No Secretary Survived a Week With the Sicilian Mafia Boss Until the Clumsy Girl He Hired by Mistake Found the Secret That Could Destroy Him

The reception was a masterpiece of Italian excess and corporate elegance.

Champagne flowed like water. The food, overseen by a very demanding Rosa, was spectacular. The band played everything from classic Sinatra to modern pop.

During their first dance, Lorenzo held Chloe tight against his chest, swaying slowly to the music.

“We pulled it off,” Chloe murmured, her head resting on his shoulder. “No assassins, no FBI raids, no hostile takeovers.”

“It’s a new record for us,” Lorenzo agreed, kissing the top of her head.

As the night wore on, Chloe found herself sitting at a quiet table near the back, resting her aching feet. She had kicked off her heels (thankfully, not broken this time).

Evelyn Mercer sat down next to her. “How does it feel? Being Mrs. Rossy?”

“It feels surprisingly normal,” Chloe smiled. “Which is all I ever wanted.”

“You changed him, Chloe. We all see it. The men who work for him, they don't follow him out of fear anymore. They follow him out of respect. You gave him his humanity back.”

Chloe looked across the room. Lorenzo was talking to a group of legitimate shipping magnates, laughing at a joke. He looked relaxed. He looked happy.

“He always had it,” Chloe said softly. “He just needed permission to use it.”

Matteo approached the table, clearing his throat. “Boss says it’s time to cut the cake. Please put your shoes back on. Protocol demands it.”

“Dictator,” Chloe teased, slipping her heels back on.

They cut the massive, five-tier cake. Lorenzo fed her a piece carefully, ensuring she didn't spill it on her dress.

As the fireworks began over the snow-covered estate, lighting up the winter sky in bursts of gold and crimson, Lorenzo wrapped his arms around her from behind.