His Fiancée Forgot to Hang Up—The Mafia Boss Heard Her Threaten the Maid

Three weeks later, the autumn leaves along the Newport cliffs had turned to deep gold and crimson. Senator Arthur Morrow and Vivien were sitting in separate protective-custody wings of the federal detention center in Wyatt, having traded full confessions against Julian Cross’s New York syndicate solely to remain under federal guard for the next twenty-five years.

Down on the sunny stone terrace of Bellavista, nine-year-old Eli Hayes was looking through a brass maritime telescope mounted on the balustrade, tracking a massive container ship painted with the silver Varelli crest as it glided out of Narragansett Bay. His navy-blue backpack hung on a chair nearby, though he rarely needed the red inhaler inside it anymore now that he was living in clean sea air instead of a damp basement apartment in town.

Marin walked out onto the terrace carrying a leather portfolio, wearing a cream cashmere sweater and dark trousers. Two weeks ago, Dominic had formally appointed her Executive Director of the Isabella Varelli Neurological & Pediatric Foundation, complete with a six-figure salary, a permanent trust for Eli’s education through medical school, and full residence in the estate’s renovated south wing.

Dominic stood by the stone parapet in a dark sweater and charcoal slacks, watching his mother sit in her chair in the warm afternoon sun. Thanks to three weeks of intensive therapy after flushing the poison from her body, Isabella was holding her own teacup in her right hand without spilling a drop.

"The contractors just finished installing the new pediatric asthma clinic equipment at St. Francis Academy," Marin said, stepping up beside Dominic and handing him the foundation ledger. "And the headmaster wanted me to thank you again for funding the school’s new security perimeter."

Dominic didn't open the ledger. Instead, he looked down at Marin as the sea breeze caught a loose strand of chestnut hair across her cheek. Gently, without hesitating, Dominic reached out and tucked the strand behind her ear, letting his warm fingers linger for a moment against her jawline.

Marin’s breath hitched softly, her hazel eyes lifting to meet his. Over the past three weeks of late-night dinners in the kitchen and quiet mornings walking the cliff path with Eli before school, the line between boss and protector had blurred into something much deeper—something neither of them was trying to hide anymore.

"Have dinner with me tonight in town, Marin," Dominic said quietly. "Not for the foundation. Just you and me."

Before Marin could answer, a sound from across the terrace made both of them freeze and turn their heads.

It wasn't the tap of wood.