A senator’s wife humiliated a terrified elderly woman in front of three hundred wealthy guests, then tried to slap me when I defended her. But before her hand could touch my face, Chicago’s most feared mafia boss stepped from the shadows—and revealed that the woman everyone had mocked was his mother.

Six months later.

Winter had returned to Chicago, dusting the wrought-iron gates of the Oak Park estate in a soft blanket of pure white snow.

Inside the glass sunroom, a fire roared in the stone hearth, filling the room with the warm scent of pine and burning birch.

Rose Moretti sat in her high-backed velvet armchair near the window, wrapped in a bright yellow woolen blanket—the very blanket she had finished knitting three months ago. She was smiling happily, watching four-year-old Leo play on the rug with a set of wooden toy trains that Lorenzo had personally handcrafted for him in his estate workshop.

Aunt Clara sat nearby, drinking tea and laughing softly with Marco, who had become a regular guest at our family dinners.

I stood near the tall arched windows, wearing a soft cream cashmere sweater, looking out at the snow falling gently over the sleeping rose garden.

A pair of strong, broad arms wrapped gently around my waist from behind.

I leaned back against Lorenzo’s chest, feeling the deep, steady rhythm of his heart against my back. He rested his chin softly on top of my head, his scent of cedarwood and winter rain surrounding me like a warm shield.

"What are you thinking about?" Lorenzo whispered into my ear, his broad hands resting over mine resting on my stomach.

"I’m thinking about the Palmer House," I said softly, turning my head slightly to look up at his handsome face. "I was carrying a tray of champagne, worrying about seven hundred dollars in rent, thinking my life was over."

Lorenzo smiled—a genuine, warm, brilliant smile that transformed his sharp features into pure light.

"And now?" he asked softly.

"And now," I said, turning fully in his arms, reaching up to lay my palms flat against his chest, "I have a family. I have a home. And I have a man who built a fortress just to keep us safe."

Lorenzo looked down into my eyes with an intensity that made my heart race.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. He flipped it open with his thumb, revealing a breathtaking diamond ring that sparkled like ice under the firelight.

"You defended my mother when no one else would, Sophie," Lorenzo whispered, his voice rich with an undeniable, fierce devotion.

"You brought light into a house that had been dark for ten years. You showed me that strength isn't about how many enemies you defeat... it’s about how much love you protect. Will you stay in this fortress forever? Will you be my wife?"

I looked at the ring, then up into the dark, loving eyes of the most feared man in Chicago.

I didn't hesitate for a single second.

"Yes," I whispered, tears of pure joy spilling over my eyelashes. "Yes, Lorenzo. Always."

Lorenzo slid the ring onto my finger, pulling me into his arms, his mouth meeting mine in a deep, passionate kiss that made the entire world outside vanish into soft white snow.

Beside the fire, Rose looked up from her blanket, her pale blue eyes clear, bright, and filled with absolute peace as she clapped her small hands together.