"He Watched Her Take Five Bullets for His Mother and Then the Most Feared Man in Chicago Fell Apart

The atmosphere inside the fortress was charged with static electricity. Every guard looked at their neighbor with suspicion; every staff member moved with extreme caution.

Lena spent her days recovering in the master suite, her strength returning slowly with every passing sunrise. Isabella visited her daily, pushed in her wheelchair by Maya, who had quickly adapted to the grand estate.

"You should not be in my son's bedroom, you know," Isabella said one afternoon, a knowing, mischievous gleam in her sharp eyes. "It gives the men ideas."

Lena blushed, adjusting the shawl over her healing shoulder. "He told me it was the most secure room on the property, Mrs. Duca."

"Call me Isabella, child. You earned that right the moment you took iron for me," the old woman said, her smile fading into a serious expression. "But do not fool yourself about my son. Marco does not give up his own bed for security. He gives it up because he is terrified of letting you out of his sight."

Before Lena could respond, heavy footsteps echoed in the corridor. Marco entered, his coat off, his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows, revealing forearms covered in faded scars and dark ink. His face was thunderous.

"Mother, take Maya and go to the south wing," Marco said tightly. "Caruso is locking down the central courtyard."

"You found him?" Isabella asked, her voice dropping into the cold, authoritative register of a mafia queen.

"Yes," Marco said. He looked at Lena, his jaw clenched. "Stay inside this room. Lock the door when I leave. Do not open it for anyone except me or Caruso."

"Marco," Lena said, calling him by his first name for the very first time.

He paused at the threshold, turning back to look at her.