She Called Him Trash After He Soaked Her—Then the Mafia Boss Walked Into Her Restaurant

Dominic’s snipers had the entire dock covered.

"Drop it," Dominic commanded, his voice deadly calm.

Salvatore’s hands began to shake violently. He looked at the red dots on his chest, then at the black vans, realizing in a terrifying flash that he had walked into a trap of his own making.

"Dominic... wait!" Salvatore stammered, stepping back toward the water. "It was just business! A negotiation tactics—"

BANG.

A single shot rang out from the crane tower. Salvatore’s gun flew from his hand as a high-caliber round shattered the weapon's barrel, sending him tumbling backward onto the wet asphalt, screaming in agony.

In seconds, Dominic’s men swarmed the dock, disarming Viktor and the remaining guards, securing the area with lethal, professional efficiency.

Dominic didn't look at Salvatore. He didn't look at the guards.

He ran to me.

He dropped to his knees on the cold concrete, his powerful hands grasping my shoulders, pulling me into his chest with a desperate, crushing embrace. His heart was hammering against my cheek, wild and fast, shattering the icy composure he maintained for the rest of the world.

"Are you hurt?" Dominic choked out, his voice raw, his lips pressing against my temple, my hair, my forehead. "Nadia, tell me you're okay."

"I'm fine," I sobbed, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck, burying my face in the curve of his shoulder. "I dropped the necklace... I knew you'd find it."

"I would have searched every inch of this city to find you," he whispered, his hands cradling the back of my head like I was the most precious thing in existence. "Every single inch."

Marcus was quickly freed by the security detail, rubbing his wrists as he stood up. "Boss... what do we do with Salvatore?"

Dominic stood up slowly, pulling me up with him and keeping his arm tightly wrapped around my waist. He looked down at Salvatore, who was clutching his bleeding hand on the ground.

"Salvatore leaves Chicago tonight," Dominic declared, his voice cold and final. "If he ever steps foot within fifty miles of this city again, he won't make it to a boat. Hand his operations over to the federal prosecutors. We're done with him."

Dominic turned back to me. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the platinum emerald necklace, and gently fastened it back around my neck.

"I think we've had enough of parties for tonight," Dominic murmured softly, his eyes searching mine with a warmth that completely melted the dark shadow of the docks.

"Where are we going?" I asked, leaning against his side as we walked back toward his private car.

"Home," Dominic said softly. "To a place where nobody can splash water on your shoes ever again."

Six Months Later.

The warm morning sun streamed through the wide glass windows of a charming, high-end Italian bistro in the heart of Lincoln Park.

On the door hung a sleek wooden sign that read: NADIA’S.

It wasn't a corporate asset or a mob front. It was my restaurant—purchased, designed, and managed entirely by me, funded by a clean, legitimate partnership loan that I was paying back month by month.

I stood behind the counter in a crisp white apron, laughing with Sofia, whom I had hired as my head floor manager, while the espresso machine hissed pleasantly in the background.

The front door opened, setting off a soft brass chime.

Dominic walked in. He wasn't wearing his warlord suit today—just a soft cashmere sweater, dark jeans, and a warm smile meant exclusively for me.

He walked over to the counter, leaning over to press a soft, sweet kiss against my lips.

"Good morning, boss," Dominic murmured against my mouth.

"You're late for your table, Mr. Vane," I smiled, stepping back and wiping the counter with a cloth. "Table nine is waiting."

Dominic walked over to his favorite booth in the corner, sliding into the leather seat and looking out at the sunlit street outside.

I walked over, carrying a plate of fresh, warm cannoli and two cups of rich Italian espresso. I set them down on the table, pulled out the chair across from him, and sat down.

"Everything looks perfect, Nadia," Dominic said softly, reaching across the table to cover my hand with his.

I looked at his dark eyes, at the wolf tattoo peeking out from beneath his cuff, and at the quiet, peaceful life we had built together out of the storm.

"It is perfect," I smiled, squeezing his hand tightly. "And to think... it all started because your driver didn't know how to avoid a puddle."

Dominic chuckled, a low, deep sound that filled my heart with absolute warmth.

"It wasn't the driver, Nadia," Dominic admitted softly, his eyes shining with unshakeable love. "I saw you from fifty feet away standing in the rain. I told him to hit the water... just so I’d have an excuse to stop and talk to you."

I gasped, my eyes widening in mock outrage. "You deliberately soaked my shoes?!"