The gray sedan circled the diner three times before I saw the gun. Seconds later, I was throwing myself over a complete stranger while bullets shattered the windows around us. I thought I was saving some rich customer’s life—I had no idea he was billionaire Leo Valentino, or that his father was the vice president of the Hells Angels.

Over the next two months, I recovered under the watchful care of a private live-in nurse and a team of nutritionists. Leo spent every spare hour he had by my side. We ate dinners in the grand dining room, walked along the private lake shoreline under the protection of two armed guards, and talked about everything from his corporate tech acquisitions to my mother’s medical treatments, which were now being overseen by the finest oncology specialists in the country, fully funded by the Valentino trust.

My mother was currently in full remission, living comfortably in a luxury facility in Florida. Every financial anchor that had once dragged me down into the mud had been cleanly and permanently severed.

Yet, living in the underworld came with a heavy, unyielding price.

One evening, while walking through the eastern wing of the mansion, I overheard raised voices coming from Rocco’s private study. The heavy mahogany door was cracked open an inch.

“The Chicago Outfit is pushing hard on our North Side shipping lanes, Rocco,” an unfamiliar, gravelly voice barked inside. “They think the hit on Leo was just the opening salvo. If we don't strike back hard, they’re going to test our borders again.”

Rocco’s voice rumbled low and cold. “Let them test us. Every rat that crosses our threshold gets put in the ground. But my primary concern right now isn't the Outfit.”

“You mean the girl?”

“I mean Mia,” Rocco corrected sharply. “She saved my son’s life. That makes her a Valentino in spirit, whether she likes it or not. But our enemies know that. They know she’s our weak spot.”

My breath hitched in my throat. I stepped back silently from the door, my heart pounding against my ribs.

Weak spot.

I wasn't just a guest or a protected ally; I was a target. Anyone who wanted to strike at Leo or Rocco now knew that the waitress from Old Joe’s was the leverage they could use to bring an empire to its knees.

That night, unable to sleep, I walked out onto the second-floor stone balcony overlooking the front gates. The night air was crisp, carrying the distant scent of pine and lake water.

A pair of strong arms wrapped gently around my waist from behind, and a familiar chin rested softly on my shoulder.

“You’re awake,” Leo whispered against my ear, his breath warm in the cool night air.

“I heard them talking,” I confessed quietly, leaning back into his embrace. “In your father’s study. They said I’m a target. They said the Outfit is coming for us.”

Leo turned me around in his arms, his green eyes searching my face with intense, unyielding devotion. He reached up, gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

“My father and I built this fortress to keep people like you out, Mia,” Leo said fiercely. “And now we’ve built it to keep you safe inside. I won't let anyone touch you. I swear it on my life.”

“I’m not afraid of dying, Leo,” I whispered, looking up into his eyes. “I’m afraid of being the reason you or your father get hurt.”