clinic funded entirely by the Moretti Foundation.

She wore a simple silk blouse, her dark hair falling gracefully around her shoulders, a diamond ring resting quietly on her left hand.

The door opened softly.

Dominic walked into the room, wearing a gray suit with no tie, his dark hair catching the sunlight. He carried two cups of coffee, setting one down on the edge of her desk beside a stack of architectural plans.

“The city council approved the zoning permit for the clinic this morning,” Dominic said, leaning down to press a soft kiss against the side of her neck.

Hannah leaned back into his touch, her eyes sparkling with quiet happiness. “And the surgical wing?”

“Top of the line,” Dominic smiled, resting his hands on her shoulders. “The best equipment money can buy. Dr. Reed will have everything she needs.”

Hannah reached up, her fingers resting over his hand, feeling the warm, steady pulse beating in his wrist.

Seventy-two beats per minute. Perfectly aligned with her own.

“You know,” Hannah whispered, turning her head to look into his dark, loving eyes, “when I first walked through your front door six months ago, I thought I was entering a cage.”

Dominic wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her up from her chair until she was standing flush against his chest.

“And what is it now?” Dominic murmured, his voice low, gravelly, and filled with infinite warmth.

Nora—no, Dr. Hannah Reed—smiled, reaching up to gently trace the scar on his jawline.