"I Was Just Alexander Pellegrini's Assistant. Then His Capo Took My Hand on the Dance Floor, and the Most Feared Man in New York Lost Control."

By noon, the U.S. Attorney’s office had quietly recalled their agents, citing “procedural overreach,” and David Vance was abruptly reassigned to a dead-end desk job reviewing municipal zoning violations in upstate New York. The federal threat against the Pellegrini empire—and against me—dissipated like smoke in a hurricane.

We were back in the dark, luxurious quiet of Alexander’s private office in Manhattan.

The city lights outside were beginning to twinkle through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the polished mahogany desk in amber hues.

I stood by the window, holding a glass of sparkling water, watching the endless stream of traffic moving across the bridge. The door clicked open, and Alexander walked in, loosening his collar and tossing his suit jacket over the back of the leather sofa.

He walked up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his chin on my shoulder, breathing in the scent of my hair.

“Vance is gone,” Alexander murmured quietly. “The grand jury motion has been dismissed with prejudice. You are completely, permanently safe.”

I leaned back against his solid chest, closing my eyes. “It’s over?”

“It’s over,” he confirmed, pressing a soft kiss to the side of my neck. “No more safe houses. No more federal subpoenas. No more hiding.”

I turned around within his embrace, looking up into his dark, intense eyes. “And what about us, Alexander? What happens to the executive assistant and her boss now that the war is won?”

Alexander’s expression softened, the hard edges of the Don melting away to reveal the man beneath. He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a small, heavy velvet box.

My breath caught.

“I didn't hire you because you were the best qualified applicant on paper,” Alexander confessed softly, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. “I hired you because the moment you walked into my office for your interview and told me my filing system was an inefficient disaster, I knew I couldn't live another day without you keeping me in line.”

He opened the box. Inside sat a stunning, vintage diamond-and-sapphire ring that looked like it belonged in a museum collection.

“Marry me, Clara,” he said, his voice stripped of all command, carrying only a raw, vulnerable plea. “Run my empire with me. Rule my world by my side. Not as my assistant. As my wife.”