My mafia boss had spent an entire year driving me insane without even realizing it, but nothing could have prepared me for the night I completely lost control. Somewhere between arguing with his framed portrait, confessing how ridiculously hot he was, and kissing his printed mouth, a familiar voice suddenly came from ten feet behind me: “Interesting feedback technique, Miss Summers.”

A high-stakes strategy meeting was underway in the executive boardroom on the thirty-eighth floor. Seated around the massive mahogany table were six of Ethan’s senior capos and regional directors—hardened men with scars, expensive suits, and an inherent distrust of anyone outside their inner circle.

At the head of the table sat Ethan, looking like a statue carved from ice, listening silently as Marcus Vance, our head of European acquisitions, pounded his fist on the table.

"We can't rely on the independent port handlers in Hamburg, Boss," Marcus argued, his voice booming across the room. "The unions are striking, the federal police are sniffing around, and our current logistics pipeline is hemorrhaging money. We need to cut our losses and hand the route over to the Falcone syndicate."

A murmur of agreement rippled through several of the older capos.

I sat quietly at the side table, taking meticulous notes on my tablet, my jaw tightening as I reviewed the data.

"Handing the Hamburg route to Falcone is suicide," I spoke up, my voice cutting cleanly through the murmur of the room.

Every head around the table snapped toward me. Marcus Vance sneered openly, leaning back in his leather chair. "Excuse me? Did the secretary just speak in a grown-up meeting?"

The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees instantly.

Before I could fire back a blistering response, Ethan stood up from the head of the table. The movement was slow, deliberate, and entirely terrifying.

"Marcus," Ethan said, his voice dropping into a lethal, quiet register that made every man in the room stiffen. "Repeat what you just called Miss Summers."

Marcus swallowed hard, suddenly realizing he had crossed an invisible line. "I... I just meant—"

"Miss Summers is my executive director of strategic operations," Ethan interrupted, his green eyes flashing with cold fury. "She is the only reason your quarterly reports aren't currently being audited by the federal government. If I ever hear you disrespect her in this room again, you won't have to worry about the Hamburg route, because you won't have a tongue left to speak with."

The boardroom fell into an absolute, suffocating dead silence. Marcus turned pale as paper and nodded rapidly.

Ethan turned his gaze toward me, his expression softening just a fraction as he gestured to the projection screen. "Alexa. Show them the alternative."

I stood up, adjusting my blazer, and walked smoothly to the presentation console. With a tap of my tablet, a detailed, multi-layered logistics map projected onto the screen behind us.

"While the Hamburg unions are striking," I began, my voice clear, steady, and commanding the attention of every hardened criminal in the room, "we can reroute eighty percent of our cargo through a private terminal in Bremen using independent freight carriers under our direct protection. It cuts transit time by two days, bypasses federal oversight entirely, and increases our profit margin by fourteen percent."

I clicked to the next slide, displaying the financial breakdowns and security clearances.

"Here is the risk assessment. Here is our contingency plan. And here," I concluded, looking directly at Marcus Vance, "is why we don't need the Falcone syndicate to bail us out."

When I finished, the boardroom remained silent for five full seconds.

Then, one of the older capos slowly whistled through his teeth. "Damn. Remind me never to get on her bad side."

Ethan sat back down, watching me with a look of undisguised, blazing pride. When the meeting was finally adjourned and the men filed out of the room in hushed, respectful silence, I stayed behind to pack up my tablet.

Ethan waited until the heavy oak doors clicked shut, then walked over, wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, and buried his face in the crook of my neck.